You Knew Me When (19 page)

“Only about a million times, Dad. Thank you.”

“Well, I second that!” Luella walked into the room by way of the front door with a freshly baked cinnamon apple pie—my absolute favorite. “For you, my dear.” She handed it to me, kissed my forehead, and sat down in the chair next to me, letting my father take her coat like the gentleman he is. “As I've always said, big things are going to happen for you. Oh, to be young again.”

“Thank you. I'm actually really excited, if not a little nervous. I wouldn't be the first Hill woman to leave New York disappointed.”

“Hey now, Kitty. Your mother would be very proud of you.”

“Whatever you say, Dad.”

“I want you to know how much she loved you. And she would have been
extremely
proud that you were accepted to one of the top schools in the country. She had high hopes for you.”

“Now I just need to figure out how I'm going to tell Grant and Laney.” The thorn in the side of my complete and utter enthusiasm, which I sensed that my dad and Luella were picking up on. Obviously, I'm not in love with the idea of being apart from Grant for pretty much five years, or being away from Laney, but I've come to realize it's a small piece of my life to compromise in pursuit of the bigger picture—at least that's what Luella told me.

“They will understand, darling.” Luella nodded. I could tell she wasn't entirely convinced. “If they don't, then they're not real friends. But they will. I know they will.”

“I agree with Luella on this one, Kitty Kat.” As if there's anything he doesn't agree with her on.

“They might be upset at first. But they'll get over it. You kids have your whole lives ahead of you. And there will be holidays and summers. For God's sake, you get more time off from college than you're actually there.” Luella's face was flushed. She was personally invested.

“You're right. I'm not looking forward to it is all I'm saying.”

“You're an NYU girl now. You'll figure out the best way to tell them. I have all the confidence in the world in you.” Luella put her hand on mine and smiled. And I watched the smallest but most meaningful tear trickle down her cheek.

K
atherine opened her eyes slowly. The room was still menacingly dark, just the way she liked it. If there was so much as a hint of light insinuating its way through a fracture in the curtains, she couldn't sleep. Light and silence—they were her Kryptonite—coercing her to toss and turn restlessly, held hostage by her own anxieties. She stretched her arms above her head, yawning, and then rubbed her eyes until they adjusted to the obscurity. Sitting up, she wedged two fluffy white pillows behind her back, switched on the porcelain lamp beside her bed, and allowed her eyes to adjust again, only this time to the faint glow illuminating her spotless hotel room.

Katherine wasn't one of those people who could live any less tidily when displaced from her habitual surroundings. She required order wherever she was, and could often be found cleaning her hotel room, even if housekeeping was right down the hall. In fact, her very first order of business when arriving at a hotel or resort was to reorganize the room to best suit her needs, both aesthetic and practical. She'd move a garbage can from here to there, since hotel rooms never had enough garbage cans. Or she'd gather all of the property's promotional materials—local magazines, guidebooks, information on area activities and dining options—which they'd strategically positioned around the room in the hopes that guests would be enticed into an afternoon of, say, fly fishing or horseback riding, and she'd stick them in drawers or cabinets. Clutter was not an option.

A journalist from
Allure
magazine who'd once interviewed Katherine for a beauty feature had asked her,
Why is it that you're such a neat freak?
She'd been slightly taken aback by the off-topic inquiry, but—as per usual—had not let it unsettle her. Instead, she'd replied coolly,
When everything is in its place, my mind is free to think about the things it should be thinking about. Like running a major company.
It had been the truth then and it was still the truth some five years later. But today, unlike most days, Katherine didn't want to think about work. It was Thanksgiving, after all. One of the few days a year she gave herself a break, sort of.

It was also the first Thanksgiving in over a decade that she'd be spending with family. Year after year, her father and Hazel had invited her to join their party of two in Vermont. Hazel's own two daughters lived in California and, while they tried to visit as often as possible, with their combined brood of seven children—Thanksgiving was not one of those times. Often, with the best of intentions three months out, Katherine had told her dad she'd try to make it, but in the end she'd always manufactured an excuse, something to do with work, something she absolutely could not get out of. It was an easy fallback into the lazy lap of selfishness. Her father had become so accustomed to hearing it time and time again that there was no reason to blame it on anything else. Of course, she knew what they'd say, or at least think.
Work, work, work. All Katherine does is work.
And they were right. Except on Thanksgiving.

Really, she'd be sitting at home in her pajamas with Chinese takeout. Fine, so they were La Perla pajamas and the Chinese takeout was from Philippe, one of the Upper East Side's chicest, see-and-be-seen restaurants. Still, for Katherine it was as pedestrian as it got. Fried dumplings drenched in salty black liquid with sliced scallions bobbing about, a perfectly golden egg roll for dunking in thick, sweet duck sauce, and cold sesame noodles in all their tangy, peanut buttery glory. The order never changed. Sometimes she even dreamed about it the other 364 days of the year, when snacking on baby carrots and rice cakes was standard fare. The nice thing about Chinese restaurants, or restaurants in general, was that they didn't discriminate against those home alone, familyless by choice, giving thanks for greasy food on a holiday widely commemorated with loved ones. Loved ones who would gather around to feast on succulent turkey, fluffy stuffing, pungent cranberry sauce, velvety sweet potatoes, and creamy pumpkin pie, which they'd most likely spent the day preparing
together
. Katherine often felt vaguely sick after her indulgence—the calorie-laden food sitting heavily in her typically empty belly. But it was a good sick, if there was such a thing.

This year would be different, though. She was actually a little excited about dinner with her father and Hazel, if not uneasy about seeing Grant again and meeting his girlfriend, Michelle. Naturally, she'd tried to conjure what Michelle might look like. Would she be prettier than Katherine? Wasn't that the crux of what every ex-girlfriend, ex-fiancée, or ex-wife cared about? It always came down to physical appearance. You never overheard two women gossiping about how smart or funny so-and-so's ex was. No way, no how. They might blather on about her bloated ankles, her frown lines, or possibly her sagging breasts, but her sharp wit was typically excluded from the chatter.

Katherine picked up the telephone next to the lamp on her nightstand and pressed the room service button. “Yes, hello. Can I please order half a grapefruit; one slice of whole-grain toast, hold the butter; and a large pot of coffee? Black. That'll be all, thank you.”

After breakfast she'd hit the hotel gym, do a little prebinge workout, attend to any international e-mails that had rolled in—the bulk of what she'd receive on Thanksgiving—and then make her way over to her dad's house to help, or rather watch, Hazel fabricate a spread so tantalizingly delicious even Katherine's willpower would have to surrender. Next would come the moment of truth. Dessert at Carol Drake's with Laney and Grant. And Michelle. Initially, when Laney had extended the invitation, it had seemed like an excellent idea. In fact, it had fortified Katherine in an unexpected way. Though now, on the day of, every time she thought about it, her resolve weakened a little more. She was so different now. What if she showed up at Carol's house proffering the store-bought pecan pie she'd picked up at the new bakery in town and Carol didn't welcome her with the same unconditional warmth she once had? Was it too much to ask to waltz out of someone's life and then back in twelve years later, as if no time had passed?

•   •   •

Dinner
at her father's house had been everything she expected it to be and then some. Hazel had outdone herself, not that Katherine knew what normal protocol was. She simply couldn't imagine anything more elaborate for less than a party of ten, and she suspected that Hazel enjoyed impressing her as much as she enjoyed watching her eat. Hazel would have made a great Jewish mother, if only she wasn't Catholic. Katherine had eaten way too much, which, she told herself, was what people did on Thanksgiving. Sure, it was a holiday centered around giving thanks, but ultimately gorging yourself with food tended to be the main event. Hazel had not only roasted a twenty-pound bird, which she'd brined the night before, but she'd also prepared two kinds of stuffing—one with dried raisins and walnuts, and one without—plus mashed white and sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, gravy, and garlicky Brussels sprouts. And to top it off, she'd baked her own loaf of crusty French bread and three pies: pecan, pumpkin, and apple. They'd been mildly disappointed when Katherine had said she couldn't stay for dessert, but her father had been delighted to hear that she was on her way to Carol's house, rather than back to her hotel to stare at her laptop for the rest of the night. Before she'd left, Katherine's father had hugged her tightly, unwilling to let go until she'd sworn up and down that she'd come by at least twice before returning to New York on Sunday. “I'll be here next weekend,” she'd reminded him. And then he'd reminded her, “Last time you left, you didn't come back.”
Touché.

As soon as Katherine had closed the front door behind her, she couldn't wait to get over to Carol's, but now, standing at Carol's front door, she didn't feel quite as jovial. Katherine had never expected to see Carol living anywhere but at 309 Pine Street. Laney's mother had embodied that house—everything and everyone in it. They'd all worshipped her, even Laney, who throughout the bulk of her teen years had pretended to be rebellious.

Katherine hesitated before announcing her arrival. Silly, perhaps. She'd been family once. Practically. She should have been family permanently. But instead she was walking into a life that was no longer hers for the taking. A life that she'd never have been satisfied with. Or would she have been, if not for Luella? Maybe marrying Grant, remaining in Vermont, and popping out a few kids would have left her content, unaware of a world where running a company and attending star-studded galas was par for the course.

She willed herself to knock, and as soon as she did she could hear the pitter-patter of someone's feet scurrying toward her. She prayed it wasn't Grant.

“Kitty!” Carol flung open the door.

“Hi, Carol.” She smiled instantly. That was what people did around Carol Drake.

“I can hardly believe my own eyes.” She ushered Katherine inside and wrapped her frail arms around her. “Look at you. How gorgeous you are. And so skinny—my goodness. Do you ever eat?”

“Sometimes.” Katherine laughed. “I've just made up for every diet I've ever been on at my dad's house. Hazel's cooking is something else.”

“You're telling me?” Carol couldn't keep her eyes off Katherine. “She's beat me in seven straight Manchester pie contests. That woman should have her own Food Network show.”
Not a bad idea,
Katherine thought. Though Hazel wouldn't enjoy that kind of glory. “Come in, come in. We've just finished dessert, but we saved pie for you.”

“That's quite okay. I'm stuffed to the brim, and I have four pieces in the car that Hazel insisted I take.” Katherine had already planned on giving them to the staff at Equinox. Tomorrow she'd be back to her stringent healthful eating, and also she felt sorry for people who had no choice but to work on Thanksgiving.

“Well, come sit down, then. Everyone's in the living room.” Katherine followed Carol, who looked significantly older, no doubt the toll from losing Laney's dad, the love of her life. Outside of that, she was still the same Carol, albeit with a diminished spark. The spark she'd passed on to Laney. Only Carol's had always been a little purer. This was a woman who, until she lost her husband, had experienced no profound disappointments in life. She'd married the perfect man and had two great kids. The Drakes had always been comfortable. Certainly they'd been able to splurge on weeklong house rentals in Nantucket, which—looking back—must have cost a pretty penny even then.

Katherine shadowed Carol through the narrow hallway into the living room. The house was smaller than the one on Pine Street, but much of the furniture had made the move as well and, all in all, things looked similar, only on a reduced scale.

“Everyone, Kitty is here!” Carol announced, as if Angelina Jolie had just swooped in on their Thanksgiving celebration with Brad, Maddox, Shiloh, Zahara, Pax, Vivienne, and Knox in tow. Katherine felt her face boil and likely turn an unflattering shade of crimson as all eyes—Laney's, Grant's, Michelle's, Gemma's, Rick's, and four other unfamiliar adults'—focused on her.

“Hi, everyone.” Katherine raised her hand and held it up for a minute.

“Isn't she stunning? Laney, you didn't tell me Kitty looked like a supermodel.” She had taken extra care when getting ready earlier. Who wouldn't have? Her makeup was flawless—she'd touched it up in the car. And she was wearing a simple but figure-hugging black Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. She looked good and she knew it. But now, with everyone staring at her, she felt like running for cover.

“Oh, please. Not at all,” Katherine replied modestly, standing awkwardly in front of Carol's nine guests.

“Don't be shy, Kitty. You are a sight. Stunning, absolutely stunning.”

“Leave her alone, Mom,” Laney piped up, walking toward Katherine. “You'll give her a complex.”

“Oh, sorry.” Carol looked momentarily deflated, but rebounded quickly. “I have to get back to cleaning up. You'll introduce Kitty around?”

“Sure.” Laney nodded at her mom and rolled her eyes at Katherine. “Sorry. She's just really excited to see you.”

“It's fine. Your mom can do no wrong.” Katherine let out a deep breath as people went back to their own conversations.

“Come on. You can meet everyone you don't already know.” Laney walked Katherine around, introducing her to Carol's friend Andrea, Andrea's sister Joan, and to Michelle's parents, Jim and Marsha. Rick and Gemma seemed legitimately happy to see her, greeting her with bear hugs and making her promise to talk more later on. Gemma immediately pointed to her freshly made-up face—“Light eye, dark mouth,” she declared, puckering her Racy Red lips. Then they came to Grant and Michelle. “Michelle, this is Kitty, or Katherine. We're not really sure what to call her.”

“Katherine is fine.” She extended her hand, and Michelle shook it limply. “It's so nice to finally meet you.” Katherine smiled politely, outwardly pleased to make her acquaintance. Inside, her heart was hurtling violently. Michelle was pretty in the most basic way. Pale skin, long blond hair, light blue eyes. Every feature was symmetrical and unassuming. No crooked beak or pointy chin to speak of. But she wasn't beautiful.

“Nice to meet you too.” Michelle smiled back and territorially rested her arm on Grant's knee, until he stood to hug Katherine.

“Hey, glad you could make it.” His lips grazed her ear as he pulled away, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Me too.”

“I'll show you around.” Laney tugged at Katherine's arm. “This must be weird for you,” she whispered as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Ya think?” Katherine watched out of the corner of her eye as Grant walked out onto the back porch alone. It had turned out to be an unseasonably warm day for November in Vermont, with a high temperature of 55 degrees.