You Knew Me When (24 page)

“Yeah, that's fine. I'll just go get dressed.” Honestly, I was still trying to process the news. “Do you think Luella knows about this?” After all, she had gotten me the internship in the first place. She and Jane were old friends, even though they didn't keep up with each other regularly.

“She didn't say.”

“Okay, let me go talk to her and then I'll call Jane.” Before he could protest, I added, “Don't worry, Dad. I'll be back within an hour.”

•   •   •

Ten
minutes later, I was sitting at Luella's kitchen table in front of a glass of chilled iced tea and a plate of blueberry scones.

“So?” She sat down across from me and pinched a crumb off one of the scones.

“I guess you know.”

“If you're talking about the job offer, then yes.” She nodded soberly.

“My dad said he thinks it would start tomorrow.” I waited for a reaction to register on her face, but it didn't. “That's kind of fast. Don't you think?”

“I suppose.” She filled her own glass with iced tea.

“I mean, I don't even have a place to live. And I haven't packed anything.”

“Kitty, I have an apartment in Manhatta
n.”

“Really?”

“I used to stay there when I went to the city for theater and such. I rented it out for years, but that was more of a headache than it was worth, so now it mainly sits there. You could live in it until you find a place of your own.”

“That's a very generous offer, but you've done so much already. I couldn't impose anymore.”
Not to mention that I can't move to New York by myself tomorrow!

“Nonsense. It won't be forever. Just until you get on your feet. It would be my pleasure.”

“What about Grant? And Laney?”

“What about them?”

“I'm supposed to move there with them in the fall, or at least Laney, once she has a job.” Maybe this would finally be the kick in the pants Grant needed. “We were going to start figuring everything out this week.”

“Then she'll follow you as soon as she's made arrangements, as will Grant.”

“So you think I should consider going?”

“Do you really want to hear my opinion?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”
Not sure.

“Yes, Kitty. I think you should go. It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance to work for Jane Sachs. She has the power to open doors for you that you never even knew existed. If you let this opportunity pass you by, someone else won't, and I worry you'll regret it.” She cleared her throat. “Kitty, as you know, you are like a daughter to me, but you are not my daughter. You're an adult. You don't have to do this. You wanted my opinion, and now you have it. Go home and talk to your father. I suspect he'll give you the same advice.”

•   •   •

Not
surprisingly, Luella was right. My dad was equally adamant about my moving to New York and taking the job at Blend. After my chat with Jane, I have to say I was pretty convinced myself. She explained that it's an entry-level position in marketing, as an assistant to one of the executives—apparently his assistant's mother died suddenly, and she had to go back to California for an undetermined amount of time, so she e-mailed her resignation on Saturday morning, thereby opening up the slot for me. No, the irony of the abruptly dead mom was not lost on me. Jane also conveyed that while the pay isn't great to start and the hours will be long, that there's ample room to grow and climb the ladder of corporate success. “All in due time,” she said, concluding with, “I have high hopes for you, Kitty. Very high hopes.” Which sealed the deal. Now I just have to tell Laney and Grant. Laney first, since Grant is fly-fishing with his dad until early afternoon, and my dad said we have to leave no later than five p.m. if we're going to make it to New York with enough time to get me settled in, or as settled in as one can be with such little notice. The whole scenario is simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying, and I'm really not sure how Laney and Grant are going to react.

When I got to the Drakes' house, Carol directed me up to Laney's bedroom, where I found her tucked under the covers, her face still awash in an unflattering avocado hue. She sat up a little and tried to smile.

“Jesus Christ, you still look like crap.” I stood at the foot of her bed for fear of contracting whatever she had. Normally, I'd have curled up next to her, but in light of recent developments, I couldn't risk getting sick. “I'd ask how you're feeling, but I think I know the answer.” She nodded mutely. “So, I know this may not be the best time, but I have to tell you something. Good news, actually. I think.”

“Okay,” she croaked, looking dubious.

“I got a job.” Her eyes widened. “In New York.” And then narrowed. “It starts tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right.” She laughed. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I'm serious. A full-time position opened up at the place I was interning. The pay isn't great, but it's enough for now. And I can stay at this apartment Luella apparently has on the Upper East Side. You know, until you can move and we can find a place together.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but I think it might have to wait.”

So much for congratulations.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it turns out I have a little news of my own.”

“Okay . . .” I couldn't really imagine why Laney's news would affect my job, but Laney does tend to think that anything going on in her life indelibly impacts everyone else's.

“I'm not sick.” She exhaled. “I'm pregnant.”

“
What
?” Now was not the time for practical jokes, though from the solemn expression on her face, it didn't seem like she was kidding.

“Yup. Confirmed by the doctor in Nantucket. And about a dozen home tests.”

“What are you going to do?” I couldn't think of anything else to say. Part of me knew I should go to her, hug her, hold her, tell her it was going to be okay, but all I could do was stand there in shock.

“I'm going to keep it.”

“Are you serious?” She couldn't be. I mean, it's not that I like the idea of having an abortion, but I'm pretty sure—no,
certain
—that I would not want a baby out of wedlock at twenty-two years old. “What about the master plan?” It was probably a stupid thing to say.

“It'll just have to wait,” she bristled. “Like, a year or so. Aren't you happy for me?”

“Of course.”
Not really.
“Who else knows about this?”

“Rick, obviously, Grant, and my parents.”

“And what do they think?”

“They think I need to be supported, not judged.”

“I'm sorry, Lane. It's just a lot to take in.” Then my mind turned back to my job. “So, what? Are you still going to move to New York? With the baby?”

“Probably. I'll have to stay here for at least a year so my mom can help with stuff. And Rick's going to move in until we can rent a place of our own. But I figure you and I can work it all out. Maybe you can get a job in Manchester in the meantime?”

“Lane, I already accepted the job in New York. I have to leave later today.”

“Well, call them and tell them you changed your mind. Are you following here, Kitty? I'm going to have a baby.”

“No, I know. It's just. I mean. This is a really big opportunity for me. I need a job badly, and positions like this don't open up every day. I can't put my whole life on hold.”

“I'm not asking you to put your
whole
life on hold. I'm just asking you to delay it for a year. Maybe eighteen months.”

“Don't you think you're being a little selfish?” Possibly another wrong thing to say, especially to someone with high levels of hormones pumping through her veins.

“Excuse me? You think
I'm
being selfish? Don't you think
you're
being selfish? It's always about you, Kitty.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I was instantly stung, namely because I was under the reverse impression that everything is always about Laney.

“Well, let's see, now.” Her tone was suddenly acerbic. “First it was about
you
going to NYU, when we'd all planned to go to UVM. Then it was about
you
never having time for anyone. For years. And about
you
coming home for holidays and getting the hell out of Dodge as fast as you possibly could. Every fucking time. Now it's about
you
getting a fancy fucking job at some cosmetics company in New York and
you
leaving again. It was supposed to be about
us
, Kitty, but instead it's YOU, YOU, YOU!”

“Laney, relax.” Her cheeks were flushed a rich crimson, and my heart was beating faster than a speeding bullet, minus the superpowers, which might have come in handy for a quick disappearing act. “It's not like I'm never coming back. I'll visit as often as I can, and we can resume the master plan as soon as things are settled for you and the baby.”
The baby. Wow.

“You know what, Kitty? Just forget it.”

“I don't want to just forget it, Laney. I want to make this okay.”

“Oh yeah? What does Grant think of your little agenda?” Her mouth was spread in a tight, thin line. “You just planning to discard him too? I thought you were going to be together forever.”

“I'm not discarding anyone.” My eyes pooled with tears. I thought she might be a little annoyed that I was leaving so abruptly, but I never expected this reaction.

“You know Grant's never moving to New York, right?”

“That's not true! We just haven't ironed out the details yet.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Kitty. My dad's going to give him a promotion. He'll never leave Manchester.”

“I don't understand why you're so angry.”

“Because I'm fed up. Fed up with your antics. And fed up with you.”

“But we're best friends.”

“No—we
were
best friends. Or wait—sisters, right? Isn't that what we always said? Would you abandon your pregnant sister?”

“But I'm not abandoning you!”

“Just go, Kitty.”

“No. I'm not leaving until we work this out.”

“Obviously, you've made your decision. You're going to New York when? Today?”

“Yeah.” I hunched my head, unable to look her in the eyes.

“You're a bitch.”

“Laney!” Tears were pummeling down my cheeks now. No one had ever directed that word at me. “You don't mean that.” I tried to catch my breath amid erratic sobs.

“Yes, I do. You're a bitch, Kitty. Just like your mother was.”

I staggered backward, as if physically wounded by Laney's verbal assault, and then ran from her bedroom, down the stairs, past Carol Drake, and out their front door. I walked aimlessly around our neighborhood, vacillating between untainted rage and a pressing desire to race back to Laney and tell her I'd stay. By the time I got home, my dad was waiting for me, worried.

“Carol Drake called. She said you were hysterical when you left their house.” He looked at my mottled face and pulled me into a warm embrace. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” I shook my head vigorously against his chest. I couldn't even repeat Laney's words aloud, much less to my dad. “Grant called too. He sounded really upset. He said he's coming home early.”

“Let's go now.” I pulled away. “I want to go now.”

“Where?”

“To New York.”

“What's the rush, sweetheart? Don't you want see Grant before we leave?”

“I need to get out of here. I'll go finishing packing.”

“Kitty . . .”

I shook my head again. “I'm ready.”

K
atherine tapped her heavy gold Montblanc pen—the one she'd received as a five-year anniversary gift from the company—on her desk and stared distractedly at her computer screen, the dense paragraphs of a legal document muddling into blobs of gibberish. It had been a grueling week of meetings, events, conference calls, and generally playing catch-up. It was hard to believe she'd been out of the office only for a few days. Somehow, her short trip to Vermont had felt more like a time warp, transporting her back to a different era. An era when things weren't nearly as intense.

Not that her week with Laney had been altogether relaxing, but—at the very least—it had detached her from the daily grind and reminded her that there was a whole world of people out there who did not wake up at six a.m. and check their voice mails before brushing their teeth. Or shun egg yokes. Or wear designer platforms to walk their dog. Or attend more than one gala in an evening. And those same people probably greeted each other with one kiss,
on
the cheek, rather than blowing three in the air, as if they were French. It was easy to lose sight of normality when your life was like Katherine's.

Work aside, there was the all-consuming bomb Laney had dropped right before Katherine returned to New York, rendering it nearly impossible for her to concentrate on anything else. Nearly. After all, Katherine had the willpower to overcome even the most obstinate, all-consuming bombs, and there had been a handful over the years, though none of the personal variety. There'd been the time that, at the eleventh hour, one of Blend's partners in China had decided to pull out of a deal, which would have created a domino effect so widespread that millions of dollars would have been lost. Katherine had, without hesitation, walked out of her office with nothing more than her purse, gone directly to JFK, paid top dollar for a first-class ticket to the Far East, and had—in typical fashion—saved the day. Three years later, when the head of public relations had sent out a press release with Jane's name spelled incorrectly—Saks, as in the department store, rather than Sachs—and three different major magazines had supposedly gone to print, Katherine had flown in quick succession from Illinois to Minnesota and then on to Kentucky, where their printing presses resided, to make sure, with her own two eyes, that the error was rectified.

Those were the sorts of all-consuming bombs that Katherine was accustomed to handling, and she always did so with her trademark flair and good sense. This news about Grant was different. Immediately after Laney had told her, she'd lost it, causing Laney to panic a little. For one, Laney had never been—and apparently still wasn't—terribly good about knowing what to do when people got hysterical. There was also the fact that Laney realized it might not have been her place to say anything. Katherine had pulled herself together in short order. Mainly because she was embarrassed by her outburst, but beyond that, she didn't want Laney to feel like she had to console her. They weren't there yet. And Katherine didn't like making other people feel uncomfortable, because that only served to make her uncomfortable.

She'd spent the car ride back to New York cross-examining herself. Had there been signs that Grant intended to propose? Why had she been so oblivious? How could she have been so rash as to walk out on someone who was so obviously devoted to her, just because he couldn't relocate his life at a moment's notice? Who did she think she was to expect that? And so on and so on. Her emotions had ping-ponged from regret to resentment to rage, and then back to regret. But did she regret it—leaving? What if she'd ended up as dissatisfied with her life in Vermont as her mother had once been?

Katherine had been so drained by the time she'd finally reached her apartment that all she'd been able to do was crawl into bed, assume the fetal position, and go to sleep. The following morning, she'd been a little disoriented, expecting to smell the familiar aroma of pancakes and maple syrup wafting into her room from the hotel hallway. Before long, though, she'd snapped right back into her usual routine. She'd run on the treadmill while scanning e-mails on her iPhone. She'd done her hair and makeup while editing a consumer report. And she'd slipped into one of her best suits and her highest pair of heels while reminding herself of Jane's mantra:
I always wear my most flattering outfit on my shittiest day.
Then she'd jumped into a taxicab and headed to the office, where she'd been certain that distracting herself from thoughts of Grant would be a piece of cake.

Not so much. Every time a man had walked past her, even if it was only Nick from the mailroom, she thought it was Grant. Every time Brooke had stepped in to tell her there was a call for her, Katherine had irrationally found herself hoping it was Grant on the line. And at night, when she'd finally come home to her empty apartment, after a full day at the office followed by a cocktail party or two, it'd been unbearable to try to keep her mind off of him. She'd lie awake for hours, trying to recall exactly the way he'd looked, even smelled, that night at Carol's house. She'd replayed every nuance of their conversation, searching for meaning where there was none. Ultimately, she'd found herself in a purgatory of sorts, on the precipice of sleep, caught between the past and the present, unable to let herself dream, for fear she'd awake to a less-desirable reality. Had Grant planned how he was going to propose? What would that have been like? She'd never had a story like most women, a story to wear as a badge of honor no matter how loveless their marriages were now. Those were the thoughts that bounced around Katherine's head and, regardless of how hard she'd tried to quiet them, she couldn't.

She'd wanted to pick up the phone so many times and call him, if only to hear his voice. But what would she say? What could she say?
I miss you. I want to be with you.
I think I still love you.
She didn't even know herself. Either way, this was a conversation they needed to have in person, and possibly the only thing that had kept her going was knowing that she'd see him again over the weekend.

Of course, there was also the matter of Laney. She'd softened somewhat throughout the course of the week, no doubt. But she was still angry. And while Katherine couldn't quite understand why her anger hadn't waned at least a little in over a decade, she did know one thing. She wanted to fix it. Not just because it needed fixing, which, under normal circumstances, would have been reason enough for Katherine, but because she wanted her friend back. More precisely, she wanted her sister back, even if she had to take all the blame.

“Eh-hem.”

Katherine looked up from her laptop to find Jane Sachs standing in front of her, resplendent in a royal blue St. John suit paired with four-inch, nude patent leather Manolo Blahniks, her expertly painted face an advertisement for the company she helmed, if only as a figurehead at this point.

“Hello, darling.” Jane smiled. “It's nice to have you back.” Jane hadn't been in all week; she rarely made an appearance at the office even that often. She preferred to work from home, her lavish duplex in the Upper West Side's exclusive Dakota, a building mainly recognized post–December 8, 1980, as the location of John Lennon's murder, a tragedy that had only increased the value of the real estate.

“Jane, how are you?” Katherine jumped up from behind her desk and walked toward her boss, expecting three air kisses, but instead she got a hug. Jane didn't really do hugs, at least not until now.

“I ought to ask you that.” She sat down in one of Katherine's purple leather club chairs and motioned for Katherine to return to her own desk chair. “I was so sorry to miss Luella's funeral.”

“Well, you didn't miss much. She wanted to be cremated. She told her lawyer absolutely no funeral. She didn't even want a reception.”

“That makes sense.”

“I thought so too.”

“And you're okay?”

“I am. It's sad. I mean, she really was the closest thing I had to a mother, but I know she lived a great life.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Don't say that about me when I'm gone.”

“Okay.” Katherine laughed.

“Well, listen. I have to run. Lunch at Bergdorf with Aerin Lauder, but I wanted to personally thank you for handling that issue with Marcus Wallaby with such skill, especially while you were in Vermont. He's a tough bastard, and I hear you made him very happy. This, my dear, is why I hired you all those years ago.”

“Oh, right. Absolutely.” Katherine nodded. She'd forgotten about the Marcus Wallaby situation completely. Marcus Wallaby was a major investor in Blend, and Brooke had reminded her multiple times that he needed attention, but somehow, it had still managed to slip her mind. And Katherine never allowed anything to slip her mind, unless it was a meal.

“All right, then. I'm off.” Jane tossed a kiss in Katherine's general vicinity. “We'll talk next week.”

As soon as Jane was out of sight and earshot, Katherine buzzed Brooke. “Can you please come in for a minute?” Brooke materialized almost instantly. “Do you know what happened with Marcus Wallaby?”

“Tom Birnbaum said he'd handle it.” Brooke looked nervous.

“I see.” Katherine exhaled. “Can you tell him to come up?”

“Sure thing.”

“Oh, and Brooke, I know I've been distracted this week, but I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“You handled things very well in my absence, and it didn't go unnoticed. Well done.”

“Thanks!” Brooke beamed and her chest puffed just a little. “I'll go get Tom.”

•   •   •

Ten
minutes later, Tom appeared in her doorway, wearing a sheepish expression. “Katherine, I'm really sorry. Brooke couldn't reach you, and she asked me what to do. And it was Marcus Wall—”

“Tom, relax. I'm not upset.” She smiled and pointed to a chair. “Quite the contrary. I owe you a heap of gratitude. You saved my ass.”

“Oh, thank you. Man, I never thought I'd hear you say that.” He giggled almost manically. “That guy's a lunatic.”

“No kidding.” Katherine leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk. “So, tell me: how is Judy doing?”

“Great!”

“Really? Isn't she still on bed rest?”

“Katherine, I swear to you, a couple of weeks at home and she's a changed woman.”

“What do you mean?” Katherine had known Judy for ten years, even before she married Tom, and
changed woman
was not a phrase she ever expected to hear in reference to her.

“So, I guess her mom bought her all of these baby books and magazines to keep her occupied. And she's been going online. Honestly, I don't think she even had the chance to realize she was pregnant until now. Anyway, all of a sudden she's completely obsessed with ordering clothing and toys, and designing the nursery. She thinks she's going to
build
the crib, Katherine.”

“Are they hard to put together?” Katherine had never assembled anything, much less a crib. “Judy is pretty capable.”

“As if! She actually wants to
build it
. Like, from
scratch
. She said all the cribs on the market are death traps, and she'll be damned if our little bundle of joy has to sleep in one of those generic pieces of shit. Sorry, just parroting her.”

“Okay. Isn't it a little late for that?”

“Apparently, the baby sleeps in a bassinet for a while, and of course Judy thinks she'll be in Bob Vila shape roughly a week after giving birth.”

“Have you tried to discourage the idea?”

“At this point, I'm not discouraging anything. Judy also said she's going to take her three-month maternity leave and an extra three months of unpaid leave. Then she'll see how she feels.”

“See how she feels about what?” It was all a little shocking to Katherine. She couldn't even begin to imagine Tom's bewilderment.

“About going back to work!” Tom flailed his arms in the air. “It's crazy, I know!”

Katherine wasn't sure what to say. But somehow learning of Judy's about-face was making her yearn for a place where designing nurseries and taking maternity leave were not considered taboo.

“Go home, Tom.” Katherine closed her laptop, slung her Birkin bag onto her arm, and stood to leave.

“What?”

“You heard me. Go spend time with your wife. It's Friday.”

“It's also noon.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Get out of here before I change my mind.” Katherine smiled. “It's time for both of us to go home.”