news again. “Tell me about your average patient,” Emmy prompted, barely even noticing Dr. Kim’s gloved finger inside her. She felt the pinch of the Pap smear Q-tip and held her breath to ke ep from moving. “Emmy! Y ou could tell it to me. I’ve told you a hundred times already .” “One more won’ t hurt.” Dr. Kim removed her finger and snapped off her glove. She sighed again. “I have approximately two hundred and fifty patients in my practice at this location. Of those women, the average age for first-time pregnancy is thirty-four . Which of course means that—” “A whole bunch have to be even older than that,” Emmy finished. “Exactly . And while I don’t want to misr epresent anything here—it’s important you understand that this is the Upper East Side and probably the only place in the country , if not the world, where that statistic stands—the majority do not experience dif ficulty.” “So no pregnant patients in their twenties?” Emmy prompted. Dr. Kim untied Emmy’ s robe and began to examine her left breast in a firm, circular motion. She stared at the wall as she did this, clearly concentrating. After finishing both sides, she pulled the robe closed again and placed a hand on Emmy’ s arm. “Only a few ,” she said, looking at Emmy with concern. “A few! Last time you said ‘practically none.’” “Only the very young wives of a few Mormon doctors from Utah doing their rotations at Mt. Sinai.” Emmy breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you still happy with your pill?” Dr. Kim asked, making notations on Emmy’ s chart. “It’s fine.” Emmy shrugged and sat up on the table, removing her feet from the sock-covered stirrups. “Certainly does work like a charm.” Dr. Kim laughed. “That is the point, isn’t it? I’ll leave you a new script for another six months’ worth at the front desk, okay? We’ll mail your test results within a week, but I don’t foresee any problems at all. Everything looks perfectly healthy.” She handed Emmy’ s chart to the nurse and, after making sure Emmy was covered , opened the door. “See you in six months. And sweetheart? Please relax. As your doctor, I’m telling you that there’s absolutely nothing whatsoever to worry about.” Easy for you to say, with your three kids , Emmy thought as she smiled politely and nodded. You, and Izzie, and all those other gynecologists with
gaggles of children or sporting gigantic baby bumps themselves , telling me not to worry. Izzie was due any moment now—she was already three days past her due date, in fact—but to her misery she hadn’t felt a single contraction, nor dilated a fraction of a centimeter . Emmy had grudgingly agreed to wait until Izzie checked herself into the hospital to jump on a flight to Florida (Izzie insisted that first babies could be a week or even two weeks late, and it was stupid to rush down there until they were sure), but she couldn’ t stop thinking of her new n ephew’ s impending arrival. After dressing, Emmy jumped on the 4 train to Union Square. She figured on a brisk walk directly home to shower—something she always felt compelled to do after the K-Y-heavy exams—but as she exited the subway at Fourteenth and Broadway she found herself heading directly toward Leigh and Adriana’ s building. With Leigh’s breakup only a week old and Adriana’ s newfound commitment to work, she figured at least one of them had to be home, sulking or writing or both, but the doorman shook his head. “They did leave together , though,” he said, checking his watch. “Probably an hour or so ago.” Emmy texted them both the same message: WTF?? In your lobby. Where are you? and received nearly simultaneo us responses. Leigh’s read Shopping w/Adi for your 30 th! Talk later ; Adriana’s was a bit more concise: If you want a bday present, go home. Emmy sighed, thanked the girls’ doorman, and began the slushy, freezing trudge to Perry Street. It was a cold, wet Friday evening in February , and Emmy was desperate for a shower, but she managed to avoid going home to her empty apartment for nearly two hours, as she found a reason to stop at nearly every block along Thirteenth: a hot coffee from Grey Dog on University; a long, adoring gaze at the puppies playing in the window at Wet Nose; an impromp tu manicure and paraffin pedicure at Silk Day Spa, where they were kind enough to take her without an appointment. No point in racing home only to sit by herself as the clock struck twelve and she kissed her twenties good-bye. She’d flat- out rejected the girls’ offer of a fun night out—shot down suggestions for everything from an elegant dinner at Babbo (even though she was dying to try their mint pasta with the spicy lamb sausage) to a regressive night at Culture Club. It was only after weeks of pushing and prodding that Emmy finally agreed to show up the next afternoon for some sort of surprise birthday activity . Adriana and Leigh promised only that it wouldn’ t in volve
men of any kind, so she had grudgingly agreed. She planned to fill the hours between now and then with a bottle of wine and some quality self- pity. Perhaps, if she was feeling really motivated, she’d Max Delivery herself some cupcakes. By the time she reached her building and trudged up the five flights of stairs, she was drenched from head to toe: her hair from the freezing rain, her feet from the filthy slush, and her ladyparts from the overzealous application of medical-grade lube. There had been no birthday cards in her mailbox, and not a single package in the hallway outside her door. Nothing. She reminded herself that it was still only the day before, that if all else failed she could certainly rely on something from her mom and Izzie. She stripped just inside the doorway , tossing her wet clothes in a pile by the closet, and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was just as the hot water was fully soaking her hair that she heard her cell phone ring. Her home phone rang next, and then the cell again. She couldn’ t help but hope it was Rafi, that he’d tracked down her number somehow and was calling to apologize for being such an ass. Granted, it was unlikely that he’d found both her cell and home numbers, but who knew? He seemed resourceful enough, and besides, he was likely the only one of her recent men— affairs —who might even bother to find her. George had definitely moved on to his next undergraduate already, and there was no reason to believe Croc Dundee would ever be heard from again. After towel-dryi ng her hair and maneuvering her body next to the toilet so she could open the door, Emmy crossed the small studio and, kneeling down, naked, pulled a shopping bag out from under her bed. She carefully untied the grosgrain ribbon that secured the handles and gingerly removed the tissue-wrapp ed bundle from inside. Then, losing all patience, she tore the monogrammed foil sticker in half, bunched the tissue paper into a pile, and plunged her hands into the plushness of the single most expensive item she had ever owned. To call it a robe was a disservice to the luxurious softness of the four-ply cashmere, to its rich chocolate color and its elegantly simple monogramme d E. Robes were for covering up flannel pajamas or maintaining a modicum of decency between the locker room and the pool. But this? This was meant to drape sexily over every curve (or, in Emmy’ s case, to expertly accentuate what few curves there were), to feel as light as silk but as warm as down. It grazed the floor breezily as she walked, and the cinch-tie at the waist made her feel like a model. She was
instantly flooded with relief. It had not been a mistake. She’d seen it a couple of weeks earlier in the window of So Ho’s most expensive lingerie salon, a place where it was impossible to buy three inches of fabric for less than a few hundred dollars. Every bra, every panty, every pair of stockings in the store was more expensive than any dress she owned, which made the robe... well... a bigger chunk of her monthly rent than she cared to remember . How had she worked up the nerve even to enter the store? It remained a blur. All she knew was how good she looked wearing that robe in the plush salon dressing room with the heavy brocade curtains, her lips pursed and her right hip jutted out, standing sexily in the provided pair of stilettos. One look in the mirror tonight confirmed that nothing had changed in the weeks the robe had waited, virginal and wrapped, until her big birthday . Still in front of the mirror, Emmy combed her wet hair back into a chic chignon and bit her lips to make them swell. She slicked on a new sheer berry lip gloss from her makeup drawer and patted a bit onto her cheeks. Not bad , she thought with surprised pleasure. Not bad for thirty at all. Then, suddenly bored with the spontaneous makeover and ravenously hungry, she slid into a pair of snuggly she epskin booties, retied the cashmere dream around her middle, and headed to the kitchen to make some soup. The landline jangled again just as she plugged in her hot plate. Private caller . Hmm. “Hello?” she said, propping the phone between her ear and shoulder while she wrenched open a can of chicken noodle soup. “Em? It’ s me.” No matter how many months went by, it felt like Duncan would always say “It’s me,” and Emmy would always know exactly who was speaking. A million thoughts flashed through her mind. He was calling to wish her a happy birthday... which meant he remembered her birthday... which meant he was thinking about her... whi ch possibly meant he wasn’t thinking about the cheerleader... unless, oh god, he was calling to give her news... news that had everything to do with the cheerleader... news that she was not pr epared to hear , not tonight, not ever . Reflexively she almost hung up, but something forced her to ke ep the phone to her ear. If she didn’t say something soon she was going to ask him straight-out if he was engaged, so as a purely defensive maneuver she said the first thing that came to her mind.
“When did you make your number private?” He laughed. His amused-but-not-totally-enamored Duncan laugh. “We don’t talk for months on end and that’ s all you have to say?” “Were you hoping for something else?” “No, I guess not. Listen, I know you just got home and everything, but I was hoping I could come up?” “Come up? T o my apartment? Y ou’re here?” “Yeah, I’ve, uh, been here awhile. At the copy shop across the street, waiting for you to get home. They’re getting a little weirded out by me, I think, so it would be great if I could come in for a minute.” “So you’ve been just sitting there watching my apartment?” How odd to find something so cre epy and so flattering at the same time. Duncan laughed again. “Yeah, well, I called a few times before, right when you walked in, but you didn’t pick up. I promise I won’t stay long. I just want to talk to you face-to-face.” So he was engaged. That asshole! Probably thought he was doing something noble by coming all the way over here to tell her in person. And on the day before her birthday , which she was willing to bet any amount he had completely forgotten. He could take his face-to-face talk and shove it, as far as she was concerned, and without a moment’ s hesitation, Emmy told him as much. “Emmy , wait, don’ t hang up. It’ s not like that. I just—” “I’m pretty fucking sick of hearing what you want and don’t want, Duncan. In fact, my life has been about a thousand times better without you in it, so why don’t you run home now to your little pom-pom girlfriend and make her miserable. Because I’ll tell you what: I’m not interested.” She slammed down the phone and felt a wave of tremendous satisfaction, which was instantly followed by a tremendous wave of panic. What had she just done? Barely sixty seconds passed before she heard a knock at the door . “Emmy? I obviously know you’re there. Can you please open up? Just for one minute, I promise.” She knew she should be supremely pissed off that he’d used the key he’d never bothered to return, but part of her was downright curious: What could possibly be so important that Duncan—Mr . Indifference Personified —would resort to full-fledged stalking? She was also partly relieved; the
Duncan she knew would never, ever make such an effort simply to announce his own engagement. Not even bothering to kick off her furry slippers, Emmy opened the door and leaned against it. “What?” she asked without a smile. “What’s so important?” Winded from the five-flight climb, but significantly less than he used to be—the three or four times in five years he’d bothered to come to her place, that is—he looked pretty damn good, and she suspected the positive changes (thinner face, no deathly pallor, great haircut that hid the small bald spot) were the results of the cheerleader ’s hard work, not his own. “Can I come in?” he asked with one of his specialty smiles, a grin that fell somewhere between flirtatious and bored. Emmy backed against the door and waved her hand toward the apartment, making sure he saw her own supremely indif ferent expression. It took a couple of seconds to close the door and secure the lock, and when Emmy turned around again to face Duncan, he was staring at her with unabashed appreciation. Bordering on worship, were she to be honest with herself. And for possibly the very first time in Duncan’ s presence, she didn’t feel the least bit self-conscious about her appearance. “Jesus, Em, you look great,” he said with more sincerity than she thought him capable of. Emmy looked down at her robe, remembered the mini-makeov er she’d performed after getting out of the shower, and secretly thanked the universe that he hadn’ t seen her a mere thirty minutes earlier . “Thanks.” His eyes continued to move up and down her body, lingering appreciatively every few inches. “No, I mean like really, really great. The best you’ve ever looked. Whatever you’re doing, it’s definitely working for you,” he said without a hint of irony . Oh, you mean screwing my brains out with virtually every attractive stranger I meet? Buying sexy lingerie? Refusing to hate my body just because you did? Y es, shockingly , things ar e going well. “Thanks, Duncan” was all she said. He looked around the apartment. “Where’ s Otis?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the empty cage. “Did he finally...” “Ha! I wish. Although I guess it’ s the next best thing.” Duncan stared at her questioningly .
“Adriana watched him during my last work trip—very grudgingly , I have to say—an d she bitched about it for days. Then, out of nowhere, I get home, call her to say I’m on my way to pick him up, thank you so much for watching him, blah, blah, blah—literally , I’ve bought her a bottle of hundred-dollar wine as a thank-you and an apology—and she says he can stay for a while.” “Stay with her?” “Yes! Can you imagine? She said they’ve bonded. That I was underappreciating Otis and that she’ s given him a new lease on life.” “To which you r eplied?” “Like you even have to ask? I said she’s absolutely right; I have underappreciated him, and it’s true he and I have most definitely never bonded. That if she’d like him to stay for ‘a while,’ I could probably find it in my heart to allow it. That was eight weeks ago. I spoke to her this morning and the two of them were on their way to the ‘birdie spa’—her words, not mine. I’m just holding my breath and praying it’s not all a dream.” Duncan took off his overcoat and tossed it on a chair. He was still wearing a suit; he had come straight from work. He was carrying a plain brown shopping bag and Emmy couldn’ t help but wonder if this was a birthday present for her . “Here, I got you something,” he said when he saw her looking at it. “You did?” Her voice sounded more hopeful than she would have liked. The bag was bulky when he handed it to her, heavy, and her first thought was that it must be some sort of photography book. Perhaps one of those photographic guides to great hotels, or a tour of one of the Caribbean islands they used to visit during Duncan’ s rare vacations. Emmy eagerly pulled open the bag and was momentarily shocked to discover nothing more than a single ream of printer paper . Duncan noticed Emmy’ s surprised expression and shrugged. “I sat in that damn shop for over an hour . I had to buy something .” “Uh-huh.” So he hadn’t remembered her birthday , or picked out his own gift for the very first time. This shouldn’ t have been surprising or disappointing, but for some reason, it was both. “So, you’re probably , uh, wondering why I’m here....” He let his voice trail off, but Emmy didn’t say a word. “I know that whole situation with
Brianna wasn’t easy for either of us, but that’s, uh, over now, and I was hoping we could, uh, try to work through that.” Well. There it was. Emmy was so surprised she had to grab the counter for support. Her mind barely knew where to begin. He had just dropped three completely ind ependent yet equally shocking bombs in a single sentence. First, there was that bit about calling the dramatic ending of their five-year relationship due to his own infidelity with a fitness trainer Emmy had bought him a “situation”—not to mention that disgusting little addition about it not being easy for him, either. Then there was the casual pronouncement that said “situation” was over, a detail he must have assumed Emmy knew, because how could she not be following the minutiae of his life? And last, the biggest one of all: Duncan was sitting in her apartment on a cold Friday night when he’d otherwise be out with his friends, nervously suggesting that they could “work through this.” Emmy knew she was prone to exaggeration and flights of fancy—an d of course further confirmation was needed—but this sounded to her like he was asking to get back together . She had a million, trillion questions for him (Why did they break up? Whose idea was it? And, most important of all, why did he want to get back together with her?), but she refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she leaned back against the counter , crossed her arms, and peered at Duncan. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked before jamming his pointer finger in his mouth and gnawing on a cuticle. Number eight hundred eighteen of the things I don’ t miss, Emmy thought. “I’m not feeling so chatty tonight,” Emmy said evenly , gazing at him. He sighed as if to suggest this was all very difficult. “Em, look, I’m an idiot, okay? I know I fucked up, and I want to make it right. The whole Brianna thing—it was a glitch, a bump in the road, a totally meaningless thing that should’ve never happened in the first place. You and me, we’re meant to be together . We both know it. So what do you say? I’m standing before you, hat in hand”—at this, he mimed pulling off a cap and holding it toward her—“begging you to come back to me.” He walked to her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and kissed her ever so softly on the lips. Emmy let herself be kissed, let him press his mouth to hers, and reveled in the familiarity and comfort of it. Duncan pulled away, and while gently brushing the hair back off her face, looked into her eyes and asked, “So? What do you say?”
Whether she’d admitted it or not, she’d waited ten months for this very moment, and here it was, and it felt every bit as incredible as she had envisioned. Emmy returned his gaze with her sweetest possible smile. “What do I say?” she asked coyly, flirtatiously . “I say I’m going to give myself the best thirtieth birthday present on earth and tell you—right here, right now, and for the last time ever— to get the fuck out of my apartm ent. That’s what I say .”
“You did not !” Adriana squealed, clapping her hands together . “I did,” Emmy said with a huge smile. “Did not!” “Did so. And I can’ t begin to tell you how good it felt.” Adriana hugged Emmy, pulled her as close as their tiny table would allow. They were at Alice’s Tea Cup on the Upper East Side, packed in with dozens, maybe hundreds of females of every imaginable age, rehashing Emmy’ s triumphant moment. “Y ou so did the right thing.” “Um, yeah!” Emmy said with widened eyes. “Don’t think for a second I’m doubting it. Do you believe that asshole had the nerve to show up at my apartment, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday , and ask me to take him back —all without ever bothering to apologize? He is loathsome.” “Always was.” Adriana nodded until she noticed Emmy looking at her with a funny expression. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just agreeing that his actions were particularly r epugnant this time.” Good lord, these girls could be so sensitive! An extra-perky adorable waitress approached their table. “Celebrating a special occasion today , ladies?” she asked. Emmy snorted. “What gave it away? The crow’s-feet or the three ringless wonders, out for afternoon tea, just like they will be in fifty years?” “The three ringless wonders? That’s a new one.” Adriana rolled her eyes and glanced at Leigh, who sat, stone-faced, her bare left hand jammed under her thigh. Adriana felt bad; Emmy must not have known that Leigh had returned the ring to Russell the night before. “Good, right? I just made that up right now. But it has a nice ring to it... ha! No pun intended!” Emmy cracked up. “Sorry, I just figured since—” The waitress coughed and looked at her feet.
Adriana interrup ted. “No, we’re sorry. Actually , we are celebrating... this one’ s thirtieth birthday . And as you can see, we’re struggling.” “Thirty? Really? You look great for thirty!” the girl said enthusiastically . She couldn’ t have been a day over twenty-four . “I can only hope I look so good then.” Thankfully , Leigh st epped in before Emmy could say anything truly nasty and said, “Y eah, she does, doesn’ t she? W e’re ready to order .” The waitress grinned while taking their orders and bounced off, convinced she’d just made someone’ s day. “Bitch,” Emmy hissed under her breath. “May her huge, perky boobs give her back pain by thirty .” Adriana slapped the table. “Did you see her sun damage? Please! That girl is going to look like a leathery hag when she turns thirty. Her boobs are the least of her problems.” “I don’t know what you two were looking at, but I couldn’ t take my eyes off her hair ,” Leigh said. “Her hair? What was wrong with her hair?” Emmy asked. “Well, there is nothing wrong with it now, but you can just see she’s going to be the thinning type. I sure wouldn’ t want to be thirty with a receding hairline and a thinned-out center part.” All three girls laughed. “Yeah, well, you’re right.... That was probably long overdue,” Emmy said, picking up right where they’d left off before the unfortun ate waitress incident. “It’s just weird how everything unfolds, you know? I wanted nothing more than for Duncan to come back and declare his undying love for me, for us to run off into the sunset together , for him to realize what a horrible mistake he’d made, and then, the moment exactly that happens, all I want is for him to get hit by a bus. Is that normal?” “Perfectly ,” Adriana said. “Don’t you think, Leigh?” Adriana had tried to incorporate Leigh into the conversation earlier, but she hadn’t said much of anything, had just sat there with a distracted smile and occasionally murmured a “hmm.” “Definitely ,” Leigh said now, turning to Adriana. “Our little girl is growing up! I think it’s so—” The sound of Leigh’s cell phone stopped her midsentence. Adriana watched as she pulled it from her bag, checked the caller ID, and hit Ignore. “Jesse again?” she asked.
Leigh nodded. “You’d think he’d get the message by now. I haven’t returned a single call since he got back from Indonesia.” “Yes, querida ? And exactly what message is that?” Of course she couldn’ t be so blunt about it to her friends, but Adriana had been thrilled when Emmy had called with the news of Leigh’s affair and subsequent breakup with Russell. Not that she didn’t adore Russell—every one adored Russell. But she adored Leigh more and wanted the very best for her. Now an affair? With a married man? Who also happened to be brilliant, volatile, and wildly inappropriate in myriad other ways? This was a wonderfully unexpected st ep in the right direction. If only Leigh could see it that way, too.... “That what happened between us was a mistake, a onetime thing that happened months ago, for chrissake, and that we really don’t need to talk about. I just don’ t understand why he has to make this harder than it is.” Emmy laughed. “Sweetheart, you can’t blame the guy for recognizing that this is a little more complicated than that, can you? Does he know you ended things with Russell?” Leigh’s head whipped up. “Of course not,” she said curtly. “What happened between Russell and me had nothing to do with Jesse.” Adriana snorted. The girl was delusional! When was she going to be able to just admit she was madly in love with the wrong guy? Adriana began to plot her next column; if her perfectly sane and rational friend could be so blind, other women must suffer as well. Perhaps she could call it “Deluded Thinking: A Primer.” Or maybe “Why I Insist on Lying to Myself.” Y es, that could work nicely . Leigh glared at her . “What?” “Do you really believe that, querida ?” “Yes, actually , I really do. Because it’s true! Russell and I were”—she paused here, searching for the right words—“having problems long before I even met Jesse. I might concede—might—that what happened with Jesse helped open my eyes to what was going on with Russell, but even that’s a stretch. I sl ept with Jesse because I was feeling lonely and probably a little bit scared of what was happenin g between Russell and me. It was a lapse in judgment during a particularly vulnerable time in my life. Nothing more, nothing less.” Emmy and Adriana exchanged looks. “What? What are you two looking at each other for?”
Adriana was grateful when Emmy took the reins with her most soothing tone and diplomatic word choice. “We’re not saying you don’t think that’s true, but... well... does that mean it has to be true for Jesse, too?” “And it doesn’t take a shrink to see that you look about a thousand times more relaxed than usual,” Adriana chimed in. Leigh rolled her eyes. “Look, you two, you know I love you both, but this is getting ridiculous! Regardless of how I feel—felt—about Jesse, you’re both overlooking a rather important detail. Stay with me here, okay? Jesse. Chapman. Is. Married. Married, as in committed for life to another woman. Married, as in sle eping with me makes him a liar and a cheater whom my best friends should not be encouraging me to pursue. Married, as in—” Adriana held up a hand. Nothing bothered her more than when Leigh went all preachy and puritanical on her. “All right, all right, we get it,” she said. A different server appeared, a man this time, carrying a tray of food. “Oh, no! I hope we didn’t scare off your colleague,” Emmy said. “We were being sort of obnoxious.” The waiter looked at her strangely and began to auction off the food. “Lapsang Souchong Smoked Chicken Breast Salad with dressing on the side?” He placed it in front of Leigh. “And two Mad Hatters, with the scones and sandwiches at the same time, as requested. Your tea will be right out. Can I get you ladies anything else?” “A husband? A baby? Some sort of life?” Emmy asked. “Any of those on the menu?” He backed away from the table slowly, like she was a wild animal. “I, uh, I’ll be back to check on you. Enjoy ,” he mumbled as he bolted. “Christ, Emmy, get ahold of yourself. You’re scaring people,” Adriana admonished, although she secretly found the whole thing extremely entertaining. Emmy sighed. “What else is new?” “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this past week,” Leigh said, looking across the table at her friends. Adriana thought this inauspicio us. Leigh’s “thinking” almost always resulted in the type of decision that only made her unhappier . Adriana pr epared herself for the sentence that would surely begin, “I’m thinking I should...” “I’m thinking I should go back to school,” she said quietly .
“What?” Adriana screeched. Where could this possibly be stemming from? School? “Why on earth would you do that?” Leigh smiled. “Because I’ve always wanted to,” she said. “You have?” Emmy asked. Leigh nodded. “For an MFA in creative writing. I wanted to go right after graduation—remember?—but my dad got me that assistant job at Brook Harris, and k ept saying that no good editor—or writer for that matter —needed an advanced degree, that the best thing I could do for my career was to get started on it.” She laughed bitterly. “What we both failed to consider was that this wasn’ t the career I wanted.” “But, Leigh, sweetheart, you’re so good at it! Just seconds away from a huge promotion, working with a huge bestselling author—” Leigh interrupted Emmy . “Worked with. Past tense.” Adriana sighed. Leigh could be so dramatic sometimes! “Just because you had sex with him does not mean you can’t edit him, Leigh. If every single person refused to work with someone they’d sl ept with, the entire world economy would shut down.” “I agree,” Leigh said. “We probably could’ve gotten over it. And god knows Henry wouldn’t have cared, so long as that manuscrip t was in on time. I just meant it was past tense because I quit already . Yesterday .” “Stop it!” Emmy shouted. A group of middle-aged tourists turned to stare at them. “Y ou’re joking,” she whispered. “How come you didn’t tell me yesterday , when we were shopping?” Adriana asked, gripping Leigh’ s arm. “Did you just for get to mention it?” “I needed some time to process it. I told Henry that I wasn’t in any rush, I’d stay as long as it took for a seamless transition, but that I was definitely leaving.” “Ohmigod,” Emmy breathed. “How did he take it?” Adriana asked. She she couldn’ t help being the teensiest bit upset that Leigh had upstaged her. After all, she had her own exciting news to announce. “He was pretty surprised. Said he’d been getting bizarre calls from Jesse for weeks saying that he had done something—an unnamed something— that had probably made me uncomfortable, that it was entirely his fault, that it would never happen again, and apparently begged Henry not to hand him over to another editor .”
“Well, that was nice of him. You don’t think Henry knows, do you?” Emmy asked. “No. From what he said, it sounds like he thinks Jesse came on to me in some way, made me uncomfor table, and I freaked. Figures that’s why I don’t want to work with him anymore, and he even tried to tell me that the occasional pervy author was part of the deal, a hazard of the trade or whatever .” Leigh laughed ruefully and took a sip of tea. “I wonder what he’d think if he knew I practically dragged Jesse to bed?” “ Querida, I can’t believe you actually quit your job! What’s your game plan?” “Guess what? For the first time in my entire life, I don’t really know.” Leigh refilled her teacup and didn’t appear too concerned. “I want to take some time off, not rush into anything, maybe travel a little before hopefully starting school this fall. I haven’t really figured it all out, but I’ll probably have to sell my apartment and”—she paused for a minute and turned to Emmy—“find a roommate? No pressure, Em, I swear, but I know you hate your place and have been talking about moving forever, so no need to answer now, but maybe we could find a cute two-bedroom together somewhere?” Leigh was ruining everything! Adriana had a whole plan. She had been so excited to tell Emmy about it, and now Leigh was screwing it all up. She tried to interject. “W ell, guess what? I have something—” “Ohmigod, are you kidding?” Emmy was practically shrieking. “I would love that. Love, love, love it. I can’t stand that fucking studio for one more second. I’ll move anywhere. Anywhere! My only requirement is an oven. And a stove. That should be manageable, right? Just say the word.” “Done!” Leigh said. “Let’s start looking right away. I’m ready to move as soon as my place sells.” “Hellooooo? Do you two hear me? Hello!” Adriana said, a bit more peevishly than she intended. “I have something that might be of interest to you both.” The girls turned and looked at her expectantly . “So, nothing’ s finalized yet—an d I probably shouldn’ t even be saying anything—but I will most likely be moving to Los Angeles.” That silenced them. It was satisfying to watch Leigh gasp and Emmy’ s mouth drop open. What’s a girl got to do to get a little attention around here? Adriana thought.
“What?” “Why?” “Is it Toby?” “Are you moving in with him?” “Do your parents know?” “Is it definite?” “Are you getting married?” This was absolutely delicious, better even than she had hoped. She sighed dramatically . “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you everything. Just calm down.” By which she meant, of course, Ke ep firing questions at me, I love it! Happily , her friends obliged, and Adriana reveled in their curiosity until she got to utter the words she never thought she’d hear herself say, words that made her prouder and more excited than she could possibly have imagined. “I have a job offer, and I plan to acc ept it,” she said and sat back to relish her friends’ reactions. It was so delicious springing exciting news on her unsuspecting friends. How else could you get them to pay attention? “A what?” Leigh asked with a puzzled expression. “What, exactly, do you mean by ‘job’?” Emmy asked, looking equally confused. “Oh, come on! What do you think I mean?” This was exasperati ng! Was it really so impossible to imagine her with a job just because she’d never k ept one before? Puh-lease. The whole world worked; she was sure she could handle it, too. “Okay, Adi, don’t make us beg for it. Give us the rundown,” Leigh said, leaning forward over the table. Adriana took a de ep, dramatic breath. So kill her for wanting to enjoy this! It wasn’t every day Adriana de Souza was taken seriously . “Let’s see, the Cliffs Notes version is fairly straightforward. You already know about the Marie Clair e column?” Both girls nodded. “Well, we were out to dinner the other night with some of Toby’s colleagues at Paramount. He was bragging about my columns getting picked up—you should’ve seen it, he was absolutely adorable—and one of the women, a producer of some sort, started acting all interested. She k ept asking all these questions about me, the columns, how Marie Claire found me, when the first one was getting published... and like a million others. I sort of thought she was just being polite, but she called the next day and
told me that she was interested in—are you ready for this?—developing my ideas into a movie!” “Ohmigod,” Emmy breathed. Leigh looked dumbstruck. “No way . No, no, no way!” Adriana nodded happily . “Yes, yes, yes! I e-mailed her the samples I’d submitted to Marie Clair e and she called back later that very same day . Said she wanted to preempt anyone else and start working on it before the first column actually gets published and, in her words, ‘inevitably becomes a phenomenon.’ She called me the next Candace Bushnell.” “Shut up!” her friends called out simultaneously . “I’m completely serious.” Leigh leaned even closer; she was practically pressing her face against Adriana’ s. “So what does that mean? What will you do for her?” “I didn’t totally understand, either, but Toby said that the first st ep is to get an agent—he’ s recommending someone good—and then they’ll negotiate a consulting contract on my behalf. The producer has a deal with Paramount and a trailer on their lot, and she’s going to pair me with a screenwriter to work on developing a script. If everything goes through, I’ll be moving in the next two months.” What she hadn’t told her friends was that the producer was fine with her working from New York—had expected it, even—and that it was entirely her choice to move to LA. It was just time for a change. Adriana had been in New York since the day she’d graduated, and she knew she’d move back sooner than later. If she didn’t try living somewhere else now, it might never happen. Plus, the idea of getting even farther away from her parents and their meddling restrictions was immensely appealing. “Adriana, that is so incredible. Incredible. Congratulations!” Leigh said as she pushed herself up from the table and went to hug her friend. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Adriana asked Emmy , who had begun tearing up. “Sorry,” she sniffled. “I really am so happy for you. I just can’t believe you’re going to move.” “ Querida! You went first, remember? Culinary school in Cali? As if there aren’t perfectly good schools on the East Coast. But you came back, and I will, too. Besides, I have something that might make you feel better .” “What?” Emmy asked. She said it petulantly , like a stubborn, curious child. “I think you’re really , really going to like it.”
“What? T ell me! What?” “Well, I was wondering if you wouldn’ t want to live in my apartment while I’m gone. And”—she paused dramatically and turned to Leigh, who was just staring at her—“you, too, querida . I didn’t realize you two were planning to live together , but what could be more perfect than my place? I spoke to my parents and they were thrilled about Emmy staying there, and I’m sure they’ll love it even more if you’d both be there. Three bedrooms, rent-free, of course, with only two caveats: You have to send them their mail wherever they are once a week, and you have to deal with their occasional visit to New York. Which should be significantly less frequent since I won’ t be here. What do you both think?” “Gee, I don’ t know,” Leigh said. “Sounds like a shitty deal to me.” “Yeah, seriously . Fucking miserable. A free three-bedroom, its only responsibility a once-weekly trip to the post office. Christ, Adriana, how could you even suggest it?” “Please, querida ! The post office? Uch! We have an arrangement with UPS; they come to the apartment, pick up the mail bundle, package it, and ship it. You’ll only need to collect it from the lobby mailbox,” Adriana said in her best isn’ t-it-obvious voice. Leigh slammed her hands against the table. “Holy shit, it just occurred to me. The penthouse means the top floor .” “Stating the obvious, Leigh,” Adriana said. “And the top floor means no one banging on the ceiling! Ohmigod!” she started to laugh and cry at the same time. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited about anything in my entire life!” Emmy made a dramatic show of raising her arms and staring at the ceiling. “Penthouse A, here we come!” “And you, Adriana?” Leigh asked. “Where, my dear, are you going to live while Emmy and I sle ep in blissful nonclomping silence? Do I sense some cohabitation in your immediate future?” Adriana smiled. This might be the best part of all. “Well, Toby did ask me to move in with him,” she said as the girls clapped, “and while things are going really well with us—surprisingly well, actually—I think that’s even more reason not to jump into anything.” She stopped, sipped her tea, and pretended to ponder something. “So... I’m going to take the money I’ll earn from the consultant project and the columns and rent my very own
little apartment in Venice Beach. Just a little studio, as close to the beach as possible. Near the farmers’ market, I think.” Emmy turned to Leigh and sighed. “Leigh, do you believe it? Our little girl is growing up. Doing everything all on her own!” Adriana held up her hands for silence. “Not so fast, querida . I do have one favor to ask of you, and it’s a big one.” She could feel herself tense up, praying that Emmy would say yes. Emmy peered at her with curiosity . “A big one, huh? Bigger than Penthouse A? Hit me, Adi.” “I was hoping you might let me, uh, borrow Otis for the year? Oh, Emmy, I know he’s your pet, and I know it’s crazy to drag the poor thing across the country , but we’ve just bonded so much these past few weeks. In a weird way—and please don’t laugh at me for this—I think of him as my good-luck charm. My life just sort of fell into place when he arrived. Would you mind terribly?” Adriana knew Emmy wouldn’ t mind—wou ld in fact be ecstatic that she wanted to ke ep him—but there was no harm in letting Emmy think she was pulling one over on her, right? It was a small gift for a best friend. “Hmm,” Emmy murmured, pretending to mull this over. “I guess it would be okay. I mean, who am I to stand in the way of someone’ s good- luck charm? If you’d like to take Otis with you, then by all means, he’s yours.” “To Otis,” Leigh said, raising her teacup. “To Emmy on her birthday . In the immortal words of our waitress, may everyone look so good at thirty!” Adriana added, holding her teacup aloft. Emmy was the last to raise her cup and clink it with her friends’. “To the three ringless wonders. May we be every bit as wonderful but hopefully not so ringless in another thirty years.” “I’ll toast to that!” Leigh said. “Me, too,” Adriana added, filled with excitement about everything that lay ahead. “Cheers, queridas . Cheers to us.”
Three Months Later “Emmy!” Leigh called from Adriana’ s old bedroom, which with the addition of her fluffy down comforter , a cluster of silver picture frames, and her favorite reading chair she had easily made her own. “The car’s downstairs. W e’re going to be late!” She heard her friend stomping back and forth between rooms, inevitably packing every item that wasn’t nailed down. “Have you seen my Nano? Or my phone char ger? I can’ t fucking find anything!” Leigh zipped up her neatly packed carry-on roller and carefully placed the matching satchel on top of it. She ran through a mental checklist and, after satisfying herself that she hadn’t forgotten anything, pulled her belongings into the hallway . She walked into Emmy’ s room—previously the de Souzas’ guest room—we nt directly to her dresser, and plucked both Nano and phone charger from the giant glass fishbowl Emmy used as a catchall. “Here. Throw these in your purse and let’s go. We are not missing this flight!” “Okay, okay,” Emmy mumbled, yanking a brush through her hair. “This is an obscene hour to be awake, never mind actually moving. I’m doing the best I can.”