“Here, drink this.” She handed her a bottle with a straw in it. But before she could lift it to her lips, her mother grabbed her wrist and said, “Summer, it’s not water...go slowly. It will help with the pain.”
Her mother set her nose and gave her three stitches where her nostril had split open. When she was done, Summer asked for a mirror. Her mother hesitated, but in the end, she brought it to her, her eyes earnest as she watched for her daughter’s reaction. She stared at herself in her mother’s handheld mirror and thought, Oh, good, you’re Frankenstein’s monster.
“You won’t be able to open your eyes in the morning. They’re going to swell shut. There will be bruising, too.”
But Summer didn’t care. All she wanted was sleep. She tried to close her eyes, but her mother hauled her into a sitting position, propping pillows around her until she felt like a stuffed animal.
“I can’t let you sleep. You might have a concussion.”
“Ever again?” Summer slurred.
Her mother laughed softly. “No, just for a little while. I need to make sure your eyes don’t get weird and you don’t throw up.” Her mother’s voice was light, but Summer knew that she was worried.
That night, as she sat propped in bed like a stuffed animal, high on painkillers and vodka, she listened to her mother talk about her father. She didn’t often speak of him, especially how he used to be, and Summer loved those stories. Things had been good before they went bad. Fighting to stay awake, she bit the insides of her cheeks as she listened to the good parts. Her mother told her she had her father’s nose and that his had been broken, too. “In a fight,” she said with a sense of pride in her voice. She wondered if her mother had been there for the fight and wanted to ask. Instead, she lay very still and listened to the emotion beneath her mother’s words. She’d heard love. In a way, her mother had given her her nose, a shape she now shared with her father. Why did he have to die? Why had they had to come here? Why couldn’t her grandparents have loved them better? With the way things were, everyone suffered.
When she was finally allowed to sleep, she settled into her pillow as her mother sat on the edge of her bed and stroked her hair.
“Mama...?”
“Go to sleep, love.”
“We have to get out of here.”
The stroking stopped. “I know.”
They tried to leave two weeks to the day after it happened.
That was the beginning of the end.
12
Now
“Ihave a surgeon in LA who could fix your nose.” Tara briefly made eye contact with Rainy in the mirror before she stood back to examine the feathered sleeves of her top. “He’s the best.”
“I can see that.” Rainy lacked the will to smile, so she made large eyes instead—I am so, so interested eyes. She knew from living in New York for a decade that not every nose was equal and that some of them cost more than a new car.
“Well, it wasn’t my nose I had done, just some other...work,” Tara rushed. And then, as if the need to explain was pressing on her, she detailed the work done to her face as she vigorously washed her hands. “So, noses—easy-peasy. If it was a break, even a long time ago, he can reset the bone.” She waited for Rainy to say something as she dried her hands.
“Some things are best kept broken.” She didn’t look at Tara as she shook the water from her hands and stepped to the towel dispenser.
It wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned the slight bend in her nose, but it was the first time they’d done it so rudely.
“I mean, you’re beautiful either way, but if you ever want to fix it...” One last check in the mirror and Tara moved toward the door in a noiseless pink breeze. There was a rush of sound from the restaurant beyond and then Rainy and her nose were alone. She turned back to the mirror. The bathroom was a goth grotto with slick black walls and eerie lighting. She studied the nose that wasn’t quite straight and blinked at herself. They’d taken an Uber to the restaurant and Rainy had offered to sit in the front seat with the driver while the rest of them climbed into the rear. By the time they’d arrived, she was behind on the conversation and they didn’t try to include her as they made their way inside. The girls ordered drinks right away while Rainy stuck to water. She could blame Tara’s rudeness on her drinking, but she’d felt that strange hostility since she boarded the plane. She was so deep in thought she jumped when the door opened and two women walked in. With one last, quick glance at her nose, she headed back to the table.
Worst idea ever, she thought now. This trip, this gaudy, neon-crusted city—these women!
When Rainy sat down at the table, she was just in time to see Braithe slip her American Express into the billfold and hand it back to the server. Ursa, Tara and Mac were bent over their phones. Had they all chipped in? Why couldn’t they have waited the two extra minutes for her to get back? She was annoyed at not being included in whatever decision they’d made.
“You weren’t here so I just took care of it,” Braithe said, waving her off.
“Well, I’d like to pay my share.” Everyone looked up at the same time and Rainy realized too late that her words had come out more aggressively than she’d intended. Her nose throbbed.
“It’s not a big deal, I got it,” Braithe said, emphasizing the last three words.
“But would it have hurt to have waited the two extra minutes for me to get back?” She knew she was overreacting, but in the moment, she didn’t care.
“Honestly, Rainy, if I knew it was going to be such a big deal I would have gladly waited.”
Guilt and shame rang like a bell in her chest. Rainy ducked her head, her eyes briefly visiting her lap. When she lifted her gaze and met Braithe’s eyes, her friend looked on the verge of tears.
God, Rainy, maybe she was just trying to do something nice.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and Braithe’s expression relaxed a little. Tara, Ursa and Mac looked tense, waiting to see what Braithe would say next.
Braithe clapped her hands and everyone jumped. The moment was so comical they all started laughing.
“Let’s go to Bubbles to get drinks.” It was like little light bulbs lit all their faces.
Rainy turned to Braithe. “What’s that?”
“A bar,” she said, scooting out of her seat and standing up. “And don’t worry, you’re buying me my first drink.”
Rainy would have preferred a shower and a movie in bed. Braithe must have sensed her hesitation, because she grabbed Rainy by the arm and whispered, “Please come,” in her ear as the others walked ahead of them, their jewel-toned heels snapping like fingers on the marble floor.
“Okay, but just one drink and I’m going to head back.”
“Fiiinnne,” Braithe said. They walked like schoolgirls, their arms linked as they lagged behind the others. When they got to the bar, Braithe slid into the seat next to her and ordered an old-fashioned. “What are you having?” She turned to Rainy, her chandelier earrings dancing above her shoulders.
“I’ll have the same,” she said to the bartender.
She hated the drink, but for some reason all of Grant’s friends drank them with enthusiasm. Looking around, Rainy noticed that most of the clientele were their age and remarkably beautiful.
“What is this place?” She darted her eyes around the space; it was themed, like the restaurant they’d just come from.
“It’s a champagne lounge.” Ah, now it made sense: the blush colors on the walls and the stools that resembled champagne bottles. But why order an old-fashioned in a champagne lounge?
“I really am sorry about earlier.” Braithe’s voice drew Rainy back from her thoughts. Her face was earnest, and Rainy believed her—not because of that, but because Braithe had always been honest with her. She glanced over at Tara, who was on the other side of Braithe, and saw her staring at them. Rainy looked away quickly, uncomfortable with the whole vibe.