Ursa shrugged. “I think they’re jealous, honestly. Not everything is what it seems with those two. All I know is that after this trip I am taking a Tiger Mountain break.” She slung her legs back up on the chair and put her sunglasses on.
That was about as much as she was going to get from the woman, who was facing the sun with determination. She feels bad for telling me. Resuming her position on the deck chair, she turned her head casually toward Ursa.
“One more thing...”
Ursa didn’t face her, but she nodded.
“Did you ever meet any of Grant’s other girlfriends?”
This time she smiled. “I only met one of them. Tara had a barbecue at her house one summer and Grant brought her with.”
“What was she like?” She felt like the shittiest human in the world asking Ursa when she could have asked Grant, who would have gladly told her.
“Not like you.” Ursa glanced at Rainy, looking wary, like she thought Rainy might be offended.
Rainy chewed her lip, wishing she’d get on with it. She didn’t need to be coddled; she needed to know what was going on.
“Anyway, everyone was really drunk by the end of the night and Marchessa—that was her name—got into an argument with Braithe, and then all hell broke loose.”
“What type of hell?” she asked. A server appeared with Ursa’s drink. She set it down next to Ursa and looked expectantly at Rainy.
“Same, thanks,” she said. I guess I am drinking again, she thought wryly.
“Put it on my tab.” Ursa waved over her first sip. “So, anyway,” she said as soon as the server was out of earshot, “I was pretty new back then and have never revisited this with them, but Braithe and Marchessa were in the kitchen and all of a sudden Tara comes hurtling out the back door, still holding a tray of hot dog buns, and runs up to Grant to tell him they’re fighting.” She paused to sip her drink and check her phone simultaneously. “Sorry, just have to answer this.”
Rainy waited while Ursa texted. Her drink arrived and she was so thirsty she drank the whole thing before the server left. “Another,” she said. “And two waters.”
“Hair of the dog, get it, girl.” Ursa tossed her phone on the towel at her feet and stretched languidly. “I still to this day do not know what started the fight, but I do know that Grant had to pull Marchessa off Braithe, and then Stephen came running and they were screaming cunty things at each other. After that weekend I heard Marchessa and Grant broke up, and then we didn’t hear much from him until he started seeing you.”
“Wow, okay,” Rainy said. “That’s a lot. Did she look like me?” She asked it before she lost the nerve. Ursa laughed her full, deep, brazen laugh, and it made Rainy laugh, too.
“Get right down to it. No, she did not look like you. She was blonde and bouncy and vegan. You’re like dark and artsy and carnivorous. That’s why it was such a surprise when you came along. I’ve heard them say that he normally dates blondes. You’re his first emo girl.”
“Ha!” Rainy couldn’t help it. She could see Grant dating leggy blonde models and it made her sticky with insecurity. Were they better? Did he like them better? Why did he change his mind and date a brunette? She was glad her eyes were hidden by her glasses, or Ursa would have seen the turmoil behind them.
“You know what they say about girls like us—one bite and you never go back.”
She was both moved and deeply confused at being grouped with someone like Ursa; she’d never considered herself in the same realm.
“Because I’m an artist,” she said.
“Yeah, like, I think his other girls were type-A personalities, perfect and superfeminine like Braithe...oh my God, this is sounding so bad. Perfect as in Little Miss Perfects, if you know what I mean. They’d drink one glass of rosé and get wild, and think a fun night in was organizing the closet with their boo. And that’s what she called him by the way—boo.”
“Marchessa?”
“No, Braithe. That’s why Marchessa got angry and said something to her. You know how they’ve all been friends since the beginning of time and all.” She said the last part, Rainy noticed, with a note of bitterness. There was a club within a club when it came to these women; the original group had a secret language and traded private jokes as easily as siblings.
Rainy opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment Braithe swung through the doors, wearing a long black cover-up and dark sunglasses. Rainy kicked Ursa lightly on the foot to let her know they weren’t alone. She had no idea if Ursa would recount their entire conversation for the others later, but at the moment, she needed to process what she’d just been told. Braithe barely looked at them as she dragged a lounge chair next to Ursa’s and dropped into it.
“You feeling okay?” Braithe directed this at Ursa, who gave her the thumbs-up without turning her head. “I’m never drinking again,” she announced before popping in her AirPods. During the four minutes it took for her to get settled, she hadn’t so much as glanced at Rainy.
It felt like a slap in the face after the previous night. Hadn’t they danced arm in arm hours ago? Had she imagined Braithe pleading with her to join them? Perhaps she’d misinterpreted something. Or maybe, after a morning of reflection, Braithe was pissed about the way Rainy had acted at the restaurant.
Her feelings were further validated when, five minutes later, Tara arrived and Braithe took her AirPods out to chat with her.
“Hey,” Rainy said, leaning over to Ursa. “I’m gonna head out for a few hours. If anyone asks, just say I don’t feel well.” Ursa nodded, and Rainy gathered up her things. No one acknowledged the fact she was leaving or said goodbye. It stung worse than she wanted to admit. It took her what seemed like forever to make her way back to their suite, maneuvering around the slow-moving gambling crowd and then waiting for an elevator that wasn’t packed so tightly you could smell your neighbor’s shampoo.
When she finally made it to the suite, it was empty. She must have just missed Mac on her way down. Rainy stood at the vast window in the suite’s living room, staring down at the dusty city she’d long come to hate. Her mother’s words the first day they arrived—Everything is going to be okay now—echoed uncomfortably in her memory. The most honest lie she’d ever been told. Nothing had ever been okay again. She’d learned to maneuver around the not-okay-ness until she met Grant. He made it all better than okay.
She replayed the voice mail he’d left earlier. When she put her phone away, the longing for her mother hit her so deeply she hugged her arms around herself and held her eyes closed against the threatening sting of tears. Rainy made a split-second decision. She was here, so why not? Warming to the idea even as she threw a dress over her bathing suit, pushing away thoughts of him and focusing solely on her mother. The way things currently felt in the group, she wouldn’t be missed, and she’d be back before dinner, their last dinner before their flights home in the morning. Her seat on the plane was next to Braithe. She could talk to her then. Sort things out. She grabbed her bag and headed out the door.
It was no less crowded on the street outside their hotel. People swarmed around each other in a frenzied, colorful tempest. Everything smelled of gasoline and food, and Rainy’s dinner rolled in her stomach like it didn’t want to be there anymore.
She didn’t want to be here anymore. But where was here? Vegas? With these strangers? In her new, partnered-up life that was built on a lie? She sat down on a wall, a short distance away from the crowds, and called an Uber, then she tried Grant again. If he answered, she’d tell him everything, because in the moment she couldn’t bear the weight. When it just rang, she thought about calling Stephen’s phone to see if he was with Grant, but then he might ask her about Braithe, and Rainy didn’t want to have to lie to Grant’s best friend. She sent him a text, knowing he’d see it later and respond.