“Garrett’s popcorn?” Arden asked.
Lauren laughed and pulled her mother away from Marilyn. For most mothers and daughters, popcorn wouldn’t constitute “lunch.” But when Lauren and Arden were feeling stressed and when it was Garrett’s famed corn, it did. “I’m guessing you want the Garrett Mix? Caramel and cheese?” Lauren said.
“You must be a mind reader,” Arden joked. “I’ll just double up on my spinning classes this weekend, or go for some really long runs.”
“It’s Garrett’s!” Lauren said. “Totally worth it, and we’ll walk as we eat it anyhow, right?”
The two zipped over to Michigan Avenue and got in the long line to nab a large, hot bag of the savory-sweet corn combo.
As the line snaked its way up to the counter, Arden thought about the many times they’d gone to Garrett’s to ease breakups, setbacks, and disappointments. There had been Lauren’s loss at the state debate tournament, her split from her boyfriend right before prom.
How many times did I come here after fighting with my ex, or after convincing myself I didn’t need to finish my book? Arden thought.
“One large bag of the combo,” the two said in unison when they reached the counter.
The duo rolled down the sides of the giant grease-stained paper bag, chomping, walking, and window shopping, leaving a trail of popcorn down the sidewalk.
“Look at these shoes, Mom!” Lauren yelled excitedly. “You should get them.”
Arden stared at the strappy, sky-high heels. They were the kind celebrities wore in paparazzi pictures, but not Arden.
“Too dangerous,” Arden said. “Too sexy.”
The two were still studying the window when they heard, “Arden?”
“Zoe?” Arden said, surprised, her mouth filled with popcorn.
“Lookin’ good, Arden,” Zoe said, laughing and pointing at her mouth.
“You, too,” Arden replied, swallowing hard. And she meant it: Zoe Sherman—all sassy, tousled blond hair, Pilates body, and glowing face—looked stunning.
“How long has it been?” Zoe asked.
Arden stammered for a reply.
Arden and Zoe had been members of a Chicago writing group called The Algonquin Wine Table, a humorous takeoff of the famed New York City writers’ Algonquin Round Table that had included Dorothy Parker.
The writing group had been Arden’s salvation at one time: They met once a week at one another’s homes to write, talk, drink wine, and dream. When she was married, it had been literary therapy to Arden, although her then-husband had poked fun at the group and at her writing. And then came the divorce. It was the lowest point Arden had ever been, and it left her feeling like her writing was silly, and a book with the mounting expenses seemed frivolous when she didn’t have any guarantee it would turn into anything concrete.
“Four years,” Zoe finally said, answering for her. “Lauren was still in high school. How’s Northwestern? Still focused on art?”
“Northwestern’s great,” Lauren said. “I’m a business major now.”
“Business? I thought you were going to be an art major?” Zoe asked. “You and your mom were going to be artists. What happened?”
Lauren shrugged, looking back and forth between her mom and Zoe. “Life, I guess.”
“And how’s your book?” Zoe asked, turning to Arden. “Are you finished yet?”
“No,” Arden replied too quickly, forcing a smile. “How about yours?”
“I did,” Zoe said, breaking into a huge smile. “And I got an agent! She’s going to shop it around once I do final revisions.”
Arden felt as if she were going to faint.
“Congratulations,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
Arden suddenly caught her reflection in a storefront window, and the past few years flashed in front of her eyes: I have a few more grey hairs and wrinkles but not a single new page in my book.
Time had passed. So quickly, she thought again.
“You two look like you were on your way somewhere,” Zoe said. “I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to say hello. And, Arden, we still meet every week. We’d love to have you back.”
Arden tugged at her earlobe.
“I’ll definitely try to do that,” Arden replied. “It was great to see you, too.”
“Stay in touch,” Zoe said, hugging her friend. “I miss you.”
Arden and Lauren continued their walk, making their way along the underpass below Lake Shore Drive.
“How is the book coming along, Mom?” Lauren asked encouragingly. “I think it would be great for you to go back to the writing group.”
“Here,” Arden said, handing the bag of popcorn to her daughter. “I’m not really hungry anymore.”
Arden and Lauren walked in silence the rest of the way, before emerging on the running and bike path that stretched the entire length of the Gold Coast, the skyline and lakefront glimmering, Chicago coming back to life after a long winter.
Lauren stopped, kicked off her shoes at Oak Street Beach and tested the temperature of the sand with her toes.
“It’s warm again!” she said happily, running toward the shoreline and finding a place to sit on the beach.