Her last stop was Tout Sweet, a candy-colored bakeshop adored by Hannah and her friends. Its macarons, marshmallows, and meringues were so popular that locations were popping up across the city, a sugary coup. She had just ordered her daughter’s favorite cake when a voice said, “Kim?” She turned and was instantly swept into a hug. “God! How are you?”
It was Lisa, the mother of Hannah’s friend Ronni. The women had been close once, when the girls were small and in each other’s hip pockets. Maybe they weren’t close—they were more thrown together, watching their daughters climb on rickety monkey bars, splash in urine-filled wading pools, and bounce in inflatable castles. When Lisa would pick up Ronni from a playdate, Kim would sometimes invite her in for a glass of white wine. Despite their many differences, the women had forged a bond. Lisa was a New Agey single mom who worked sporadically and lived with her only daughter in an apartment on Potrero’s South Slope—not in the housing projects, but still, a far less affluent hood than the Sanders inhabited. Kim had wanted to expose her children to diversity; that’s why she sent them to a private school with a robust scholarship program. She had set a good example by befriending someone outside her socioeconomic status. Noblesse oblige.
“Lisa . . . It’s been ages.”
“I know! Now that the girls are so independent, I never get to see you.”
Kim scanned Lisa’s long, wavy hair and sun-kissed skin. She was only a few years younger than Kim, but Lisa’s style was bohemian, hip, almost adolescent. . . . Kim’s Tory Burch tunic and ballet flats suddenly seemed matronly in comparison. “You look great.”
“I’ve been surfing. My new guy, Allan, is really into it. He’s a chef, so he’s really creative and intense. But he’s also very physical”—Lisa leaned in, touched Kim’s arm—“if you know what I mean. . . .”
Kim did. She raised her eyebrows and forced an impressed smile, but she felt uncomfortable. It was too much, too intimate . . . and also served to highlight that Kim and Jeff hadn’t had sex in nearly a year.
“But I’ll get down to business in May. I’m starting a Reiki healing and therapeutic-touch course.”
“Good,” Kim said as convincingly as she could. Lisa had made some smart real estate investments in the past, but was Reiki healing really the best skill to acquire in this economy? And was therapeutic touch Lisa’s plan to put her daughter through college? Though Ronni had never seemed particularly academic. . . .
That’s when Kim remembered the main reason her friendship with Lisa had never flourished. Lisa was a flake. A nut. A kook. Kim knew that Lisa had had a difficult life, and she sympathized. But Lisa was just so out there. Kim was grounded. Solid. Practical. When their daughters had drifted apart, so had their mothers. But now Ronni was back in Hannah’s social circle.
“Ronni’s coming to Hannah’s party tonight, right?”
“She can’t wait. It’s so nice that the girls have reconnected.”
“It is.” Kim was lying. Even when Ronni was little, Kim had found her precocious toward adults and domineering over sweet-natured Hannah: a typical only child of a single parent. Now that Ronni was sixteen, she seemed worldly and jaded, affecting that bored, disdainful attitude so popular with teenagers these days.
“’Scuse me. . . .” The bakery girl interrupted them. “Do you want writing on the cake?” Coincidentally, the teen reminded Kim of Ronni: thick, dewy foundation; precisely painted-on eyebrows; long, spidery lashes; and pale, glossy lips. These girls were like dolls . . . sexy dolls. It was disturbing.
Kim asked Lisa, “Will the girls think it’s babyish if I get ‘Happy Sixteenth’ on the cake?”
“No, it’s cute. They may act too cool for school, but they’re still little girls at heart.”
Kim smiled and squeezed Lisa’s hand. She was a flake but a sweet flake. “It’s good to see you. We should have coffee sometime.”
“I’d love that.”
As Kim strolled back to the car, the cake box weighed heavy in her hands. She suddenly felt fragile, drained of energy, and far older than forty-six. She was glad she’d bumped into Lisa—they were still friends despite the passing years and their many differences—but Kim’s life suddenly seemed incredibly mundane. Lisa was training for a new career, she had a new man in her bed, she was surfing. . . . Nothing remotely exciting had happened in Kim’s orbit since they’d bought the house . . . unless she counted the incident last year, which she was not going to. There was excitement and then there was disaster, plain and simple.
She placed the cake box in the hatchback of her car and checked her watch. Hannah would sleep until noon at least; she had some time to kill. She considered going for a facial but she’d had one last week and if she went too often her skin broke out. A mani-pedi was a possibility, but she hadn’t brought any flip-flops with her. She paused for just a moment before pulling out her phone and dialing. Her heart hammered in her chest as she listened to it ring.
“Tony Hoyle.” His voice, as always, prompted that delicious shiver.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Hey, Kim.” His voice was professional—overly so. Ruby and Declan were obviously within earshot . . . maybe even his wife. “How’s the copy coming along?”
“I’m having a little trouble, actually.” She realized she was blushing and sweating, so unaccustomed was she to playing this game. But there was something so wonderfully naughty about it. “I thought maybe we could get together and brainstorm a bit.”
“That should work. Where and what time?”
“Umm . . . now. At Farley’s.”
“Great. I’ll bring the files on my laptop and we’ll get this sorted out.” He hung up.
As Kim pulled away from the parking meter, she allowed herself a gleeful smile. Just like that, she was back in eighth grade.
hannah
THAT DAY
Hannah drifted out of sleep, squinting in the late-morning light that was pushing through her gauzy curtains. It took only the briefest of moments for her consciousness to register the significance of the day. Sixteen . . . finally. She rolled over and reached for her phone. Her mom told her not to keep it in her bedroom (Kim had heard about teens who texted all night and never slept a wink!), but thankfully, it was a rule her mom often forgot to enforce. Fourteen texts, all various iterations of the sentiment HBD!! Not bad, considering most of her peers were probably still asleep. She checked her social media apps and found even more well-wishes.