“Steph!” I say, horrified.
Kelly hooks her hand under Layla’s armpit, standing, forcing Layla onto her feet with her.
“Mom!” Layla cries, trying to find her footing.
“On that note,” Kelly says with a thin, ferocious smile.
Layla rips her arm away from Kelly.
“We’re going to bed,” Kelly hisses at her, and Layla skulks ahead, her long legs outpacing my sister’s, clanging open the heavy wooden door without bothering to hold it for Kelly.
“That was fun.” Stephanie sighs, contentedly, leaning back and resting her hands on her stomach, like she’s just finished a fabulous meal. “Who’s next?” She turns to me. Her makeup is truly insane. She’s extended her dark charcoal eyeshadow far above the arch of her brow. “Roomie?” Her eyes glitter nastily. No, seriously, they glitter. That smoky neutrals eye palette she favors was always too heavy on the shimmer.
I watch the dark above me, listening to my sister breathe like Darth Vader in the next room. No fucking way was I shacking up with my roomie after that little scene on the roof of the riad. I’d rather not be shanked in my sleep.
I’m on the short couch in the living room, Jen in the bedroom to my left and Kelly and Layla in the one to my right. I assumed Kelly would sleep in the bed with Jen and I would bunk down with Layla, but apparently my sister and the Green Menace aren’t there yet in their friendship. I flop onto my stomach, sighing, jet-lagged, uncomfortable. My feet are hanging off the arm of the love seat and I’m only five foot three.
I’m considering moving to the floor when I detect movement behind me—bedsheets thrown off, a soft bump, a softer ow. I figure Jen is just getting up to pee out all that mint tea, but then the door wheezes open, and Jen’s feet are making a sticky sound on the tile floors.
I squeeze my eyes shut and go very still. Jen pauses next to the couch, watching me. Goose bumps flare across the back of my arms. I’m sure my eyelids are twitching but I’m hoping her eyes haven’t adjusted enough to notice. After a few moments, she continues her tacky trek toward the door. I crack open an eye and in the brief flash of light from the hallway, I see that she’s clutching her phone in her hand. I count to twenty-seven—my age—then I get up and follow her.
The second floor of the riad is outfitted with a small balcony at the end of the hallway, just past the stairwell. Sheer curtains snap in the cool breeze, providing a sound cover. I stay flat against the wall, sidestepping my way closer to Jen. The breeze stops, and I stop. It turns a sort of quiet that makes Jen’s voice the star, a clear, bitchy three-in-the-morning solo.
“. . . to hear your voice tell me it’s okay,” Jen is saying, as I hold my breath and starfish the wall. The pious camera tenor is gone, replaced by something I’ve never heard before: something like tenderness. Is she on the phone with Yvette?
“Yes, she pointed at everyone. But she started with Kelly. And sort of, like, lingered on her.”
She’s talking about Stephanie.
“No, no. I believe you. But I thought you should know. They’re trying to set it up as a storyline. So maybe try to stay away from her.”
There is a long stretch of mmm-hmming while the person on the other line responds. I no longer think she’s speaking to Yvette, but I can’t think of who else it might be until . . .
“Yeah, I’m rooming with her. I asked Lisa as soon as she told me about it. I’m giving her all kinds of opportunity to deny it. I don’t want you to look like a jackass either.” Her pause is uncertain. “I miss you.” This one too. “Baby.”
Baby. The word is a peach pit in the back of my throat. Baby. I can’t swallow. Baby. I can’t breathe.
Jen suddenly makes a shushing sound. I hold everything in my body still, lungs burning, as a trolley trundles in the lobby below. There is an exchange in Arabic, and a shared laugh.
“Nothing,” Jen says, “just the concierge. I should get back, though. The Big Chill is sleeping on our couch.”
Pause.
“Because she doesn’t want to sleep in the same bed as your crazy . . .”
I slide back along the wall with wide steps, crisscrossing ankles. I slip inside the room, dive onto the couch, and shut my eyes. A minute or so later, the door opens and Jen ducks inside.
She’s watching me again. I can feel it. My slow, deep breathing is a mismatch for my heart, hauling blood to my organs like it is under a time constraint. Can she hear it? I don’t know how she couldn’t.
“Brett,” Jen whispers.
I breathe. I pray.
Jen tiptoes into the bedroom and shuts the door. I don’t move for a very long time. Not until the sun starts to squint into the room. Then I get up, stuff my feet in Kelly’s sandals, and head downstairs.
The lobby is illuminated, the fountains whistling dark water. A single attendant sits at the front desk, reading French Harry Potter, Selena Gomez playing softly from the computer. It’s still too early for most of the guests to be awake. I caught Kelly’s eye up in the room when I said I was going downstairs to wait for everyone. I need to talk to you in private is what I hope she took from my expression. I couldn’t very well have this conversation up there, with Jen padding about in her towel and humming happily into her first mint tea of the morning.
I know Kelly understood me, but as the minutes tick by, I am worried she chose to disregard me. She’s upset about last night, the way Stephanie went after Layla, and I’m sure she’s found a way to illogically blame me for it.
I’m just about to give up hope and go get breakfast when Kelly and Layla appear at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Layls,” I say to her with a mischievous wink, “they have a latte machine.”
Layla murmurs an adolescent, “Cool.” She’s mad. At me for being a racially insensitive dunce. At Kelly for embarrassing her in front of Stephanie.
“You know I don’t like her having caffeine, Brett,” Kelly says to me.
“She’s on vacation,” I say.
Kelly takes her time, deciding. Finally she jerks her thumb in the direction of the dining room: permission to imbibe caffeine, granted.
Layla perks up, ever so slightly.
“Will you see if they have to-go cups for us?” I ask her. “I want to talk to your mom for a second alone.”
Layla nods—Sure, sure, sure—just short of skipping to the dining room.
“What’s up, Brett?” Kelly folds her arms across her chest. Yup, she’s definitely mad at me for last night.
“Something happened after we all went to bed. I heard Jen leave the—”
“They don’t have to-go cups!” Layla shouts from the dining room’s arch.
“I’m coming, sweetie,” Kelly calls back, and starts to turn away from me.
“Kel, wait.”
“No. You know what, Brett? I don’t want to hear it if it’s about Jen. I’m so sick of listening to you bad-mouth her. She’s been the only one here who has been a decent person to me.”
“She’s using you! She thinks you—”
“I mean it, Brett,” Kelly says with a murderous edge to her voice. “Shut the fuck up about Jen. And if Stephanie ever treats Layla that way again, I will come at her with what I know. On camera. Make sure your best friend knows that.”
Kelly turns and walks away without giving me a chance to respond. Without giving me a chance to explain that Vince is the one who broke Jen’s heart, that Jen calls him baby and is probably still in love with him, and that she sidled up to Kelly because she wanted to make sure Vince wasn’t in love with her. Worst of all, she’s walking away without giving me the chance to demand an answer to the question that has been burning a hole in my throat for the last few weeks. Did you sleep with Vince, Kel? Yes. Or no.
CHAPTER 15
* * *
Stephanie