I leaned forward and said a little prayer. Please let this work.
It was followed by another. And please don’t let there be anything illegal in here. Like coke, weed, ecstasy, or any combination of the three. Or heroin. Definitely don’t let there be a needle. Don’t prove them right, Desiree. That you were just a poor little rich girl with too much time and money.
I quickly adopted it as a mantra. Singing it in my head as I typed in each number.
1
No coke.
1
No X.
1
No heroin.
0
No needles.
9
No coke.
1
No X.
I rushed through two more mantras before I pressed the ENT button. It buzzed, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.
My sister still used my birthday as her passcode.
It surprised me how reassured I felt. My birthday. Not her boyfriend’s. Not Mel’s. And definitely not Erin’s. I opened the safe door. We all looked to see what was inside, what Desiree had felt was important enough to lock up.
Nothing.
God definitely had a sense of humor. So did Desiree.
Ten minutes later, Green and Zizza were gone, leaving business cards and more false promises that they were exploring every avenue and would keep us updated. It made me think Erin hadn’t told them anything new.
She’d stayed behind, offering to “help” me clean, which essentially meant getting snot all over Desiree’s clothes as she attempted to pack them up. Desiree would’ve flipped and demanded Erin pay her dry cleaning. I just let her do it. Neither of us said anything at first, just coexisted like a pair of two-year-olds who hadn’t mastered the art of playing with others yet.
As I continued clearing off the night table, I went over the questions I wanted to ask, deciding to start with Alfie. I turned to see her examining me from my Jordans on up to my ironic shirt. I hadn’t changed since this morning. Hadn’t thought to. But now I felt self-conscious.
“I like your hair.” It was the first complete sentence she’d said since the cops had left. It threw me off.
“Thanks,” I said.
White girls staring at my hair was nothing new, especially since I went to Columbia. I’d stopped by my favorite African braiding shop on 125th the day before. A woman named Sadie had put in two large cornrows for twenty bucks plus tip. Thanks to the hair she’d thoughtfully added, both braids hung down to my ass.
“Don’t worry,” Erin said. “I’m not gonna touch it.”
I checked the night table drawer, but it was empty. Not even a Bible. “Desiree taught you well.”
“I keep thinking about Freck, up there, by herself. She’s lucky she didn’t run into, like, some gang members.”
I shut the drawer with more force than necessary. Rich people stole, raped, killed, and took drugs just as much as the rest of us. They just had better lawyers. “I wouldn’t walk anywhere at night by myself,” I said. “You could just as easily be tied up in some mansion wine cellar.”
She thought it over. “There are worse places to end up than stuck with wine.”
Was she joking? I changed the subject. “The police talk to you about last night?”
She nodded. “I wish I could’ve told them more. When I left with that guy she was still at the club. Still in a great mood.”
“They ask about Alfie?”
She paused, then bent down to pick up a pair of stilettos. “Who?”
“Her dealer. Was he there last night?”
She laughed awkwardly. “Figures you’d know Alfie.” She put the shoes in an open Louis Vuitton suitcase on the king bed. “No, Alfie’s long gone.”
So Desiree had replaced him too. There went that lead. “Who was her new guy?”
“She didn’t have one.”
Yeah, right. “The police said she wanted to meet someone in the Bronx?”
“Probably you,” she said. “I wouldn’t be surprised, honestly. She talked about you a lot. Especially recently. Guess it was the five-year anniversary of your mom passing.”
Five years and twenty-one days. Aunt E hadn’t noticed the day of, and I hadn’t reminded her. My mother wasn’t a topic we discussed much. Instead, I’d gone to class, knowing that would have been what my mother wanted, and came home to sit in the dark listening to the last voice mail she’d left me. But I wasn’t going to tell this stranger that. Instead, I said, “Yeah.”
“It’s been five years since your grandmother died too?” she said, but this time I didn’t answer. “Maybe that’s why Freck went to see you. Because she was worried.”
“I was fine.” A lie.
Her eyes followed me as I walked to the other side of the bed to check the other nightstand. “What?” I finally said.
“She said you looked alike, but still.”
I softened. “It’s the freckles. Mel has them too.” The next question was out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. “She never showed you pictures?”
“No,” she said, and I was disappointed. “She didn’t have to. There was a pic of the three of you as her lock screen.”
I knew exactly which one she was talking about. Mainly because only one such photo existed. Would exist now. Thinking about that made me pause. Then I shook my head and opened the nightstand drawer.
The photo was from three years ago, a brunch to celebrate NYZ being picked up by E! It wasn’t my choice to sit next to Mel, but Desiree had insisted, and I actually ended up enjoying myself. Mel could be extremely charming when he wanted. And that day he did. I had been drunk off both mimosas and attention, and it showed in the pic. The three of us lined up, all freckled and, dare I say, happy. Mel smiling so much you could even see his gap.
That photo wasn’t just her lock screen. For a long time, it’d been mine too.
Erin tried to fold a T-shirt. It looked like my attempts to fold a fitted sheet. “I shouldn’t have left her,” she said. “The cops asked me if she’d been depressed.”
“That’s what her boyfriend told them.”
“Naut?” She used his DJ name. “Typical man. Always assuming you’re depressed because you don’t want to deal with their shit anymore.”
My heart started beating faster, glad someone was dismissing the police’s BS. Even if it was Erin. I threw another name out there. “Zarah told them too. Said she’d been distant.”
“Yes. To her,” Erin said, and I wanted to smile—until she kept going. “Zarah abandoned Freck when she needed her most and then came crawling back a few months ago. Freck was keeping her at arm’s length. If it was me, I wouldn’t have talked to that bitch ever again.”
She kept on, not noticing me staring.
“Your sister was fine. I’d know more than anyone. I was her best friend. The one she talked to every day. She was fine. Happy. We wanted to start a members’ club. Like Soho House. We were even looking at spaces. We had a good time last night…Too much of a one, obviously. That’s all. And I wasn’t there. I’ll never forgive myself, you know?”
She looked at me then, obviously expecting me to tell her that it wasn’t her fault. Instead, I stood. “I have to go to the bathroom.”