She kept on. “What are you thinking of getting?”
“The gnocchi.”
“Good choice.”
“Great. Maybe I’ll get two.” Based on the plates at the table next to us, the portion size was minuscule.
Manhattan is known for its skylines, not its malls. There was a pitiful attempt at one down by the Macy’s flagship in Herald Square. When the World Trade Center reopened, they’d thrown a mall in there too. One that looked more like the set of an overpriced neo-noir sci-fi action film than anywhere you’d actually want to shop. My lone excursion had been rushing through it to catch a 3 a.m. PATH train to Jersey. It had felt like I was running for my life. And then there was Columbus Circle, where we sat now.
We were on the fourth floor. A spot called Amico. Cheesecake Factory it was not. But you didn’t come here for the food. You came to be seen, which is why I felt instantly invisible. The only thing salty in the place was me—still pissed from my chat with Tam. Central Park was across the street. Once again, it made me yearn for a bike ride. But it’d have to wait. I was doing lunch.
Stuart Jones had wanted to meet for lunch too, before his meeting with Mel, but I’d decided talking to Erin was more important. I’d gotten here early as usual, which gave the blond hostess fifteen minutes to straight ignore me without so much as a “Do you have a reservation?” For once, I didn’t mind, too focused on getting Green on the phone. I’d tried every number listed on his card and some that weren’t, but even the cop who answered the main line at his precinct couldn’t find him. I left yet another message.
I’d just hung up when Erin came gliding in, heading for her “normal” table. I’d offered to come by Erin’s town house, but she’d suggested this place, claiming she was starved.
The waiter dropped off waters and bread, then took our orders. I only went with one portion of gnocchi. Erin opted for Caesar salad, “dressing on the side.” After he left, I looked around again. The décor was what an HGTV host would call rustic. Lots of deep woods on the walls, floors, and tables, all offset by sheer white curtains hung nowhere near windows. Everyone “eating” had dressed with a similar vibe. Artfully ripped jeans below flimsy white T-shirts that probably cost as much as the wine list.
When I focused back on Erin, she was staring at me as she absentmindedly pulled apart a piece of bread. The same look she had given me at the hotel. Taking me in, no doubt comparing me to Desiree. Realizing I didn’t stack up. She opened her mouth, and I said a quick prayer to the conversation gods that she wasn’t going to talk about the weather in Cannes this time of year. We had nothing in common, and any more small talk would make the gulf between us feel as large as the Atlantic, even if you were flying on a private jet.
“I have a confession,” I said quickly.
She leaned in, smiled. At the ready, like this was 1 a.m. at an eighth-grade sleepover.
“I texted you because I need to talk to you about something.”
She stopped shredding but only for a second. “Of course. I’m happy to help. What do you need to talk about?”
Free and him possibly fathering Desiree’s unborn child. But I wasn’t ready to dive into that just yet. “About who Desiree was dating. You sure she wasn’t seeing anyone?”
She deflated, obviously having expected something else. She recovered quickly, though, and started to shake her head. “She’d called it a sabbatical. I don’t think she was even hooking up with Naut.”
My phone was already on the table. I unlocked it to find the Instagram app just where I’d left it—open on Desiree’s page. I showed Erin the pic. She smiled. “The Lark filter always did wonders for her. I think it was her skin tone. What would you call it? Peanut butter?”
“Who’s the arm?”
She barely glanced at it. “Don’t know.”
“You took the picture.”
“Yes, but I didn’t take it sober.” She finally put the bread down. It hadn’t gone anywhere near her mouth. “It’s probably some fan. I was always put on photographer duty. She got recognized a lot.”
Fuck it. “It’s Free. They were messing around.”
Her expression clouded over. “You got all that from a picture?” I just stared her down until she finally spoke. “How’d you find out?”
“Not because you told me. How were they on her birthday? He seem mad about anything?”
“Don’t know. Only stayed a few minutes, then left to get her gift. She seemed fine when we met up later that night.” Erin pushed her plate away. “Look, I know things were weird between you guys. Desiree thought the world of you. She was always so hurt that you didn’t think the same of her. She wouldn’t want you to know she was dating a married guy, especially that married guy. And wherever she is right now, I know it’s killing her all over again you know she died of an overdose.”
I sat back, leaving my anger hunched over the table staring at its reflection in the fancy silverware. Desiree thought the world of me? Still? It felt like a gut punch. I did think the same of her—which was the only reason I had been so hard on her. Why I hadn’t wanted her to snort her life away. I’d always wanted to protect her reputation—still did.
It turned out Erin and I had something in common after all.
“She was pregnant.” At least I thought she was. Green hadn’t called back yet. “I found a test yesterday in her stuff.”
Her face collapsed. “And no one told me.” She didn’t have to tell me who she meant. She started to cry. Again. “We told each other everything.”
I waited for my usual annoyance. But it never came. Instead, I felt myself feeling for her. I reached over, took Erin’s hand. “Everyone’s been saying she wasn’t herself before she died,” I said. “It seems like she wasn’t telling a lot of people a lot of stuff. And we’ll probably never know why.” I thought back to the woman working at the hotel. “It sucks.”
Erin didn’t laugh.
I kept on. “And I didn’t tell you for the same reason you didn’t tell me about Free. Protecting her. But we both have it wrong. Desiree wouldn’t have wanted us to remember some Instagram-filtered version of her. The rest of the world? Yes. But not us—”
“She was like a sister.”
“She loved us unconditionally, and she’d want us to do the same. That means being honest with each other. No more lies or secrets.”
As I said it, I realized I meant it. The whole “Like a Sister” thing wasn’t just a cute hashtag or, worse, a personal attack against me. Desiree wrote it because she meant it. I felt horrible. My sister was gone and I had been jealous of the woman who’d filled the gap I’d left. I should have been happy all along that Desiree had had someone who loved her as much as I did.
Erin pulled her hand away to grab her napkin and clear the snot out of her nose. “Freck wasn’t talking to your dad when she died.”
I knew that. Erin didn’t know that, though. It made me appreciate her sharing. “Yeah, Tam refuses to tell me why.” Mel hadn’t called yet, as she’d promised, but that was on-brand. “Was it because of Free?”