I debate following Tracy when she walks away so I can expel the intel burning holes in my chest, but even though Alex told me himself that it’s not a secret, passing the information along still isn’t something I’m particularly eager to do.
I’m not going to seek Tracy out. She’ll come to me again if and when she needs to know.
“There’s really no one like her,” Fari says, halfway to me, halfway to herself. “The CFO wants to mentor me one-on-one. You know I interviewed for twenty companies? Twenty. I got offers from more than half.”
“Which did you have more of? Stoles or job offers?” I joke.
Fari rolls her eyes. “It’s just, none of the rest of the offers had a Tracy Garcia. A mentor. A role model. An advocate who wants to pull us up the ladder.”
I nod, looking at the corner Tracy vanished around. “Yeah,” I say. “I know what you mean.” I turn back to Fari. “And I’m really glad you picked LC.”
“Me too.”
* * *
By the time I leave work, I’m starting to panic that Alex hasn’t texted me about the video.
I know I could reach out to him first. I do realize it. But every time I think about what I would send him, I feel like a fifteen-year-old girl （halfway through her Accutane regimen） with a crush on someone in the grade above her, who is also way out of her league.
I’m hopping off the subway in Brooklyn Heights when it finally happens, and something that had bunched up viciously in my chest unravels.
So you’re an xlookup girl, huh?
Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I smile against the setting sun. The neighborhood is dozing right now, hovering in the doldrums between the end of a workweek for some and the start of one for others. I meander along the cracked sidewalk, now a much-loved trek toward home, and type out a reply.
Casey: don’t say it
Alex: don’t say what?
Casey: that finding that out makes perfect sense for me
Alex: I see what you did there
Casey: finally watched us, did you?
Alex: I was letting the anticipation build
I freeze on the sidewalk and quirk my head. Why does it sound like we’re talking about a sex tape?
Alex: jk, i’ve been in the car all day. Cape Cod for the weekend with Freddy’s mom
Casey: Does Freddy know about you two???
Alex: cute.
Casey: Cape Cod sounds fancy
He sends me a picture of a setting sun bleeding into the horizon over a beautiful beach, his legs and bare feet propped on a wicker table beside a can of pilsner. The wooden planks of a porch staircase spill straight into the sand.
Alex: the fanciest
Knowing he’s there and not here isn’t the reason I get Thai takeout and Sour Patch Kids before heading back to my apartment to watch Notting Hill. It also isn’t the reason I make up an excuse about feeling sick when Miriam invites me to her nurse friend’s art thing at DUMBO House. She doesn’t buy it （because she’s met me）， and texts me, I’m calling you out, liar.
I am who I am, I reply. Love me or leave me, babe
She texts back four pictures: an Epi Pen, an acoustic guitar, a horticulture textbook, and the Mean Girls GIF of Karen coughing and saying, I can’t go out, I’m sick, followed up with a single message: are starter packs still cool?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You know,” Miriam says, “we could always just take a vacation to London.”
I turn and glare, but she’s too busy sniffing autumn squash varietals to notice. We’re meandering through a farmer’s market, the canvas bags on our shoulders already heavy with produce we know without a doubt can be eaten raw, since cooking is out of the question. The market smells like flowers, raw pumpkin, and coffee. Miriam’s in a bright fuchsia athletic dress, her short blond hair up in a clip, and I’m wearing ripped jeans and a LITTLE BIG TOWN T-shirt from a concert my dad took me to when I was nine.
I put my bag of produce on Miriam’s free shoulder so I can braid my hair back. “That’s cheating. Imagine if we’d said, ‘You know, we could always just take a vacation to Manhattan.’”
“What magazines are even based in London?”
“Take Me There, for starters!” I practically shriek. “The very best one!”
In a bored drawl, Miriam says, “That’s the travel mag, right?”
I scoff. “I know that you know it’s the travel mag, Mir.”
Scooping my bag back off her shoulder, I drift toward a seller shouting the price of chrysanthemums. They’re golden, ruby red, and orange, arranged in lines like a sunset.
“On a scale of one to ten, how confident are you this transfer is happening?”
Something clicks in my brain, and I spin to face her. Miriam becomes instantly fascinated with a mound of russet potatoes. But I’ve known this girl since we were eleven, and I’ve memorized all her tells. “They said it was all but guaranteed.”
She grabs a potato and inspects it. “For what job?”
I am … honestly not quite sure about that.
“Who cares?” I reason. “It’s London!”
Miriam huffs. “London’s not all that.”
My eyes narrow. “That’s my mother’s homeland you’re slandering. And besides, you know Marty never took me anywhere when I was a kid.”
Miriam flips her middle finger at me. “Cry me a river, Casey. You also never had to haggle on Craigslist for a resold concert ticket and avoid getting stuck with one of the dude’s seven cats he was also trying to get rid of, and it shows.”
We manage three full seconds of glaring before we dissolve into smirks.
I step closer and lower my voice. “What’s really going on, Mir?”
She rolls her eyes and shoots me a stubborn look. “Nothing. I was just making conversation. It’s a very common thing that non-antisocial people do.”
“I’m not antisocial. I just hate small talk.”
“It’s polite.”
“It’s pointless. And you’re trying to change the subject. Why don’t you want me to go to London anymore?”
“Of course I want you to go!” Miriam growls, stalking away.
I follow her to a coffee vendor, where she orders an iced latte for herself and a cappuccino for me. While we sit and wait for our drinks on the curb, I poke her in the shoulder over and over until she snaps. “I just don’t want you to never come back.”
I stiffen. “What? Of course I’d come back.”
“You moved here, and you haven’t been home since that one Christmas when you acted super weird the whole time,” she reasons. “You’ve hardly left the city. Will that be any different when you hop the pond?” Miriam rakes her fingers through her hair. “You’ve got this, like, tunnel vision for your future, and I think it’s cool you want to move to London, I really do, don’t get me wrong. But I can’t be a thing in your rearview, Case. I still need you.” She stumbles over the last words.
I peer at my best friend, understanding so completely what she’s trying to say. “I needed you when I moved here,” I tell her. “When Lance and I broke up, he accused me of following you here. Making a decision that wasn’t truly mine.”