“Poor Briana,” she insists.
“Yes,” I agree, playing along. “Poor, poor Briana.”
“Oh, Miranda, I meant to ask… where’s Grace, by the way?”
Grace flashes in the blink of my mind’s eye. Lying on her side, on her bedroom froth. Eyes like black pits, staring. But I’m still applying the lipstick. Good to put it on thick.
“Oh, Grace couldn’t make it today, sadly,” I say easily. “She’s come down with something.”
“What?” She turns to face me, but I don’t look at her. I keep my eyes on my red mouth, on my face, in the rusty mirror. I try to shrug, coolly.
“Yes, isn’t it terrible? That time of year, I guess.”
“Better not be that thing Briana has,” Fauve says, bringing a hand to her chest, brimming with all those quasi-mystical pendants. A silver hand with an open blue eye in the palm. A feather, a scarab, a small bronze skull. And, of course, the ornate silver pen. All of them clinking lightly under her fingers. “Is it?” A note of real fear I hear in that voice. It gives me courage.
I look Fauve right in her flashing eyes, which are gazing at me like I’m what? Some kind of monster? I smile at her with my freshly painted lips.
“Just might be,” I say. “Better be careful. Might be going around.”
“I suppose I should call on Grace,” Fauve says. “If she’s under the weather.”
“Oh, Grace doesn’t want to be disturbed,” I say quickly. “She told me. Rest is really what she needs,” I say. “Not visitors.”
“Well. Maybe I’ll call on her all the same.”
Call on her. Are we in the Victorian era or in the 1960s? Decide, Fauve. Please.
She looks at me, testing me.
“Call on her,” I say to Fauve. “Of course. Go ahead. Maybe even bring her some soup. But I’d protect myself, if I were you. Like I said, might be going around. Oh, and enjoy those underwear, by the way. I have to say, they were a real hit. As I’m sure you know.”
I watch her turn and clip-clop hurriedly away on her Danish sandals, shimmering with moral certitude, leaving the scent of sage and treachery in her wake.
The minute she’s left the bathroom, I quickly pull out my phone. I text Grace.
Hey! We missed you this morning. All’s well?
I watch dots form. My heart soars. Then they disappear. Then nothing.
Need anything??? I text again.
I wait. Nothing. Not even dots this time.
All right. All right, I’ll just call her, then. I listen to the phone ring and ring, a smile hovering on my lips. Ready to say, Grace! How are you? Feeling okay today? God, what a night we had, am I right? Crazy. Both of us always so crazy at this time of year, aren’t we?
No answer. “The mailbox belonging to Grace Pines is full.” Grace’s voice saying her name. No-nonsense. No suffering of fools. Saying her name like it’s a root planted deeply into the earth.
Don’t panic, why are you panicking? What did you do wrong? Nothing. She’s the one who treated you like you were a criminal. Backing away from you like that, ridiculous. Falling to the pavement. All you did was reach out and help her up. Drive her home. Put her in bed. She should be thanking you, if anything.
Maybe she’s just getting rest. Everybody gets worn out, even Grace can’t be immune. Maybe she just needs TLC. The thing to do is be there for her in whatever way I can. Show her I’m here. I care.
Quickly, I pull up the Instacart app on my phone. My cart is still half-full from the last time I attempted to shop. Back when I was still on the floor after a failed acupuncture appointment. Didn’t even have the energy to order in the end. Now I change the delivery address from mine to Grace’s. I add some items to the half-filled cart. Things I know Grace loves: A rotisserie chicken. Mashed potatoes. Fish sticks. Grape-Nuts. Green apples. Grace likes crunch. Every species of citrus fruit. And then some fun things, things Grace would never think to get herself. Things I never thought to get myself. Pink peppercorn passion fruit dark chocolate bark. Dried acai berries. Walnut oil. Some frankincense. A little spa atomizer. Sage and lavender oils. A rock-salt lamp.
I pay extra for quick delivery. I give the delivery person a huge tip.
Then I look up local flower shops. Call a random one that sounds nice.
“Hello!” I say. “I’d like to send some flowers to someone.… Occasion? No occasion. Friendship is the occasion. Since when do we need an occasion to send flowers to our friends, am I right? Ha ha ha.… What do I have in mind? Oh, just a wonderful arrangement of spring flowers, please. Something revitalizing. Restorative. Tulips. Freesia. In every color, please. Red, white, every color, every. Oh, and baby’s breath. And plants, why not throw in a plant too? Do you have a cactus?… Perhaps throw in a cactus. Oh, and a fern. And do you have those balloons with the smiling faces?… Get Well balloons, right. Send those too, please. How many balloons? All you have.… A card? No card. She’ll know who it’s from, I think. Ha ha.… Monday delivery?… Yes, that’s fine. Thanks so much.”