“She’s a good kid,” Con said.
Elena beamed at the praise, but said, “Ah, she’s showing off. She can be a handful too.”
“No, I can’t,” Dahlia called from the kitchen, and everyone laughed.
“How did you two meet?” Con asked.
Stephie put her hand over Elena’s. The two women looked at each other as if silently agreeing who got to tell the story.
Apparently, they decided Stephie would, because she said, “I placed an ad for a guitar teacher.”
“You play?” Con asked Elena.
“Eight instruments,” Stephie said. “She’s ridiculous.”
Elena shooed away the praise. “My father taught me, and I studied music in school. But if I knew this one had ulterior motives, I would’ve kept job hunting.”
Stephie feigned outrage. “Oh, I had ulterior motives?”
Elena shrugged—exactly the way her daughter did—but couldn’t keep that irrepressible smile from her face. “Well, that is the way I remember it.”
“Three years now,” Stephie said. “My evil plan worked.”
Elena kissed Stephie good night, and excused herself for the evening, saying she was tired and would go to bed early. “Will I see you in the morning?” she asked Con.
“If that would be alright with you,” Con said.
“I insist,” Elena said. “I’ll have Dahlia make up the guest bedroom for you.”
“Thank you.”
Elena hugged her tightly. “It is good to meet you. I’m glad that you found us again.”
Stephie took the bottle of wine and led Con out to the courtyard. Even though it was still very warm, Stephie made what she claimed was a “small fire to keep the bugs away.” Con got comfortable on one of the couches. Stephie came back from tending her bonfire and flopped down beside her. They kicked off their shoes and put their feet up on the edge of the firepit.
“Hell of a life, huh?” Stephie said.
“They’re amazing. Well done, you.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I don’t know what I would do without them.”
The apology tumbled out of Con before she could stop it. Bottled up for three years, once it started, she couldn’t have stopped it if she wanted to. And she didn’t want to. It was a rush and a relief to own up to everything. The crash. Being a terrible friend. Shutting Stephie out of her life. Tears poured out of her, and she trembled with fear. There weren’t many people left who made her feel vulnerable, and Stephie was first among them.
But there was no need. Con saw nothing but understanding from Stephie, who was crying now too. What a pair they were. Cutting off her best friend had been one more way to punish herself.
Stephie took Con’s hand in hers. “I listened to you talking to Dahlia. How you weren’t Con and all that crap? It’s funny because, what you just said? She said all of that to me a year ago when she showed up at the store. Almost word for word. I mean, it’s unbelievable.”
“Really?”
“Verbatim,” Stephie said.
“Did you forgive her?”
“Con, there’s nothing to forgive. Look. First, the crash wasn’t your fault.”
“Of course it was. If I hadn’t pushed Zhi to go on to Raleigh—if we’d stayed the night in DC like Tommy wanted—none of this would have happened.”
“If you hadn’t pushed? Come on, Con. The only opinion that mattered in our band was Zhi’s. Period. I loved him like a brother, but he was a grade-A prima donna. You know how he was if he didn’t get his way, and what he wanted that night was to go to Raleigh. He was also the one who insisted on manually driving us all over the country in that piece-of-shit van. Maybe you’re responsible for helping him always get his way. Okay, but me and Hugh always went along to get along. It was lazy and chickenshit; I was just sick of arguing with Zhi all the time, so I picked my battles. The wrong battles, it turns out, and that’s on me. I saw how exhausted Zhi was that night. I didn’t have to get in the van. None of us did. It sucks, but we all helped foster our collective dysfunction. We were always going on to Raleigh. You don’t get to martyr yourself over it.”
“How can you be so Zen about all this?”
“Because I’ve had this conversation once already. And I wasn’t so Zen about it the first time, believe me,” Stephie said. “Look. If you need to be forgiven—and I only say this because she did—well, you are. But I hope you’ll forgive me back. I cut you out as much as you did me. I regret it, but maybe we both needed time off to heal? I don’t know. But I was glad to see you again last year, and I’m glad to see you now.”