“So…I should go home?”
“I think Kristen has bigger plans than that. But yeah, get outta here. Enjoy your birthday.” He waved and turned his attention back to his screen.
Bigger plans? Aaron was making me dinner tonight; I’d agreed to hang out with Kristen tomorrow, Friday. And things with Kristen were still so…strange, especially the way she zipped off like a dragonfly whenever I tried to talk to her, head-on, about Chile. Trepidation stirred, with white-hot guilt on its heels: Kristen planned this big, intricate treasure hunt because she loves you. Whatever she’s got in mind, it’s probably awesome.
I called her as I traversed the parking lot. “Dude! What on Earth did you say to Russell?”
She giggled. “I just reminded him what an asset you are to the company. Are you on your way home?”
“Leaving now.”
“I’ll be waiting for you!” she cried, then hung up.
* * *
—
A Lexus SUV hunched on the curb in front of my apartment, and little blossoms from a dogwood tree powdered the windshield. Kristen climbed out as I stepped into the warm air.
“Happy birthdaaay!” She threw her arms around me.
“Thank youuuuu,” I sang back. “I can’t believe you got me out of work! What’s the plan?” Was this it, the climax of her intricate plot?
“We’re going Up North!” She opened her palms to the sky. “To Nana and Bill’s lake house! This is gonna be so fun!”
It flashed before me: a broad cabin with floor-to-ceiling windows, set low on a spit of land jutting out into Lake Novak. The house was built from pines stacked like Lincoln Logs, with a vast, vaulted atrium and bedrooms in a ring on the second floor. I’d visited with Kristen a few times in college and shortly after, and had mostly forgotten about it since.
My mouth hung open. “We’re going now?”
“Yep!” Kristen waved toward the Lexus. “Bill let me borrow his car. I know how much you love it there.”
She was right, the whole area made my heart smile: winding country roads etched into thick forests, a jumble of lakes with just a few miles between them, like they were holes poked by a giant. Ancient evergreens stretching hundreds of feet toward the sky, maples and oaks filling in all the negative space.
But right now, my chest was compressing at the thought. A finch overhead stopped singing and swooped onto the hood of my car, and the fear crystallized: Was it really a good idea for us to leave town together? Lately, traveling as a duo had led to chaos—as if the two of us, untethered from our homes, were a beacon for cruelty.
And anyway, I had plans with Aaron tonight.
“I was actually supposed to—”
“Don’t worry, I talked to Aaron. This weekend, I have you all to myself!”
“Oh! Was he…okay with that?”
Her face darkened for a second, like it was on a dimmer switch. My stomach twisted as I wondered what tone she’d taken with him, what she’d said in conversations I wasn’t privy to. Sharing the pickpocket story, guiding him toward a look-alike wallet. Informing him that his plans were canceled, that I’d be hers on the night of my birthday. But then she grinned. “Of course. He is truly such a sweetheart.” She gestured toward my front door. “Let’s get you packed, yeah? Beat rush hour?”
I stared at her. Too long. I thought briefly of pushing back, of saying no, of suggesting we set out tomorrow, not today. But I knew I couldn’t resist. Surprises were like mine shafts and I’d just stepped into one; the only path was downward into the chilly dark.
* * *
—
Lake Novak was three hours north of Milwaukee—two on I-43 and then another on country roads, passing through tiny downtowns that were like knots on a string. Black Creek, Bonduel, Cecil, Mountain, each a sudden burst of supper clubs, hardware stores, and ugly bars, beer signs crowding the windows. We stopped for burgers and frozen custard （“Get the peanut-butter sundae—it’s your birthday!”） and watched billboards roll by as strip malls and fast-food joints turned to undulating fields of corn and soy and wheat. The journey tugged at my sense of déjà vu, and with a sickening punch I figured out why: We’d been just like this, Kristen in the driver’s seat, the road unfurling out front as rows of crops ruffled beside us, when we made our way to Quiteria.
Having Kristen here in Wisconsin should be a dream, but I couldn’t relax. Our togetherness felt like playing with fire, like flicking a lighter closer and closer to a cloud of gasoline. What if fate struck a third time? What if a handsy guy attacked her and we were disposing of a body once again? Much as I hated to admit it, I was glad she was staying with her grandparents and not with me. Grateful for the fifteen-plus-mile cushion.
I sent Aaron an apology for pushing back our plans, and he replied with a run of “Have fun!” texts—he was either fine with my ditching him or faking it well. At first it seemed odd that he’d given Kristen his blessing, but then I realized he didn’t have much of a choice: Could the brand-new boyfriend really say no to the best friend since college? Kristen had turned on men for much less.
Like Colin. I hadn’t felt as strongly about him as I did Aaron, but I’d liked him in that zippy, belly-butterflies way, and found myself mentally crocheting our coupledom into the future: spring picnics, summer weddings, hayrides and pumpkin patches, elegant holiday parties. I’d introduced him to Kristen, excitedly, and she’d seemed to like him too.
Until he and I had our first fight. It was over text, and while other friends to whom I’d sent the screenshots told me to give him the benefit of the doubt, Kristen had taken a very different stance: “Oh, hell no.” Though her proclamations stung, I’d felt grateful for the lack of pussyfooting and soothed by her solidarity; after all, if the roles were reversed, she’d want me to give it to her straight. And so I’d ended things with Colin. Confident it was the right call, because she’d never steered me wrong. But now…
I opened my texts, tilting my screen away from Kristen in what I hoped was a nonchalant lean, and for the first time in years I pulled up my final exchange with Colin. My eyes widened as I reread it: Was that what it had always said? Colin had asked if we were still on for drinks, with some cute emojis, and I’d unthinkingly said I was too swamped with work. He’d replied with sad faces, some frustration that I hadn’t given him more warning （Why didn’t I give him more warning?）， and I’d disappeared for ten minutes—I could picture it now, polling friends, crowdsourcing my next move, my heart thrumming like a hummingbird—and then I’d replied with a weirdly formal text: “Colin, your anger and lack of respect for my time are unacceptable. Please don’t contact me again.”
Now my cheeks flushed as I scanned his shocked, confused replies. I’d felt so confident sending that, using Kristen’s suggested language almost verbatim. In hindsight, I’d sounded like…well, I hated the sexist term, but I’d sounded like a crazy bitch.
Abruptly, the rolling fields yielded to dense woods, so we were tunneling through the trees. I looked at Kristen and took a deep breath. Relax, Emily. Maybe I was still remembering wrong. Maybe there was more context, more telltale signs of possessiveness than the text transcript showed—it’d been five years, after all.