And When I Die, page 2
“Mr. Byrne. He teaches American lit and he’s super cute.”
Ava winced, wondering how big a deal she should make out of this. She’d only ever had one teacher she thought was cute—Coach Lansing, who did double duty as the social studies teacher and assistant football coach. Most of her teachers had been crotchety old women.
“He’s a new teacher?”
“Yeah, it’s his first year here. I think someone said he used to teach in the city,” Carly said, before putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb. “So, are you going to give me this car when I get my license?”
“Very funny,” Ava said, drumming her fingers against her thigh as she watched the traffic.
“Dad gave Jimmy his car when he got his license.”
“Dad’s car was ten years old. Mine’s only two.”
“So, that means I’m getting a new car?” Carly smiled.
“Like I said, kid, you’re funny. How was practice?”
“We got to learn a new routine today. It was the first one Coach K let Whitney choreograph.”
“That’s good, right?”
“What?”
“That Whitney got to choreograph.”
“Oh, my God, yeah, it’s good,” Carly said. “It’s awesome. She’s the best dancer on the team. Her moves are sick.”
“Sick. That’s also a good thing, right?”
“Mom. Stop. You’re beyond embarrassing.”
Ava shrugged. “Sorry.”
“You remember that her Sweet Sixteen is next Saturday, right?”
Ava adjusted her sunglasses against the late afternoon glare. “Whose—Whitney’s?”
“Yeah, Whitney’s. Who else would I be talking about?”
“So much to remem—yes, yes, you told me. Whitney Dean’s Sweet Sixteen. The social event of the season.”
“So, I need to go shopping.”
“For what?”
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
Ava twisted around in her seat, her jaw slightly agape. “Carly, you just dropped three hundred and fifty dollars at the mall for back-to-school clothes. You’re telling me you didn’t buy something then?”
“Mom.” Carly scoffed and rolled her eyes as though she was about to explain a simple concept to a moron. “I can’t just buy something at the mall for the Sweet Sixteen party for the most popular girl in school. I gotta come correct.”
“Whatever ‘correct’ you’re coming, you better ‘correct’ it out of your closet.”
“Oh my God, Mom—”
“Carly—”
“I’m seriously going to be the only girl there looking like a straight-up hobo.”
“You’ll live.” Ava’s phone dinged from her purse and she dug around for it. “What about that red, kind of flouncy dress you wore to Uncle Frank’s birthday last year? That’s cute. You’ve only worn it that one time.”
“Oh, yeah.” Carly made a left-hand turn, the wheel snapping back expertly beneath her hands, now snugly back at ten and two. “I totally forgot about that dress.”
“Well, maybe if you didn’t have so many clothes crammed in that closet, you could actually see what you have,” Ava said, sighing to herself as she scrolled through the chapter-length email from her new boss, a recent transfer from the Dallas office and a raging psycho from what she’d seen so far. Rumor had it she was being groomed for eventual reassignment to Japan. Ava couldn’t wait to spring for the kimonos.
“Ugh.” Carly smacked her lips. “Not this again.”
“Tell you what,” Ava said, throwing her phone back in her purse, deciding to deal with the email after her conference call. “You give me the dress tonight, I’ll take it with my dry cleaning tomorrow. We’ll have it back by the end of the week, plenty of time for the party.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Mom.”
“So, Whitney Dean’s turning sixteen. I guess she’s the first to turn sixteen this year, huh?” Ava asked.
“Like, four girls turned sixteen over the summer.”
“So hard to keep track,” Ava mumbled.
“It’s going to be straight fire. They’re turning the Palisade House into a nightclub with a red carpet, a photo booth, a step and repeat. It’s going to be so cool.”
Ava snorted. “God, when I turned sixteen it was in our basement with pink streamers, a fake disco ball, ham salad sandwiches that Granny and my Aunty Judy made, a bowl of Ruffles, and an ice cream cake from Carvel.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“I loved it,” Ava said, laughing. “Granny let me charge a dress to her Dayton-Hudson account—pink, my favorite—and some really pretty strappy silver heels to go with it. Uncle Frank played DJ. Bobby Benson gave me my first kiss. One of the best nights of my life.”
“That still sounds pathetic.”
“While you’re over here giving me a hard time, did you manage to remember to buy Whitney a present?” Ava asked.
“They’re not doing presents,” Carly said, her eyes lighting up as she looked at Ava. “They’ve asked for donations to Rosie’s Club instead. How cool is that?”
“Well, that’s a very nice thing the Deans are doing,” she said, the irony not at all lost on her. Throw what was likely a million-dollar party for your daughter, but benevolently ask for charitable donations. She wondered whose idea that was. Whitney’s probably and Lauren just went along with it. “Rosie’s Club can always use any extra help.”
“Whitney always does the coolest stuff.”
“So, who’s going?”
“Everyone. Everyone who’s cool, I mean.” Carly bit her bottom lip. “Except for Jordan. She’s probably not going.”
“Why not?” Ava asked.
“She and Whitney had some fight or something. They’re not talking.”
Carly signaled to turn onto their street, and their house, a comfortable Georgian, came into view. It wasn’t grand or sprawling, but a beautiful, warm, and spacious home draped in warm earth tones and outfitted in quality furniture that, much like Ava’s wardrobe, lasted forever.
“Huh.” Ava scratched her nose. “I thought those two were thick as thieves.”
“Whatever happened, it’s definitely nuclear.” Carly pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. “Level twelve.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure it will blow over.”
“I don’t think so, Mom. I think they’re done.”
Ava shrugged. “With teenage girls, you never know.”
2
ERICA
Erica Mitchell gripped her sweaty palms around the handles of the elliptical, the heart charm of her gold Tiffany bracelet clanging against her wrist. Her gaze drifted down to the white terry cloth towel obscuring the machine’s digital keypad. She’d gotten on right as General Hospital danced across the flat screen TV on the wall above her, watched on occasion these days out of mild curiosity. Not like when she was growing up, when the goings on in Port Charles and Pine Valley had consumed her. Using her babysitting money to buy soap magazines, reading them like a religion, the covers and pages smudged and wrinkled from her constant handling. In the days before DVR, OnDemand, YouTube, and streaming services. When a VCR was a luxury, not a right. When summer vacation and sick days were the only chances you got to watch your soaps.
She pumped her arms, sweat sluicing down her back as she ticked through her to-do list for tomorrow. Packages to drop off, annual eye and teeth appointments to schedule for everyone, the simple black cocktail dress to alter in anticipation of Jay’s holiday gala in December, dry cleaning to pick up, and three client projects that only needed a few tweaks to finish. With time to spare for a two-and-a-half-hour session at the gym. All in a day’s work.
She glanced over at the woman who got on the elliptical next to her, a little disappointed it wasn’t Lauren Dean. On occasion, she was here in the afternoon and Erica thought she might catch her today. Calling Lauren had been a nagging weed on her to-do list for the past few weeks. Normally, she wouldn’t put something like this off so long, but Jay kept telling her to give it time and not to make a big deal out of it. Of course, he didn’t think it was a big deal. He was a man. Anything that didn’t have to do with football or cars was no big deal. A casual run-in at the gym would have made the situation with Lauren a bit more relaxed, a little less awkward than a pointed, deliberate phone call at nine-thirty tomorrow morning, the time Erica designated to cross that item off her to-do list.
Well, the clock was ticking and Erica couldn’t wait any longer. Nine-thirty tomorrow morning was D-Day.
The Jeopardy! announcer’s voice boomed out of the TV and Erica slipped the towel off the machine and around her neck before jamming the down arrow button to decrease the intensity for sixty seconds before hopping onto the treadmill for a brisk power walk through the first commercial. Her cool-down done, Erica wiped down both machines with a handful of antibacterial wipes from the cylinder near the door and took a gulp of water from her bottle, her entire body burning with calories gone. She mopped her face with the towel, not seeing the woman she bumped into.
“Excuse me,” she said as she pulled back, pleased to see none other than Lauren Dean staring back at her. Ask, believe, receive.
“Oh. Hi, Erica,” Lauren said.
“Well, hello. Gosh, I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you. Not since the end of last school year. How are you?”
“Fine. Busy. You know how it is. How are you?”
“I’m great. How was your summer?”
Lauren, who fit the template of a glamorous suburban real estate agent to an aching, clichéd T, with her streaked blond hair, trim, muscular body and sparkling white teeth, flung her towel over her shoulder and looked around, seemingly distracted. “Oh, you know. Summer.”
“I guess you guys must have done a lot of traveling this summer. So did we. You know we went to Singapore and Hong Kong.”
“Wow. I’ll bet that was amazing.”
“Oh, it was. It was. We should have a drink soon and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Sure. Of course.”
“We also spent a bit of time at the house in Door County. You did such a great job finding that for us.”
“I’m glad you’re so happy. With the house.”
“You know we told Jordan that Whitney was invited to come up for a week or so, but she didn’t show.” Erica tapped her water bottle. “I guess because you guys were so busy.”
“Yeah, we, uh…” Lauren shrugged. “We spent a lot of time in California this summer. Steve’s older sister lives in Malibu, so, sun. Surf. You know. The beach.”
Erica nodded. “Malibu. How lovely. Really. Really, really lovely.”
“Yes,” Lauren said. “It was … lovely.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Well, I should snag a machine.” Lauren went to step around her. “It was great to see you—”
“I’m glad I ran into you,” Erica said, positioning herself in front of Lauren, blocking the woman’s escape. “It actually saves me a phone call.”
“Oh?”
“I was looking at my calendar and Whitney’s Sweet Sixteen is around the corner.”
Lauren pursed her lips. “That’s right.”
Erica pulled her ponytail holder out of her hair, the damp, honey blond strands falling to the glistening, bronze slopes of her shoulders, courtesy of regular professional spray tans. “Well, Jordan hasn’t gotten her invitation yet.”
“Um, well—”
“I mean, I’m sure it’s an oversight, but I did want to ask you about it.” She chuckled. “After all, we’ve been hearing about this Sweet Sixteen since the girls were ten. I mean, the way Whitney’s been planning it for all these years, it’s almost like a wedding.”
Lauren clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Yes, I did notice Jordan wasn’t on the invite list and I asked Whitney about it—about inviting Jordan to the party—and, well, I guess the girls aren’t really getting along at the moment.”
Erica smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“It’s just … you remember how it is at that age. Everything’s the end of the world, everything’s life or death.”
“Okay…?”
“I just think Whitney would be more comfortable if Jordan wasn’t there.” As the damning words rushed from Lauren’s mouth, it was hard to miss the red splotches crawling up the woman’s neck.
“So, you’re saying Whitney doesn’t want Jordan at her party?”
Lauren tucked an imaginary chunk of hair behind her ear. “Yes, that’s what Whitney said. Yes.”
“Lauren.” Erica smiled again, cocking her head to the side. “That’s just completely unacceptable.”
The crimson exploded across Lauren’s face as she attempted to surreptitiously scratch her thigh. “Well, it’s Whitney’s choice and I try not to interfere in these things.”
Erica opened her mouth to speak before moving aside to let someone pass. She sighed, letting her lower lip droop. Time for a different tack.
“It’s … well, Jordan is just devastated. I know the girls have had their troubles lately, but not getting invited to the party? She feels awful.”
Lauren frowned and scratched her thigh again. “I don’t think Whitney ever intended for that.”
“The girls have been friends since the monkey bars and they’ve always been invited to each other’s birthday parties and this is obviously such a special time in a young girl’s life.” She put her hand across her chest and shook her head. “I mean, we only turn sixteen once and I would just hate for the girls to look back and regret they didn’t get to share this experience together.”
“Erica, it’s really not up to me.”
She could see the storm brewing across Lauren’s face. Time to go in for the kill.
“Isn’t it?”
Lauren blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“As mothers, isn’t it up to us to set the example and teach our children that sometimes you have to be the bigger person and take the high road? Isn’t that our job? In this case, your job?”
Lauren’s chin trembled as Erica’s words hit their target. As she knew they would.
“Well, I mean, it’s just …” Her voice trailed off as she bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Of course.”
“You and I know in time they won’t even remember what they were fighting about.”
“We’d love to have Jordan come to the party,” Lauren said, squaring her shoulders as though some surprise backbone suddenly slithered up her spine. “It wouldn’t be the same without her.”
Erica smiled. Mission accomplished. As she knew it would be. She grabbed Lauren’s damp hand with her own and squeezed it. “I can’t tell you what this means. Jordan will be thrilled.”
“I’ll drop the invitation by tomorrow. Make it official.”
“That’s wonderful,” Erica said. She straightened up her own shoulders, smiling as she mentally drew a red line through the item on her list. Always have a plan. “Why don’t you stop by tomorrow morning. Say around ten?”
“Okay. Yes. Ten. I, I’ll see you then.”
“Excellent,” Erica said. “Have a good workout.” She smiled one last time before heading into the women’s locker room, the high of her workout and securing Jordan’s invitation to the party a double whammy of euphoria.
She hummed to herself as she gathered her things from her locker to head home to shower, smiling as her phone alerted her to an Amazon package waiting for her filled with new versions of her standard wardrobe of skinny black pants and a monochromatic rainbow of black, beige, and gray fitted t-shirts. Erica shunned the ostentatious clothing displays many of the women around here indulged in. There were no designer labels or couture gowns crowding her closets, no towering high heels fighting for prominence in the shoe rack. She didn’t need to wear her prosperity, because wealth didn’t scream, it whispered. She had other ways of wielding her station in life.
Erica threw her phone back into her purse, her exhilaration about the party warming her insides. Jordan was going to be so excited. She’d wait until she had the invitation in her hand before telling her. It would make for a nice surprise. They’d go shopping this weekend for a dress. There would be hair and makeup to get, manis and pedis. The works. On her way out, Erica glanced at Lauren, having taken her place on the elliptical. Her phone rang and she smiled seeing it was Jay.
“Hello, darling,” she said as she switched to Bluetooth in the car. “Ready for your investor dinner tonight?”
“Flight grounded because of weather in Dallas. We’ll do it tomorrow, so I’m actually on my way home now.”
“Guess what?”
“Chicken butt.”
Erica burst out laughing. “You’re such a boy sometimes.”
“Only sometimes.”
Even at fifty-two, Jay Mitchell hadn’t quite outgrown being class clown. The hulking, beer guzzling, future frat boy bro who bulldozed his way through high school by balancing bottles of Bud on his head and holding a cigarette in the folds of his forehead. The bull in a china shop who carried whoopie cushions like talismans and thought Porky’s and Animal House were mantras to live by. For teenaged Jay Mitchell, school was a necessary evil between weekend rages and hangovers. Adult Jay Mitchell channeled his fascination with technology into building global software empires many times over, making him one of the wealthiest men in the world. These days, instead of infantile party tricks, he spent his time laughing all the way to the bank.
“Anyway, I saw Lauren at the gym today and … Jordan’s in,” Erica said.
“In where?”
“What do you mean ‘in where’? Whitney’s Sweet Sixteen,” she said. “Remember, I told you Jordan hadn’t been invited, which was ridiculous. I mean, there is absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t be going to that party.”
“I thought they weren’t talking to each other.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s just silly teenage girl stuff,” Erica said as she hit her turn signal. “I bet you anything they kiss and make up at the party like nothing ever happened.”
“I don’t think so.”
