And When I Die, page 9
“Ava?”
At the sound of her name, Ava looked up from her tablet and groaned inwardly at the sight of Erica Mitchell wielding a fresh smoothie as she approached her table. Erica was nice and Ava got along with her well enough. However, she didn’t necessarily view her as a girlfriend. Friendly, but not friends. Erica was not someone she’d call up for a random Thursday happy hour or an afternoon of shopping followed by apps and margaritas. It was the trying too hard, the ‘like me, like me,’ vibe Erica radiated at times, that irritated Ava.
Qualities, she hated to admit, her own daughter displayed on occasion.
She plastered on a smile and stood. “Erica, hi. How are you?”
“Look at you hiding back here,” Erica said as they did the dual cheek kiss. “I’m good. You?”
“I’ve been traveling like a demon the past few weeks.” Ava sat back down, purposely not inviting Erica to take the seat across from her, mildly annoyed when she did anyway. “Leaving again on Monday to head to New York for two days,” Ava said. “Did you take a class today?”
“Oh, no, I always do the treadmill and the elliptical. I had to cut it short, though, since it’s an absolutely insane day.”
Ava chewed on a seed from her smoothie. The last thing Erica needed was to burn any calories. As her mother would say, the woman was thinner than half a stick. “What’s going on?”
“Well, Whitney’s party tonight,” Erica said, traces of smug indignation spiking her words. “Carly was invited, wasn’t she?”
“The social event of the season? Yes, trust me, it’s all Carly’s talked about.”
“We’ve got so much to do to get Jordan ready for tonight. Hair, nails, the whole thing.” Erica drummed her own short nude nails on the side of her smoothie cup, which Ava couldn’t help notice she had yet to take a sip from. “So, Carly’s definitely going?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, she’ll be there.” Ava nodded, hoping her look of confusion and surprise didn’t show. She could have sworn Carly told her Jordan was persona non grata from the party. Of course, that was a week ago, a lifetime in teenage years. “She wouldn’t miss it.”
“Well, that’s just wonderful. It’s so nice the girls get to share this moment. You only turn sixteen once. Thirty-five is another matter.” Erica winked and laughed. “And I’m assuming Carly’s got a whole look planned for tonight?”
“Actually, Lauren is springing for some of the girls to get blowouts and all of that later today, so kind of like you, I snuck over here for an early cardio class before the craziness begins.”
Erica’s face fell momentarily, resurrected almost as quickly. “That’s so nice of Lauren to treat some of the girls to an afternoon of pampering. So nice. I’m guessing it’s Lexi, Peyton, Madison, the usual crew?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. Probably.”
“Oh, well, that would make sense, of course. All of those girls were always joined at the hip, weren’t they?”
“Personally, I thought it was a bit much, this whole mini spa day, but Lauren really wanted to do it and Carly’s excited about it, so I’m staying out of it.” Ava fingered the straw of her smoothie and rolled her eyes. “So glad I’m not sixteen anymore.”
Erica finally took a barely perceptible sip of her light pink smoothie. “I don’t know, it’s kind of exciting, remembering what it was like.”
“I was telling Carly the other day my Sweet Sixteen was way different than this production. In my basement with a Carvel cake, my brother on the turntable, and a kiss from Bobby Benson at the end of the night.”
Erica laughed. “Well, yes, that would be pretty hard to beat. Now, I didn’t have anything like what Whitney’s doing, either, but I had a big party at the country club, huge cake, tons of presents. No Bobby Benson, but there was a shiny new pink Carmen Ghia with a big red bow outside.”
“So much for me and Bobby Benson.”
“I suppose you know Jordan and Whitney have been on the outs recently,” Erica said.
Ava winced inwardly as she shook her smoothie cup before taking a hearty sip. Erica always was one for gossipy asides, even if it was about her own daughter.
“Carly had mentioned something, but didn’t know what it was about,” she said.
“Neither do I. Something ridiculous, I’m sure. Anyway, tonight is the perfect opportunity to put all this silliness behind them and get back to being best girlfriends. There’s nothing like a party to bring people together. Especially best friends.”
“I’m sure it will all work out.”
“Well, it’s just nonsense. I mean, the girls have been like sisters for all these years and then to all of a sudden say she isn’t invited to your Sweet Sixteen over what I’m sure was something trivial.” Erica shook her head. “Do you know I had to make a direct appeal to Lauren to get Jordan on the list?”
Ava choked on her smoothie, mortified for Jordan. She couldn’t see any scenario where she’d ever finagle a party invitation of all things for Carly. It wasn’t that serious.
“Are you okay?” Erica asked.
She coughed and nodded. “Yeah, just uh … went down the wrong pipe. Did you say you asked Lauren to invite Jordan?”
“You bet I did. I had to.”
Ava coughed again. “I hadn’t heard that.” She made a mental note to get a happy hour on the books with Lauren ASAP for the scoop.
“You know how it is in high school. One girl doesn’t like you, then everyone stops liking you. Especially the most popular girl in school.” Erica shuddered. “Now I’ve got to work on getting her back on the pom squad.”
“What uh—” Ava coughed again then cleared her throat. “What made Jordan decide to quit?”
Erica scoffed. “Oh, I don’t know. Again, I’m sure it was something ridiculous. Anyway, I’m going to have a talk with Coach K, see if we can’t get all of this straightened out. She’s far too talented and worked way too hard to just give it up.”
“I have to say, Jordan has always struck me as someone who has the courage of her convictions.” Like mother like daughter.
“High school is just so much easier when you fit in.” Erica jiggled the heart charm on her bracelet, seemingly agitated. “Unless you’re popular, then it doesn’t matter.”
“Well, listen, you and I both know one day, none of this will matter. I mean, all the shit that meant so much in high school, when you get to be our age, nobody even cares.”
Erica smiled. “Except at their age, everyone cares.”
Ava glanced at the clock on her tablet. Time to wrap this up. She flipped the cover over the screen and put it in her gym bag. “I’m sure all the girls will have a great time.”
“They will. I know they will.” Erica clapped her hands together. “I can’t wait to see the pictures.”
“I should get going.” Ava stood. “I told Carly I’d drop her at the salon by eleven and if I’m even thirty seconds late, she’ll have a meltdown and God knows there’s been enough of those this week.”
“Oh, don’t I know the feeling,” Erica said, laughing as she stood up. “I’ll walk out with you. Jordan and I have to be at the nail salon by eleven ourselves.”
“Don’t forget your smoothie.” Ava gestured to the practically untouched pink concoction sweating on the table.
Erica gave a careless wave of her hand. “It wasn’t that good anyway,” she said, leaning over to pick it up before tossing it in the trash. “Besides, I’m too nervous to eat. Oh! Before I forget, when are you back next week?”
Ava’s heart raced, knowing where this was going. Erica was always extending invitations to drinks and lunches and dinners and Ava always found a way to wiggle out of it, hoping Erica would take the hint, but in all these years, no dice. At times, she had succumbed out of guilt, usually managing to corral one or two of the other moms into going too so it would be a festive group outing versus an uncomfortable and grating one-on-one. “Late on Wednesday.”
“Why don’t we grab a drink when you get back, download on the festivities?”
Ava’s phone chirped from the bottom of her purse as they walked out the front door, saving her from having to put forth a lame excuse. She smiled at Kyle’s face on the screen.
“Oh, it’s Kyle. Probably wondering when I’m coming to rescue him.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll text you about a drink next week?”
“Sure, yeah, that sounds great,” Ava said, acquiescing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. This little run-in hadn’t been the end of the world. “Let’s figure out something.”
“Great.” Erica smiled and mouthed ‘goodbye’ before heading to her car parked close to the entrance.
“I’m leaving now, English,” Ava answered, her nickname for her husband, a nod to his British ancestry. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Right, because she might be speaking in tongues.”
“Why, what’s happening?”
“Hell if I know. She’s talking a mile a minute about blowouts and CD Nails and Greek prints and it’s all gone to pot and now I’ve got a bloody headache.”
Ava got behind the wheel and put the phone on Bluetooth as she started the car. “Speaking of headaches, I just ran into Erica Mitchell.”
“Nice one.”
“Get this. She made Lauren invite Jordan to the party.”
“It’s that serious then?”
“No, it’s not that serious,” Ava said as she backed out of her space, watching Erica’s car exit the parking lot. “I shouldn’t be surprised, though. It’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do.”
“Well, you’ve always thought she was a bit dodgy.”
“I need to text Lauren when I’m back in town and get the lowdown. Unbelievable.” Ava adjusted her sunglasses and shook her head. “I mean, it’s a fucking birthday party. Who cares?”
17
CARLY
This party was the sickest thing Carly had ever seen.
When they pulled up to the Palisade House in the stretch limo Mrs. Dean got for them, the eight photographers she’d hired were lined up along the red carpet, cameras poised for a barrage of pictures. Two searchlights stamped #WhitneyDeans16 against the inky purple sky. One by one, the girls exited the car, flashbulbs popping, blinding them temporarily as they posed and waved to the small cluster of kids crowded around the entrance, who cheered their arrival as they waited for the main attraction. Whitney was the last one out and as soon as she emerged, everyone went crazy, screaming her name and whistling. Carly had even seen one girl crying. Whitney smiled and waved and blew kisses as she sauntered solo down the red carpet, stopping at the step and repeat to turn and twirl for both the cameras and the adoring crowd. The five of them posed for pictures as a group and at one point, Whitney pulled Carly over for photos of just the two of them. The gesture pricked tears of happiness.
Once inside, her jaw dropped at the transformation of the Palisade. The light boxes, Lucite dance floor jammed with kids, wall drapes, five-feet-tall flower arrangements bursting from every corner, tables overflowing with filet sliders, truffle fries, chicken skewers, meats, cheese, fruits and veggies, waiters passing by with trays of wontons and sushi rolls stuffed with lobster and caviar. Carly knew there would be a sweets table later and they’d roll out the multi-tiered birthday cake with pink frosting—Whitney’s favorite color—at the end of the night.
It was beyond bananas.
Carly had lost count of how many songs they’d danced to. They were smack in the middle of the dance floor, the disco ball twirling overhead, the music pumping, and colored lights exploding seemingly every thirty seconds. The DJ did not disappoint, spinning out jam after jam after jam. She was a little hungry and wanted to load up on the sliders and truffle fries. She’d wait until Whitney was ready to eat, even though it didn’t seem like she planned to slow down anytime soon.
As a result of staying rooted to the dance floor, she didn’t see Jordan right away. One minute, they were all dancing, singing, having a great time. The next, whispers detonated around the room as people noticed Jordan, the tight aquamarine dress hitting her mid-thigh, her long black hair done up in a genie ponytail, Kendra Scott drop earrings bouncing against her ears.
Carly gulped as Jordan made her way around the room, seeming to survey it, but not saying anything. She winked at a few people and smiled at a few others, though nobody smiled or winked back. She glanced over at a fuming Whitney, her own heart racing. Jordan headed for the food table, filling her plate with two sliders, a mushroom puff, and a handful of truffle fries, before grabbing a Whit-tini—cranberry juice, lime juice, simple syrup, and crushed raspberries—from one of the trays moving past her. She stood next to the table, staring at Whitney while she nibbled on her food and sipped her mocktail.
“I can’t believe she came,” Whitney said, more to herself than to anyone else. “That she had the fucking nerve to actually do it.”
Carly grabbed her arm. “You should just ignore her. If you go over there and talk to her, that might get her all worked up.”
Whitney shrugged her off. “If I want to talk to her, I will.”
“I think Carly’s right,” Peyton said. “Like, this is your party. Blow her off.”
Whitney didn’t say anything as she kept dancing, her eyes glued to Jordan, who also kept her eyes locked on the birthday girl. They all watched Jordan wearily, who continued to sip, eat, and stare, not saying a word, not acknowledging anyone.
Carly’s heart leapt when she saw Dionne sidle up to Jordan. It looked like Dionne was doing most of the talking. She squinted, wondering if it would be possible to read Dionne’s lips, to see if she was spilling the beans to Jordan about what she’d said that day in the dress shop.
She had to go over there. She had to know what Dionne was saying.
“I’m gonna grab something to drink,” she said to Whitney. “I’ll be back.”
No one said anything as Carly pushed her way through the throng on the dance floor, getting lit once again as the DJ pumped Rihanna. She smoothed down her hair as she reached the table. Dionne stopped talking and glanced at her, smiling as Jordan continued to sip her drink.
“Hey,” Carly said as nonchalantly as she could with her heart pounding against her chest like a freight train gone wild. “What’s up?”
Jordan clicked her tongue as she slurped down the last of her Whit-tini. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said, stepping around Carly and heading toward the bar.
“What was that all about?” Carly asked, irritated at the nervous squeak of her voice. She lowered her head toward Dionne. “You didn’t say anything about … you know…”
“What?” Dionne yelled as Lizzo came on, the DJ seeming to have turned the volume up.
“Did you say anything to Jordan about—?”
Dionne’s boyfriend, Tommy, came up behind her and yanked her in the direction of the dance floor. She mouthed ‘sorry’ as the two suctioned themselves together.
Panic flushed through Carly as she looked around for Jordan, freaked when she couldn’t see her. She continued to thread her way through the horde, her eyes desperately peeled for even a flash of aquamarine from Jordan’s dress. Carly slowly spun around in a distressed circle, the pulse of the music and the elated screams from the dark crowded dance floor pushing against her.
Whitney. She needed to get back to Whitney.
Carly pivoted in the direction of where she’d left Whitney, not even noticing when someone spilled a drink on her, the cold liquid splashing against her shoulder and dripping down the sleeve of her dress. Nor did it register when someone else stubbed her toe. All that mattered was getting back to Whitney.
Just as she broke free from the crowd, from the corner of her eye, she spotted Jordan standing alone, her hands on her hips as she stared Whitney down from across the room. In slow motion it seemed, Whitney turned from her conversation with Peyton to face Jordan. For what felt like an eternity, the two girls stared at each other, the heat of rage emanating from both like fire. Peyton whispered to Whitney while holding her arm, but she shrugged her off as she took a defiant step in Jordan’s direction. Carly shook her head in silent fear as she rushed toward Whitney, blocking her advance.
“Whitney, why don’t we dance?” Carly said, breathless from the anxiety, the fear of what was about to happen. “Forget about Jordan. Please?”
Whitney stepped around Carly, her finger pointed in Jordan’s direction. “You need to leave. Why are you even here?”
Jordan folded her arms across her chest, her chin pointed outward in spite. “Your mom invited me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Nobody wants you here, Jordan. You only got invited because your mom totally made my mom feel sorry for you,” Whitney said. “You’re even more pathetic than I thought, you ho bag.”
Jordan clapped. “Congratulations on using big words. Did you get a dictionary for your birthday?”
“Shut up, you loser.”
“Seriously, is that the best you’ve got?” Jordan asked, laughing. “One year older and still no brains.”
By now, a small crowd had started to form in a semi-circle around the girls, their heads swiveling between them like spectators at a tennis match.
Whitney squared her shoulders back. “At least my mom doesn’t have to go around begging people to invite me to their parties. Honestly, how embarrassing.” She looked over at Peyton. “I mean, honestly, if your mom said, ‘Hey, invite my loser daughter to your birthday party because nobody will give her the time of day,’ would you go?”
Peyton pursed her lips and shook her head rapidly, seemingly afraid to open her mouth. It was all the encouragement Whitney needed, because she threw her head back and laughed. “Poor pathetic Jordan who can’t even get anyone to eat lunch with her, who looks like a straight-up clown, who needs her mommy to plan her playdates for her—”
“Please, your mom probably paid everyone to be here.”
