Nora!” The voice, soft and slightly hoarse, emerging from the beautiful woman at the top of the ramp was Monica’s, but the face, framed with sharply cut white-blond hair and tight, poreless skin, could not possibly belong to her. “Nora!” Monica rolled up on her tiptoes, waving frantically. “Nora, it’s me! Over here!”
Nora stared as Monica began to run, her gait steady and pronounced despite four-inch heels, her rail-thin figure accentuating the sharp planes in her face. She was dressed like one of those women Nora had only seen in magazines: a black knee-length skirt secured with a red patent-leather belt, black alligator pumps, and a crisp white blouse. Her legs were gazelle-like, with keyhole-shaped knees and tiny ankles. A silk scarf, smattered with bits of black and red and blue, had been wrapped twice around her neck, the edges dangling in the front, and a handful of thin gold bracelets clattered around her wrist. “Monica?” Nora whispered.
Monica squealed and grabbed Nora all at once, squeezing so hard that Nora could feel the breath leave her body. “Oh, Nora! I can’t believe it’s you! I can’t believe you’re here!” She exuded an expensive scent: good perfume and exotic shampoo, the kind of things Nora found it silly to spend money on and then, for a split second, wished she didn’t. A man behind them cleared his throat. They were still in the middle of the ramp, blocking the rest of the plane traffic. Monica pulled Nora to the side with one hand, giggling as she grabbed her bag with the other. Her nails, a perfect square shape, had been painted shell-pink, and a gold ring set with a dime-sized blue stone adorned her right hand. “Baby doll!” she said, bending her knees so that she could make eye contact. “Look at you! You look so wonderful!”
Nora shook her head, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that this was the same Monica who just yesterday, it seemed, had looked like a marshmallowy Pippi Longstocking. Where had the braided orange hair, fleshy frame, and jack-o’-lantern teeth gone? When had she learned how to apply makeup so expertly, the black eyeliner and mascara making her eyes even bluer than Nora remembered? And her nose . . . Nora reached out and touched it with one finger. “Your nose . . .” she said.
Monica laughed. Her teeth were devoid of the previous spaces, shellacked a shiny white. “I got it done,” she said. “I got that horrible bump shaved all the way down. Do you like it?” She turned to one side and threw her shoulders back. “What do you think? My boyfriend, Liam, says it makes me look at least ten years younger. Do you agree?”
Nora studied Monica’s new nose again. How could the shape of someone’s nose make them look younger? Then again, maybe she was right. Now that it was smaller, Monica’s face did have a more delicate look to it. Or was it just that there was less of her now? The entire scenario left her anxious and amazed, all at the same time. “You’re so . . . beautiful,” she said. “Holy cow, Monica.”
Monica laughed again, delighted. “Well, you can buy anything these days. Even looks. You know that.”
Nora blinked, her anxiety rising again. How much of the Monica she used to know was gone now, replaced by this new, fake veneer? What else about her had undergone such transformation?
“Ozzie’s flight should be here in about an hour.” Monica slung a brown alligator bag over one shoulder. A large gold buckle gleamed on the front. “I was just on my way to baggage claim when I saw that your flight had landed, so I scooted on over to see if I could catch you.” She squeezed Nora’s arm. “I love your outfit. Especially your sneakers. They’re great. And so practical! I never dress comfortably for flights, and then I always regret it. My feet are killing me.” Her eyes were shining despite the complaint. “Oh my goodness, can you believe we’re all going to be together again? After all this time? You, me, Ozzie, and Grace?”
“I know.” Nora smiled and nodded.
Monica tucked a wedge of hair behind an ear as they started walking. “We’re supposed to refer to Grace as Petal now, did you know that?”
“Yes. Ozzie said something about that.”
“She’s not even responding to the name Grace anymore, apparently.” Monica’s line-free face darkened. “God. We probably should’ve come a lot earlier.”
“Well, I didn’t know.” Nora trotted a little to keep up. “I mean, I had no idea about anything that was going on with her. Did you?”
“I knew she had a miscarriage,” Monica said. “But that was a while ago, a few years after she graduated from art school. She called me one night to tell me about it. She was a wreck. Actually, I think she was drunk. I talked to her for a long time, but I don’t think anything really registered. I called a bunch of times after that, but she never returned my calls. I didn’t even know she’d finally had a baby.”
Nora felt a pang as she listened to Monica speak. Had Grace called Ozzie too over the years? And if so, why had she been excluded? Why hadn’t Grace called her?
She followed Monica to the escalator, settling in on the step behind her as the machine made its steady ascent to the second floor. Above them, neon signs advertising coffee and cinnamon buns blinked on and off, and a green Starbucks sign shone like an emerald in the distance. Nora’s stomach growled as she realized that she hadn’t eaten yet.
“Did you know about the . . .” Nora let her voice drift off, unable to meet Monica’s eyes. “What she did, I mean,” she finished. “Over the summer?”
Monica stepped off the escalator. She adjusted the brown leather strap over her shoulder and winced before answering. “Ozzie told me when she called. I just . . . I still can’t believe it. Why wouldn’t she have reached out first?” She looked pained, as if her stomach hurt. “To us, I mean. To any of us?”
“Maybe she didn’t think she could,” Nora said.
“You really think so?” Monica fiddled with the army of gold bracelets, aligning them just so along her thin wrist. “I know it’s been a long time, but Grace of all people had to have known we would have tried to help. I would have dropped everything. Honest to God, I would’ve. In a heartbeat. Any of us would have.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered,” Nora said.
Monica’s fingers stopped moving over the bracelets. “Of course it would have mattered.” Nora could hear the hurt in her voice. “It would have mattered a lot.”
“Maybe.” Nora looked away, feeling as though she’d just been reprimanded.
“Or maybe you’re right,” Monica said slowly. She reached down and grabbed Nora’s hand. “What do I know anymore?”
Ozzie was already at the baggage claim, hauling an enormous duffel bag off the conveyor belt as Nora and Monica approached. She was in blue jeans and hiking boots and an oversize sweat shirt with the words MY MOM ROCKS! printed on the front. A thin ponytail stuck out of the back of a Red Sox baseball cap, swinging from side to side like a tail. She’d put on some weight around her midsection, and her face looked fuller too, but there was no mistaking those mile-long legs, the insouciant swing in her hips as she moved.
“Ozzie!” Monica screamed and darted ahead, arms out straight in front of her. “Ozzie! Ozzie!”
Ozzie looked up, dropped her duffel bag on the floor, and caught Monica around the waist. She spun her around once and then again. Monica shrieked. Her legs flew out like a propeller, and one of her shoes went spinning across the room. Several people still waiting for their bags looked over and grinned.
“Where’d you come from?” Monica said breathlessly as Ozzie put her down. “I thought your flight wasn’t getting in until ten twenty!”
“Who knows?” Ozzie said. “The flight gods were with us. Or maybe we just got a good tailwind.” She held Monica at arm’s length, her eyes roving up and down the length of her. “Damn, you look good. Holy shit, Monica. What the hell did you do?”
Nora had caught up to them now and stood next to Ozzie’s other arm, waiting.
Monica giggled. “You mean what didn’t I do?”
Ozzie noticed Nora then and put her arm around her, enclosing the three of them in a wide hug. “Norster,” she said, pulling her close. “Hi, you.”
Somewhere nearby, a faint ringing sounded.
“Oh, my phone!” Monica said, pulling away. “I’m sorry, hold on.” She dug inside her purse, and pulled out a white iPhone with gold interlocking Cs on the back cover. “I have to take this,” she said, stepping off to one side and putting the phone to her ear. “One minute, okay?”
Nora had not moved. Ozzie’s sweat shirt smelled like a kitchen—macaroni and cheese, beef vegetable soup, maybe even a little bit of baby vomit—and she lingered, as if trying to place it.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ozzie said, kissing Nora hard on top of her head. “I can’t even tell you how glad I am that you decided to come.”
Nora ducked her head, moving in an inch or so more. Ozzie’s arm was strong around her, the way it used to be, the way she wished in that moment it had remained—and would always remain—for the rest of her life.
“How are you, really?” Ozzie stepped back, giving Nora a once-over.
Nora pulled on her earlobe, feeling her face flush. “I’m good,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Ozzie grinned, chucking her under the chin. “You look good.”
“So do you.”
“I got fat,” Ozzie said. “My husband calls me Chubbers.”
“He does?”
“Sometimes.” She laughed. “I’ve probably put on thirty pounds since high school.”
“It doesn’t show.”
“It’s all under here.” Ozzie slapped the front of her sweat shirt. “Thank God I still have a decent pair of legs. Otherwise I’d look like a doughnut.”
Monica came back over and slid an arm through Ozzie’s. Her face had lost some of its previous excitement, as if a lightbulb behind her eyes had been dimmed.
“Everything all right?” Ozzie asked.
“Everything’s fine.” She looked over at Nora and smiled brightly. “You ready?”
Nora nodded. “Let’s go.”