If I’d been told in advance about the blood sacrifice, I would have made up an excuse not to attend the bachelorette party. I wasn’t too enthused about going in the first place. I resented group activities, especially ones where everyone else involved seemed delighted to participate. It made me wonder if I was just a miserly curmudgeon for not wanting to shell out my hard-earned income on someone else’s idea of a good time. Did no one else find it all ridiculous? The engagement party and the bridal shower and the bachelorette weekend and the wedding week.
“I’m going to end up dropping five K on someone else’s wedding,” I complained to my mother over the phone as I packed my suitcase in advance of Hailey’s Whimsical Woodland Weekend. “And why does everything have to have a theme now?”
“Not like you need the money for your own wedding,” my mother said.
“Well,” I said, contemplating a pair of shorts, “that’s your fault, not mine. You raised me to be fiercely independent.”
“Natalie.”
“I should send you the link to her registry. It’s unconscionable. They’ve lived together in that house for two years. They don’t need anything. They’ve got a frog statue on the registry. Ceramic frogs sitting on a log. I believe they’re fishing. It’s a hundred and fifty dollars. For fucking frogs.”
“Language,” my mother said. “Why are you so worked up about this?”
I folded the shorts and placed them in my suitcase, then collapsed onto my bed. “Why do we, as a society, reward people for getting married?”
“It’s a celebration,” my mother said. “We need to celebrate things in life. Otherwise . . .”
Her voice trailed off. I heard her sip what I knew was Diet Dr Pepper in a porcelain teacup. She liked things the way she liked them and never apologized for it, which was good and fine, but somehow it was a mystery to her how and why I turned out the way I did.
“Why don’t we celebrate other accomplishments?” I asked. “Why all the hoopla over forsaken freedom?”
“Natalie. This isn’t about you and your burning bra. This is about Hailey. This is for Hailey.”
My mother was right. Hailey was my oldest friend. We’d grown up together. Countless sleepovers watching dumb comedies and staying up past midnight, whispering secrets. Slipping notes into each other’s lockers, cutting class together. Swapping clothes and boys. We’d gossip about who was a good kisser, who used too much tongue. When we got our licenses, we’d drive around town for hours, listening to angsty emo rock and contemplating the future.
Now the future was here, and she was getting married to someone I barely knew. Mike seemed fine. In my eyes no one would ever be worthy; Hailey was the sweetest and most fun person I’d ever met. I had other friends, friends whom I loved and was close to, but they weren’t special to me the way that Hailey was. When you’re young with someone, when you share those formative years, the bond is specific and sincere.
“Nat?”
“I have to finish packing,” I said, my voice weirdly high. “Thanks for listening to me vent.”
“Anytime. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” When I hung up, I noticed I had a text from Hailey.
Can’t wait to see you this weekend!! it read. Miss you so much!
I plugged my phone in, and as it charged, I scrolled through old photos.
The two of us at our eighth-grade graduation, our smiles metallic, our dresses glittery, butterfly clips in our hair.
The two of us at sixteen sitting on the curb outside the mall, wearing tank tops and too much eyeliner, eating from the same bag of Swedish Fish.
A selfie of us in Hailey’s car, our eyebrows plucked thin, our lips pouty, the picture taken at a Myspace angle.
After a while, looking at the pictures stopped being fun and started to be painful. It was an icky feeling, a squirming in my chest. I patted away a few rogue tears and continued packing, busying myself in an attempt to escape the emotion.
The emotion that was, in retrospect, a warning.
I admired the constellations on the ceiling of Grand Central while sipping tepid coffee and eating a cranberry muffin, killing time before my train departed. Brianna would be picking me up from the station in Cold Spring. The house itself wasn’t in Cold Spring, and I didn’t know where it was exactly, because I couldn’t be bothered to read Brianna’s extensive emails. She was Hailey’s maid of honor, and she approached each task with such intensity you’d have thought she was defusing a bomb. At the bottom of every email she would write, in bold, Please get back to me by 4:30 PM today at the latest. I would often purposely wait until a few minutes past her deadline to spite her, but then she began emailing me reminders, so I surrendered my passive-aggressive game.
Hailey had met Brianna in college, and they stayed close postgraduation. They had a lot in common, lived within walking distance, had regular wine nights and gym dates, vacationed together. Still, whenever I was around, Brianna was hostile toward me—as if I was a threat to their friendship. She liked to assert her position as the best friend. I thought her attachment to Hailey a little strange, verging on obsessive. But at the same time, I absolutely did not want to be the one negotiating necklines of bridesmaid’s dresses and ordering custom aprons as shower favors. I was grateful that she was doing all the heavy lifting, and all I had to do was show up.
Though even showing up felt like a lot for me.
I headed toward the train, realizing if I continued to dawdle, I might miss it. My phone buzzed with a text from Brianna asking if I would be arriving on schedule. While distracted, responding with a simple yep, I accidentally bumped shoulders with a man in a business suit.
“Fucking bitch,” he spat.
Stellar way to start the weekend, I thought, stepping onto the train just as the doors closed behind me.
I found a seat, and as I watched New York City blur into the Hudson Valley, I tried to will away my cynicism. Though most of the bridesmaids were, like Brianna, Hailey’s friends from college whom I didn’t know that well because I’d gone away to school while Hailey stayed in Jersey, there was one other exception. Hailey’s sister-in-law-to-be, Jaqueline. Jacqueline wasn’t part of the friend group either. She was a few years older than the rest of us and lived in Philly with her wife and their two kids. I’d met her only once before, at the bridal shower, but I liked her vibe. We sat next to each other while Hailey opened her gifts, and whispered our predictions.
“A crossbow,” Jaqueline deadpanned when Hailey held up a petite box tied with a frilly pink ribbon, which ended up containing a crystal soap dish.
“A burner phone,” I’d said before Hailey flung back some tissue paper and pulled out a cake stand.
Maybe the bachelorette weekend wouldn’t be so bad. At least it wasn’t a bar crawl wearing penis crowns. I had initially suggested a night out in the city, because then I wouldn’t have to be inconvenienced by travel. I envisioned something fun and classy. Beauty & Essex, followed by a speakeasy like Please Don’t Tell. Brunch at Balthazar the next morning. But I wasn’t specific in my email, and as soon as I sent it, I worried that my NYC Bachelorette? proposal could easily result in a Times Square nightmare, navigating around the Broadway crowds, bumping elbows with Hoboken bros. No, thank you.
Hailey wants to do something more low-key, Brianna replied all of two minutes later. I’m looking into renting us this dreamy Airbnb in NY. She wants to go for more of a woodland theme. Will keep you posted! Xo, Bri.
Bri was waiting for me when I stepped off the train, standing beside her neon green Ford Fiesta, waving violently. She was smiling so widely her lips curled over her unnervingly white teeth.
I gave her a quick salute. “Hey there.”
“Hey, you!” she said. She popped the trunk, and when I went to put my suitcase inside, I noticed a small wooden box and some rope, but didn’t think much of it. “Wait till you see the place. You’re going to die!”
“Great,” I said, climbing into the passenger seat. Her car smelled like a piña colada.
“The house was built in 1790. It’s so, so cute,” she said. “Gum?”
I held out my palm and she tapped a piece into it. It was blue and tasted like cotton candy.
“It’s been renovated, obviously. Has all the amenities.”
“No outhouse?”
“God, no,” she said. “We will have to share rooms. I have you in with Jacqueline.”
I wasn’t thrilled about having to bunk with someone like it was summer camp, especially since I had paid five hundred dollars for the two nights, but at least I was with Jacqueline.
“So, I emailed you the itinerary, but I didn’t hear back, so I’ll just tell you now really quick, so you know what the plan is,” she said.
I fought the urge to immediately tune her out.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”
“When we get back, we’ll kick it off with a champagne happy hour. I’ve got all the stuff for a champagne-bar situation. We’ll toast and mix champagne cocktails. Then we’re going to dinner in town tonight. I’ve got reservations at, like, a pub-type place. Burgers and stuff. After, we’ll come back here, movie night. Popcorn, candy, et cetera. Hailey wants to watch Bridesmaids.”
“Appropriate choice,” I said.
“Tomorrow morning I’ve got a yoga instructor coming. We’re going to do outdoor yoga. The yoga is sixty, by the way,” she said. “We’re all pitching in for Hailey, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I said through clenched teeth.
“After yoga, I got us stuff to make brunch. I’ll cook. I’m happy to cook. Then I’ve got this girl coming in who does, like, catering and flowers and setup and everything. Did you get my email about that?”
“Yep.” I did but I’d suppressed it. It was another two hundred and fifty dollars.
“Did you look at her Instagram? So amazing, right?”
“Yeah, amazing.” I hadn’t looked.
“Then drinks and music, and I got this bachelorette party game. It’s like Cards Against Humanity, kind of, but for bachelorette parties. And yeah! I’ve got some really, really special plans for tomorrow night. All fun stuff Hailey will love.”
“Cool. So tonight, dinner and a movie. Tomorrow night, general shenanigans.”
“Yes. Sunday morning bagels. Then I’ll take you back to the station. How’s that sound?”
“It sounds super fun,” I said, trying out some zest. “Thank you for organizing all of this. I appreciate it.”
“Anything for my Hailey.”
My Hailey. I wondered if she thought I was dumb. I wondered if she thought it bothered me.
It didn’t. Because I knew that Hailey and I were more than friends. We were an amalgam of pinkie promises and inside jokes and hundreds of phone calls and shared lip balms and deep confessions. We had survived puberty together. I could list every crush she’d ever had, every person she’d ever kissed. I was there when her parents split up and I held her as she cried. I knew the taste of her tears. I knew the pitch of her laugh; it lived in me.
We were sisters.
So Bri could get fucked.
The house was fine. Old, made of stone, with a wraparound porch that looked like a recent addition. It was set back in the woods. I worried about ticks.
“Isn’t it so cute?” Brianna asked me as we pulled up, and again as I got my suitcase out of the trunk.
I pointed to the wooden box, which I saw had some engraving on it. “Do you need this?”
She slammed the trunk shut, ignoring my question. “What do you think of the house, Nat?”
“Cute,” I said. “So cute.”
“Like out of a fairy tale or something,” she said, leading me up the porch steps. “So perfect for the theme.”
Ah, yes, I thought. The theme.
Brianna opened the front door, and I experienced the resurgence of the squirmy ickiness I had felt when I was packing. It was like there was a creature thrashing around in my chest. A shark. Something wild and hungry and totally alone. Something dangerous.
“Hello, hello!” Brianna sang.
Inside, the house looked as I had expected it to. Low ceilings, hardwood, a stone fireplace, a remodeled kitchen with all-new appliances and a big marble island. It was very catalog. Very Instagram-able.
Hailey was sitting on the living room floor, her hands splayed on the coffee table, Chiara painting her nails. Shelby was perched behind Chiara, watching from the couch. Chiara and Shelby were never far from each other. They were best friends and former dorm mates, while Hailey and Brianna had shared a room across the hall. Junior year, the four of them had gotten a suite.
“Look at you in that leather jacket,” Hailey said, swiveling her head toward me but keeping her body perfectly still as to not disturb the manicure.
“It’s too warm out but I had to wear it. How else would people know I’m cool?”
“Oh, they’d know,” she said.
“Hi, Natalie,” Shelby chirped from the couch. She was five foot nothing, a former ballerina who now taught dance to children and had a lifestyle blog. She was incredibly blond and had thick, straight bangs. She looked so good with bangs, I wanted to sue.
Chiara did not look up from her careful work. She was an aesthetician employed at a high-end spa in Mendham, where all the rich housewives went to maintain their youth. She was always in designer clothes. Today she wore a Fendi print top paired with deliberately ripped jeans.
“Hey, Nat,” she said.
“Hey, hey,” I said, waving.
“I’ll show you your room and then we can start the festivities,” Brianna said, taking my suitcase and ushering me down the hall.
Jacqueline was already in the room, lying on one of the beds and FaceTiming with her kids. I heard their sweet little voices saying, “Mommy! Mommy, look!”
“That’s great,” Jacqueline said, giving me a nod. She mouthed, Sorry.
I gave her a “don’t worry about it” shake of the head.
“Champagne in five?” Brianna asked Jacqueline.
“Sure,” Jacqueline said. “Be right there.”
“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked Bri.
She pointed to the door across the hall.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m just going to wash up. I’ll be out in a few.”
Brianna gave me a look that I couldn’t decode.
“What?” I asked after a few seconds of her ambiguous stare.
“Just remember not to mention Dana. We’re all really disappointed she couldn’t come.”
Dana was Hailey’s sixth bridesmaid, another college friend. Brianna had called me earlier that week to inform me that Dana could no longer make the bachelorette, her tone so somber I initially thought someone had died.
“She can’t make it,” Brianna had repeated. “Hailey’s devastated.”
“Is Dana okay?” I asked.
There was a long pause. Finally, Bri had huffed and said, “Her mother fell and broke her jaw.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Is her mom all right?”
“She’ll be fine. I’m just trying to figure out how to salvage the weekend the best I can.”
“I’m sure Hailey understands. We’ll still have a good time.”
“Hopefully,” Brianna had said. “I just wanted to let you know because I don’t want it to come up this weekend. No mention of Dana.”
It seemed extreme, but I’d agreed because it was easier that way.
I gave Brianna a thumbs-up and circled her to get to the bathroom. I locked the door behind me and savored my two minutes of seclusion. When I opened the door, there was Jacqueline. She smiled at me and gave me a hug.
“Good to see you, comrade,” she said.
“You, too.”
“Shall we go anesthetize ourselves?”
“Please.”
Brianna had created an elaborate, adorable setup in mere minutes. The kitchen island was decorated with succulents in small metal pails. There were polka-dot bowls filled with pretzels and cocktail nuts. There were many, many bottles of champagne. There were plastic champagne flutes, a variety of liquors and juices and syrups, laminated cards with types of cocktails on the front and recipes on the back. There was a wooden sign that read Bachelorette Weekend in loopy script.
“Let’s make some cocktails and have a toast!” Brianna shouted over the music, a playlist I’m sure she had carefully curated. It kicked off with “Lady Marmalade.”
Brianna popped the first bottle and everyone whooped and giggled. I went ahead and started mixing myself a drink without referencing any of the recipe cards, something that Brianna noted and clearly did not appreciate.
“The cocktails on the cards are tried-and-true,” she said.
“Going off book?” Hailey asked.
“Yep,” I said, pouring a splash of Cointreau in my flute. “What are you gonna go for?”
“Hmm,” she said. She picked up a bottle of Chambord. “Remember when we used to sneak this from the liquor cabinet when my mom was out?”
“We’d mix it with orange juice.”
“Was it good? I forget.”
“No idea,” I said. “What did we know then?”
“What do we know now?” she asked, pouring some into a flute and then reaching for the OJ.
“You’re doing it?” I asked her.
“I’m doing it,” she said. “Throwback.”
“Then I’ll have one, too.”
I looked up just in time to catch Brianna’s eye. She was wrathful.
She pulled it together to give a toast. “Let’s raise our glasses to our bride, Hailey, my best friend in the whole world. I love you, Hailey! And I’m so excited for this weekend, for the surprises to come, and to celebrate you. And I’m just so happy you all are here. Now let’s show our girl a good time! Cheers, bitches!”
“Cheers!” everyone said, tapping our plastic flutes together.
“Not bad,” Hailey said, sipping the drink from our reckless teen past.
“Nahh, dude, too sweet,” I said, spitting it back into my flute.
“That’s why we use the cards,” Brianna said.
“You’re right, you’re right,” Hailey said, beginning to browse through them.
Brianna gave me a smug look. I waited for her to turn away and then covertly poured the rest of my drink into a conveniently located houseplant.
After we all finished our drinks, we were instructed to go back to our rooms to get changed for dinner.
“I’m just wearing this,” Jacqueline said through a yawn. “Can’t be bothered.”
“No judgment from me,” I said. “I’m not changing because I’m a conformist. I’m changing because I was on public transportation.”
“Mm,” she said. “Fair enough.”
I was tempted to make a snarky comment about Bri but held back. I didn’t want to be petty. Not openly anyway. Not in front of Jacqueline, whom I genuinely liked and whom I wanted to like me. Cattiness was unbecoming and I didn’t want to alienate an ally. So I held my tongue.
I changed clothes. Then Jacqueline and I joined the rest of the group in the living room, where Chiara was fixing Shelby’s eyeliner and Hailey sat on the floor, holding her phone in one hand and a giant curling iron in the other.
I plopped down next to her. She smelled wonderfully familiar. She’d worn the same perfume since seventh grade: Curious by Britney Spears.
“Let me do your hair,” she said. “You look so pretty with curls.”
“I don’t look pretty now?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Fine, fine,” I said, turning around and removing my scrunchie.
I felt the gentle pull of her hands in my hair and closed my eyes. It was like we were back at one of our sleepovers, lounging around and getting all dolled up for no reason. Maybe later we’d make prank calls.
“Hailey, can you come here for a sec?” Bri hollered from somewhere. “I need help picking an outfit.”
“I can finish her up, Hail,” Chiara said. “You can go.”
“Really? Cool, thanks! B-R-B.”
I almost said something about her abandoning me, but I let it go.
Chiara yanked my hair back. “Nat, your ends are so dry. You need a trim.”
“Yeah, I know.” That would have been enough to annoy me, but then . . . “Ow, fuck! Did you just burn me?”
“Oh, sorry, hon! My bad.”
She didn’t sound sorry. She went on chatting with Shelby over my head, discussing the big twist in a show I’d never seen, until Brianna and Hailey came back.
“Everyone ready?” Bri asked. “Chiara, almost done?”
“Done,” she said, unplugging the curling iron. She shimmied off, carefree, like she hadn’t just maimed me.
I reached for the burn, the skin there satiny, still hot.
“Onto the front porch!” Bri said, shepherding us outside. I noticed she was holding something behind her back.
“Ladies,” she said. “I have some accessories. . . .”
In a dramatic reveal, she spun around and held up a set of silk sashes. Everyone clapped. Except for me, of course.
“Oh, God,” I whispered to Jacqueline. “Are we going to have to wear those in public?”
“For the bride,” Brianna said, presenting Hailey with a white sash that read, Future Mrs. Poulter.
“I love it!” Hailey said, pulling the sash over her head and smoothing it across her chest, beaming.
After her parents had divorced and her mom reverted to using her maiden name, Hailey told me that if she ever got married, she wouldn’t take her husband’s name. Thirteen years had passed since then and she was allowed to change her mind, but I wondered if the choice was conscious or a result of societal expectation. Maybe she worried if she kept her name, she’d have to field questions about why and then feel compelled to explain her deeply personal reasoning. She wouldn’t have had to explain it to me. I understood. I bore witness to the unraveling of her family after her father left and to her mother’s struggle to reclaim her independence, her own identity. So I couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy watching Hailey proudly declare her status as the “Future Mrs. Poulter.”
“For you,” Brianna said, handing me a pink sash.
“Thanks.”
I was about to put it on when I noticed that everyone’s sash said something different. Brianna’s read, Maid of Dishonor. Jacqueline’s read, Hot Mama. Chiara’s read, Slay Queen. Shelby’s read, Dancing Diva.
I looked down, dread putting everything in slow motion.
Naughty Girl.
Could have been worse, I thought. I swallowed my pride and slipped it on. I reluctantly posed for a group photo.
An Uber picked us up and took us to dinner. The restaurant was cool and casual, exposed brick and cozy booths under a tin ceiling. I appreciated the lack of pretense and happily ordered a cheeseburger.
Brianna insisted that we go around the table and tell our funniest Hailey story, which at first I thought was forced and corny, but it ended up being pretty entertaining. We laughed a lot. We drank pitchers of sangria.
When it came my turn to share a story, something surprising and unfortunate happened. I drew a blank. When everyone else was telling theirs, I sort of assumed that by the time it got to me, I would know what to say. I had so many stories to choose from. That time we went trick-or-treating a week before Halloween, stone-faced with confused neighbors. The time we commandeered my little cousin’s Barbie Jeep and rode it through the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through. The time we faked breaking up in an Olive Garden. Somehow, on the spot, nothing seemed funny enough. It seemed impossible to convey how it had been in the moment. How hard we had laughed. So hard we couldn’t breathe, we couldn’t see. We laughed beyond sight, beyond sound. We were openmouthed and silent. We transcended.
“Come on, you know you have one,” Chiara said.
Brianna added, “Don’t be shy.”
“I’m not shy. I’m thinking,” I said, hooking my hand on the back of my neck, my fingers finding the burn. I wanted to tell them to come back to me, but I realized I was the last one to go. I looked over at Hailey, hoping for some assistance or an out. But she looked back at me expectantly. “This is too much pressure.”
“It’s no pressure,” Brianna said. “Never mind. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” As soon as I said it, as I heard myself say it, I knew I’d spoken too harshly. I followed up with a much softer “There’s just so much history. We were kids together. We went to the same orthodontist.”
“We did,” Hailey said, picking an orange slice out of her sangria. “Tough times.”
Jacqueline graciously changed the subject to Mike. “Let’s roast the groom now, yeah?”
The rest of dinner went okay. I tried not to let the story thing bother me, but my efforts were futile because I was very bothered. Why award memories superlatives? Wasn’t it enough to have them, to have lived them? Why play favorites? It was stupid.
Despite being steadfast in that belief, I felt guilty for not being able to harvest one to share. A shiny gem of a memory that beautifully reflected my friendship with Hailey and all the time we had spent together, all the fun we’d had. I felt not being able to do so invalidated that time somehow.
It also reminded me that those times were so far behind us, getting smaller and smaller in the rearview. What if they got so small that they disappeared altogether?
When we got back from the restaurant, I was too drunk and too tired to watch Bridesmaids. I knew if I verbalized my intention to go pass out in my clothes, I’d be met with peer pressure and/or disappointment. I could hear Hailey’s voice in my head. You’re not going to watch the movie?
So I slipped away without saying anything. I left them in the living room, Brianna taking a poll of who wanted popcorn. I went to the bathroom.
I balked at my reflection. My hair looked absurd. Big spiral curls, like I was a toddler pageant queen. I was mortified that I had spent the whole night like this, thinking I looked fine. How had I not noticed? Why had no one said anything? I wondered if it had been done to me maliciously. I wondered, Are these fucking girls all out to get me? Is Hailey?
I sighed, slipping the scrunchie from my wrist and pulling back my hair, accidentally tying it up too tightly and straining the skin on my neck. My burn screamed. I loosened the scrunchie, but the pain lingered.
Curious to see the extent of my injury, I rooted through the makeup bag on the vanity. I found a compact and held it up, turning my back to the mirror over the sink and angling the compact to properly examine the back of my neck.
The burn was gnarlier than expected. A vicious smudge about the size, color, and texture of a peach pit. It was bad enough that I considered I might require burn gel. Aloe. Something. But I dreaded asking the group for help, knowing my need for medical attention would likely be viewed as a downer. I was already the “naughty girl,” the bad seed, the odd one out.
I snapped the compact shut and returned it to the bag, then walked across the hall to my room, kicking off my shoes, rendering a single drunken hiccup before passing out facedown on my bed.
I woke up nine hours later to Brianna knocking on my door.
“Morning,” she said. “We’ve got yoga in twenty!”
“All right,” I grumbled. “I’ll be there.”
I put on leggings and a sports bra and went to the kitchen for water, drinking several glasses while watching birds flitter past the window.
The yoga instructor arrived a few minutes late. She was vivacious, tall, and muscular, and I think YouTube famous, but I didn’t dare ask. I admired her septum piercing.
She brought mats and arranged them on the patio. We took our places and began our practice. The class was more intense than I’d anticipated.
“Sweat out all the toxins,” the instructor said, looking right at me as if she could intuit that I was hungover.
I kept scanning my mat for bugs, kept feeling them on me. The creep of tiny legs, real or imagined.
Everyone else appeared to be seasoned yogis, masters of the crow pose, obscenely flexible. The exceptions were me, more into HIIT than vinyasa, and Hailey, whose elbow still gave her trouble after being broken in a car accident eight years ago. My mat was positioned behind hers, and at one point I could tell she was really struggling with a pose, so I leaned forward and whispered, “Please don’t fart.”
She burst out laughing.
Our goofing continued to escalate from there, much to Brianna’s irritation.
After class, we took turns showering and reconvened in the kitchen. Bri was there, still in her yoga clothes, frying some eggs.
“Do you need help?” I asked her.
She already had Shelby washing berries and Chiara scooping batter into a waffle iron, so I expected her to say no, but she said, “Yes, actually. Can you get out the juice? And can you set the table? Plates and glasses and silverware. Just make sure they’re all clean.”
“Sure,” I said.
“And maybe more coffee.”
I wondered if assigning me multiple chores was punishment for my yoga mischief. I did as I was asked, and was feeling confident that I’d redeemed myself until, as I was carrying a carafe of OJ to the table, someone screamed. A sudden, bloodcurdling, nails-on-the-chalkboard, horror-movie scream. Startled, I jerked my arms back, spilling juice all over my shirt.
I spun around and locked eyes with Shelby, who was standing coolly at the counter, decapitating a strawberry. She gave a single-shoulder shrug and said, “Thought I saw a spider.”
“Oh. Okay . . .”
She shrugged again, then changed the subject. “These strawberries are so perfect. So ripe.”
Bri was concentrating on the eggs, and Chiara was searching for something in the fridge. Neither of them had flinched at Shelby’s scream. There seemed to be zero concern, zero acknowledgment.
Because they’re fucking with you, I thought.
“Did you spill?” Bri asked, finally looking up from the stove.
“A little. It’s fine,” I said.
I sat through brunch sticky and smelling like citrus.
“Thank you so much for making all of this,” Hailey said.
“Of course, of course,” Brianna said. “It’s your weekend.”
“It’s perfect. Thanks, Bri. Thanks, everyone.”
“It’s just getting started! I’ve still got some more tricks up my sleeve. Some fun little surprises, and one big, epic surprise,” she said with a wink.
I predicted a stripper. Then I remembered the box I had seen in Bri’s trunk, and the rope, and wondered if it was something really kinky, some Fifty Shades of Grey cosplay shit, but I figured they were probably all too vanilla.
“You’re the best,” Hailey said, blowing Brianna a kiss. Brianna blew one back. They carried on volleying ethereal kisses.
As I watched them, I battled an abrupt wave of nausea. The squirmy feeling was back. An overwhelming unease.
I want to go home, I thought. I want to leave right now. I should just leave.
Everyone else at the table was happily salting their eggs and passing the syrup. The isolation of my distress only made it seem more urgent.
Relax, I told myself. Another twenty-four hours and you’ll be on the train home. You can tough it out. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
I got up to make myself another mimosa.
“Anyone else want one?” I asked.
They all did.
Because of the brunch mimosas, I became the default bartender for the rest of the day. I kept getting requests, so I kept making drinks. It gave me something to do. It gave me purpose.
It also made me popular.
“You make such good drinks,” Chiara said after I mixed her a mojito.
“This is soooo good, Natalie!” Shelby said after a sip of her negroni.
I made Jacqueline a few martinis. I made Hailey a Moscow mule. I made Brianna mad.
“We have to pace ourselves!” she kept saying as we kept drinking. “Nat, don’t make them too strong.”
We spent most of the afternoon on the porch, talking and swatting at mosquitoes. Some of the conversations were too steeped in college nostalgia for me or Jacqueline to participate in, which might have been irksome, had I not been pleasantly tipsy. Also, I understood the need for “remember when.”
My relationship with Hailey was ninety-five percent “remember when.” That’s how it is with old friends. You rely on the past for sustenance. If months pass where you don’t speak, or if a year goes by without seeing each other, it’s okay because you still have that precious supply of shared experiences.
I tried not to think about whether it was a sustainable model. If one day, our memories alone wouldn’t be enough to hold us anymore. Hailey and I had always been different. I was rambunctious and opinionated. I started arguments with teachers, broke the dress code, got detention. Hailey was more agreeable, sunny, and beloved, a star athlete, captain of the soccer team. I was uncoordinated but an exceptional student, 4.0 GPA. She struggled in class. I was desperate to get out of our hometown; she still attended our high school’s football games after graduating. She was a romantic obsessed with Jane Austen; I turned off Pride and Prejudice after realizing we never get to see them bang. I tried to get her to read Orwell, talk politics, but she was uninterested. She craved peace and structure and had a specific vision for her life, aspired to the traditional trajectory of marriage, house, kids. I craved freedom, wanted to live in a big city, to be surrounded by art and culture and noise and garbage and possibility. Our dreams were each other’s nightmares. But it was fine. We weren’t friends because we had a lot in common, or because our goals or interests were aligned. We were friends of adolescent circumstance, friends because we had fun together. We were friends because we loved each other.
I took a sip of my whiskey ginger and studied her. We were fast approaching twilight, and she squinted into the plummeting sun, smiling and laughing and continuously adjusting her engagement ring, a big gaudy thing she posted too many pictures of with captions like so obsessed and so lucky. I suspected it wasn’t a fair-trade diamond.
We were friends because we had met when we were young, and when you’re young, it doesn’t really matter how different you are. The world isn’t complicated yet, and neither are you.
At around six o’clock, a white van pulled up and out popped a petite woman dressed in all black. She had an assistant with her, a girl with large glasses and pastel hair.
Brianna went down to greet them.
“I’m going to go change,” I said, an excuse to get out of the way of whatever was about to be happening.
“I’ll walk inside with you,” Hailey said. “I have to pee.”
She threaded her arm through mine, and we skipped into the house together.
“Are you having fun?” she asked me.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Of course.”
“Good,” she said, her voice a little squeaky.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I asked anyway. “Why?”
“Oh, well, you skipped the movie last night.”
“Sorry. I was zonked. I didn’t know it was a requirement.”
“It wasn’t. I was just worried. . . .”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I said. “I’m here. I’m game. I’m a barrel of laughs.”
“As long as you’re having a good time. It’s important to me. I know it’s my weekend, but I want everyone to enjoy it.”
I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or facetious, referring to it as “my weekend.” It troubled me that I couldn’t make the distinction, that I wasn’t able to read her anymore.
“Okay, I really need to pee,” she said. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Try to let loose, Nat. Participate!” she said as she disappeared into the powder room.
The interaction irritated me. I thought I had been participating. I wasn’t sure what else she wanted from me. What more could I possibly do?
A bitterness took root.
I decided to take another shower to really draw out my getting-ready process. I was used to washing myself with a loofah, but since I didn’t have one, I had to use my hands. As I moved the lather over my body, I felt the awkward knobs of my knees, the prickly spot on my calf that I always missed when shaving. I felt the scar on the inside of my thigh, which I had gotten New Year’s Eve senior year of high school when Hailey and I split a bottle of Malibu and ran around her neighborhood at midnight in our pajamas. For reasons unknown, I mounted one of those decorative deer made of Christmas lights. I hadn’t expected it to be so sharp, but I was too drunk to care about the injury. I still can’t believe it left a scar.
I thought maybe I should have told that story at dinner the night before, but it was one of those things where you really had to be there.
Only Hailey would have understood.
After showering, blowing out my hair, reapplying my makeup, changing into my hot pink bachelorette dress, and a solid twenty minutes on my phone reading articles about products celebrities couldn’t live without, I took a deep breath and opened the door.
It was like I had emerged into a completely different house. There were flowers everywhere, candles everywhere. The lights were dimmed. I heard voices, but I couldn’t tell where they were coming from. The air smelled of rosemary.
There was no one in the kitchen, no one in the living room. There was no one on the front porch. The white van was still parked on the driveway, but there was no one inside.
I went back into the house and slipped on my shoes. I peered out of a back window and saw a vague glow, ribbons of light coming from somewhere. Maybe the patio.
I grabbed my cardigan out of my suitcase and went out the back door.
There was a canopy of string lights over an extravagantly set dining table. Gorgeous floral centerpieces, jewel-toned glassware, artfully mismatched plates. There was music all around, gently emanating from hidden speakers.
“Well, isn’t this magical?” I asked.
No one looked up to acknowledge my presence. They continued talking amongst themselves. They were huddled in close, drinking pale pink liquid out of mason jars. There was fruit drowning inside.
“Hey,” I said, trying to get Hailey’s attention. She was laughing maniacally at something, leaning on Brianna’s shoulder.
No one else had dressed up. I felt foolish.
“Hey,” Jacqueline said, giving me a slight nod and then returning to her conversation with Chiara.
There was a sudden divorce of nerves. Part of me was salty, indignant. They had been keen to include me that afternoon when I was making them drinks. Now that I was no longer of service, they were being rude to me. That was rich.
But the other part of me was panicked and sad. I was completely alone. I was staring at someone I considered a sister, and she was too preoccupied to notice me. I wondered if she even cared that I was there. I wondered if I hadn’t shown up, if she would have missed me.
The anger and the insecurity manifested in a strange, pathetic decision.
I cleared my throat as loudly as I could. Then I said, “A shame Dana couldn’t be here.”
That got everyone’s attention. Especially Bri’s.
I regretted it immediately. I wasn’t sure what possessed me to be so openly vindictive. I wanted to blame Brianna for instigating it, but I knew in that moment it wasn’t her fault. It was mine.
I also knew that I could not, would not, show any sign of my escalating vulnerability. The crowd was silent in their shock, and Brianna stumbled backward slightly. I could see beyond her a small round table that had more of the mason jar drinks on it. I went over and helped myself to one.
“Look at you,” Chiara said, her tone indecipherable.
“Cute dress,” Shelby said.
“Glad you decided to join us!” Brianna said, smiling. “Just in time. First course should be served momentarily.”
Right then the girl with the pastel hair reappeared, carrying a massive bowl of salad.
“Let’s sit!” Brianna said. “There are place cards, so find your name.”
It was fairly obvious to me that Brianna was behind the seating arrangements. Hailey was at the head of the table, Brianna at her left, Chiara at her right. Shelby was next to Chiara, Jacqueline next to Brianna. Then me, the other head. I was facing Hailey, but we were too far away to converse, and there was a giant flower arrangement in the way.
We sat down and began to pass around the salad bowl. I anticipated another toast, but there wasn’t one. Or maybe there had been, but I’d missed it.
Shelby began interviewing Jacqueline about parenthood, and the two of them conversed across me throughout both the salad course and the main course of vegetable Wellington.
I was excavating an unwanted mushroom when Jacqueline turned to me and said, “You’re quiet.”
It’s absolutely insufferable when someone tells you you’re being quiet when actually you’re being ignored.
“Just listening,” I said.
“Do you want kids?” Shelby asked me.
I shrugged. “Haven’t thought about it.”
“You’re single,” Jacqueline said. It wasn’t a question, but I answered it like one.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m single.”
“Enjoy the freedom,” Jacqueline said, sipping her wine. I’d already finished my wine and given up hope for a refill. “You’ll find someone when you least expect it.”
“God, I don’t miss being single,” Shelby said, forking a tomato. She dropped her utensil and gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
“You’re fine,” I said.
I wanted to defend my life, talk about how much I loved it exactly as it was. I loved my apartment, my job, my neighborhood. I loved going out on a Saturday night and chatting up strangers, meeting new people, staying out until four in the morning. I loved doing whatever I wanted and not having to answer to anyone.
I wanted to tell her it was okay if she pitied me for not having a husband, because I pitied her for having one. I wanted to say, You committed to sleeping with one person for the rest of your life. How does that honestly make you feel?
But I figured it was best to just stay quiet.
“I think you’re the only true bachelorette here,” Jacqueline said.
“Groovy,” I said. “Is there going to be dessert?”
There was. A three-tiered chocolate-and-raspberry cake. Brianna cut slices for everyone. I thought mine was a little small.
I was chewing my last raspberry when Brianna began clinking her glass with her knife.
“Ladies, ladies,” she said. “I hope you enjoyed this wonderful dinner, but the night is young! If you will please now follow me inside, I have something very special planned. . . .”
Hailey began to giggle. “What is it?”
Chiara shook her head. “I genuinely don’t know.”
“Me either,” Shelby said. “Seriously.”
“That’s because it’s a surprise,” Brianna said. She stood up and set her napkin down over her plate. “Come, come!”
She turned and took Hailey’s hand, who took Chiara’s, who took Shelby’s, who reached for mine and I gave it to her. I reached for Jacqueline, but she had already started walking toward the house.
Brianna led us inside, to a door in the main hallway that I had assumed was a closet.
“Okay,” she said, giddy and unhinged. Her cheeks had inflated; her eyes bulged. Her smile spread to her ears. It looked as though her features were in danger of bursting off her face.
I was certain she was about to open the door to reveal a beefy dude in a fireman’s uniform. But instead, she opened the door to nothing. To inky darkness.
I realized then that at some point she’d acquired a candle. She was holding a lit taper candle, set on a small plate with a round handle, like something out of a period drama.
I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
She shot me a look of pure venom.
“Nat,” Hailey said. There was a starkness to her voice that I found upsetting. It made me feel like a child.
She’d never used that tone with me before.
“Follow me,” Brianna said with an exaggerated wink.
Everyone else followed, so I did, too. We followed her down a staircase. It seemed unsafe to descend stairs in almost total darkness, but I had exhausted my spunk and knew there was no point in bringing it up. I held a hand to the wall to help steady myself. It was stony and cold.
When I got to the bottom, I shuffled toward the pale glow of Brianna’s candle.
As my eyes adjusted, phantom shapes traversed my vision. There was a draft. I heard a dripping somewhere. It smelled of mildew. The ceiling was so low I had to hunch over slightly.
Brianna struck a match. She began moving around, lighting candles. The more candles she lit, the more the scene came into view. A dank, unfinished basement. Empty except for the candles, except for . . .
My dinner threatened resurrection.
There was a small round table draped in black velvet. On it was the wooden box I’d seen the day before in Bri’s trunk, along with the rope and a large golden chalice. The table was perfectly centered in a symbol that appeared to have been spray-painted on the floor. I would have described the symbol as pentagram adjacent.
I found what was before me deeply disturbing but held out hope it was an elaborate prank.
“Oh, my God! Yes!” Chiara said. “Yes!”
“You didn’t!” Shelby shrieked. “I always wanted to do this! So bummed I missed out at my bachelorette.”
“Brianna,” Hailey said. “Brianna.”
“I know, I know,” Bri said. “It’s extra.”
I tried to discern Hailey’s expression. It was too difficult in the faint, fuzzy candlelight.
“No,” Hailey said. “I mean, it is. But I love it. So freaking cool!”
“This is awesome,” Jacqueline said. “Well done, Bri.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Are we about to summon demons or something?”
Everyone laughed. I experienced a brief flash of relief, thinking the “gotcha” was soon to follow.
“Oh, gosh. No,” Bri said. “Close but no.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “Close? What do you mean, close?”
“It’s an offering ritual,” Hailey said, “using a summoning cup. You’ve never heard of it?”
“Um, no.”
“Oh,” Chiara said. “They’re really common now. New bachelorette tradition.”
“Well, old tradition, technically,” Jacqueline said. “It’s an ancient bridal ritual.”
“You’ve seriously never heard of this?” Hailey asked.
“You’re messing with me, right?” I held my head in my hands to make sure it was screwed on straight. My thumb moved to the burn at the base of my skull. The skin peeled. “No, I’ve never heard of a cup ritual.”
“I guess you haven’t been to any bachelorette parties recently,” Hailey said. “But it’s a thing. Trust me. They’re all over Pinterest. The kits are just superhard to get, so this is, like, so crazy. I can’t believe you got one, Bri! I love you!”
She threw her arms around Brianna and squeezed.
“Anything for you, babe. So, how it works, for those who don’t know.”
She looked directly at me.
“Hailey will go around counterclockwise and ask each of us for an offering, a gift. Something unique to us that she can take with her into her marriage. Usually, it’s a trait-slash-quality that she admires about that person. Like, for me, Hailey might ask me to offer my gift of planning fun events. I will agree to the offering, giving verbal confirmation. Then Hailey will cut my palm, using the sacred blade, and I’ll squeeze just a few drops of blood into the summoning cup. After we’ve all pledged our gifts and made our blood sacrifice, we’ll join hands around Hailey as she drinks from the cup and ingests our gifts, summoning them into her life and into her spirit. And yeah! Then we’ll go upstairs and continue the party!”
I couldn’t speak. My mouth was so dry it was like I’d swallowed sand. I looked at Jacqueline, whom I considered the most rational of the bunch, but she seemed absolutely unfazed.
“Everyone good?” Brianna asked. “Let me get the music on and we can get started.”
“Wait,” I said.
They all turned to me, eager, just like they had at dinner the night before when I struggled to produce a funny anecdote. I felt this grave pressure to articulate, but I couldn’t form the words. They were serious. This was serious. It was so ludicrous; I didn’t know where to start. I wanted to tell them they were all out of their fucking minds, but they were acting so supremely chill about everything that I couldn’t help but question myself. Was I overreacting?
“It’s gonna be cool, Nat. I promise,” Hailey said. “I’ve heard it’s a great bonding experience.”
Were we not already bonded?
“You really want to do this?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Definitely.”
“You want to drink blood?”
She shrugged. “It’s no big deal. People eat placenta.”
“I did,” Jacqueline said. “I ate mine. It’s good for you.”
“Uh, not quite the same thing,” I argued.
“Are we ready?” Bri asked, clearly growing impatient.
She didn’t wait for a response. She disappeared into some shadowy corner of the basement, and I saw her phone illuminate. It was plugged into a portable speaker that was surprisingly powerful, considering its size. The song that began to play was loud and intense. It sounded suspiciously similar to the Game of Thrones theme.
“Let us gather,” Brianna said. She opened the wooden box and pulled out a legit dagger. It had an intricate handle, and the blade was etched with symbols like the one painted on the floor. “Is anyone here squeamish?”
“What’s the rope for?” I asked, because it was there on the table and obviously had a purpose, and I couldn’t stand not knowing what it was.
“The rope is for Hailey. She’ll bind our hands before she cuts us. Prevents wriggling. Wouldn’t want any accidents. Plus, it’s just, like, part of the ritual. Okay, Nat?”
“Um . . .”
I could feel them staring at me, their eyes like piranhas. It seemed so archaic. I could barely accept the concept of a bridal shower, gifting expensive stand mixers and custom cutting boards and fucking Dutch ovens and robot vacuums for assistance with wifely duties. How was I supposed to get behind this? And how was I the only one horrified by it?
Participate, Hailey had said to me earlier. Participate.
“Fine, I guess,” I said. “Let’s just do it.”
Brianna’s eyebrows elevated. I realized she had expected for me to opt out, and this made me want to do it more.
“Okeydoke,” she said. She took a deep breath. “We are here tonight to honor our most cherished friend, Hailey Bankman, who will soon be entering the sanctity of marriage. We wish to offer her our best, most precious gifts, and are willing to sacrifice so that the universe may bear witness to our loyalty and devotion. . . .”
Had I not been so determined, I might have laughed at Brianna’s whole little speech. I was too busy convincing myself that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was like a cholesterol finger-prick test. A few drops of blood, and I could move on with my life.
Hailey went up to Brianna first. She bound Bri’s hands with the rope, giggling a little as she attempted to tie the knot. Brianna remained serious.
“I ask you, Brianna Engle, for an offering of creativity,” Hailey said. “Will you give me this gift?”
“I will,” Brianna said.
Without hesitation, Hailey lifted the dagger and brought it down swiftly across Bri’s palm. I was stunned at the vibrance of the blood, at the aggressiveness of its blossom. It dripped into the chalice with a sickening splash.
Brianna nodded solemnly, and then Hailey moved on to Shelby, who I realized was standing beside me. I wasn’t sure how that happened, how I’d come to be next. I wished I’d been more strategic in my placement in the circle. I wished I had more time.
“I ask you, Shelby Martino, for an offering of optimism. Will you give me this gift?”
“I will, of course!”
I knew something went wrong right away, even though I’d been distracted scrutinizing the painted symbol. It was the sound Shelby made. A sharp gasp followed by a whimpering breath.
There was too much blood. It gushed. Hailey had cut too deep. She knew it. Everyone knew it. The vibe shifted.
I thought, This is it. It’s gone too far. They’re gonna call it.
But no one said anything.
I felt completely detached from reality. I felt like I was in a dream. I closed my eyes, and with only the music, I felt like I was about to find out what betrayals were going down in Westeros.
It’s for Hailey, I said to myself. For the sake of our friendship. Just do it for Hailey.
Do it for the girl who took you to McDonald’s after you lost your virginity and bought you a McFlurry, and when you started to cry because you felt different, she told you everything was going to be all right. That it was only a hymen.
Do it for the girl who crimped your hair for junior prom, where you ended up ditching your dates to slow dance together to “The Reason” by Hoobastank. You sang along obnoxiously. You clutched each other’s faces as you held out the notes.
Do it for the girl who put sunscreen on your back all those hot summer Saturdays at the Hackettstown pool, who didn’t judge you for that one time you threw up after eating too much Domino’s, just laughed and said, “It happens.”
I wanted to. I wanted to do it for that girl. But I knew. That girl and the girl I used to be were both gone. We were women now, fully realized, with our own wants and needs and values. We were women, and we were ghosts. I was a ghost in Hailey’s life, and she was a ghost in mine. We’d been pretending, running on fumes for years, holding on to a fading friendship for the sake of our past selves. I could no longer continue in denial; I could no longer ignore the unsavory truth.
Because there I was in a room full of strangers, about to compromise myself, scar myself physically and emotionally for someone I didn’t know anymore. Someone who was gleefully tying my wrists with rope.
It wasn’t fair for her to ask this of me. She saw that I was uncomfortable, and she had pressured me into it as a “bonding experience.” Even if she did honestly believe that and it wasn’t a manipulation tactic to get me to play along, that didn’t make it okay. None of it was okay.
The dagger gleamed in candlelight.
Not o-fucking-kay.
“I ask you, Natalie Lewis, for an offering of—”
“No,” I said, slipping my hands from the binding. Luckily, the knot was loose. “I don’t want to do this. I can’t.”
“Nat,” Hailey said.
“Seriously?” Brianna asked. “The ritual already started!”
“Hailey, I’m sorry, but this is ridiculous. Can’t you see that? Can’t you snap out of it for one second and realize this is a bit much?”
“This isn’t about you and what you think,” Bri snapped. “This is about Hailey. God! At least Dana had the decency to sit it out instead of ruining the entire ritual.”
“Is this why Dana didn’t come?” I asked. “I thought her mom broke her jaw.”
“Well, I mean, yeah. That was the, like, main factor,” Bri stuttered. She was holding her hand over her head to stop the bleeding. “But she also has, like, a blood disorder. So she couldn’t participate anyway. I asked. I checked.”
“Aw, Dana,” Hailey said.
“She would have done it,” Brianna said, “if not for health reasons.”
“You’re all certifiable,” I said. “I’m not going to let you gaslight me into thinking this is normal, because it’s not! This is some dark, cult-y, vampire bullshit. Also, it doesn’t seem sanitary.”
“Please, Nat,” Hailey pleaded, her eyes wide. “This means so much to me.”
I resisted the urge to turn away and instead let my gaze linger on Hailey, waiting for the tug of guilt, for a heaviness in my chest. Remorse. But I didn’t feel anything. In the erratic flickers of candlelight, I could barely recognize her.
There was no guilt. No sadness. Nothing, not anymore. Why mourn what was already lost?
I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by a weary groan. Shelby. She was covered in blood. Covered. Hailey had really botched the cut.
“She probably needs stitches,” I said. “I already ruined the ritual, so why don’t we take Shelby to urgent care? Unless you want to ask the universe if it can take care of this.”
“I’m fine,” Shelby slurred, her eyes rolling back. She took a teetering step forward, then fell. The sound her head made when it found the floor echoes in my nightmares.
Jacqueline rushed toward her, turning her over onto her back. She flopped like a dead fish. She was out cold.
“Is she okay?” Hailey asked.
“Yeah, she’s great,” I said, surrendering to sarcasm.
“I cannot believe this!” Bri. Of course.
“Should I call nine-one-one?” Chiara asked. “Should we try to get her to the car?”
“I’ll call nine-one-one,” Jacqueline said. “Can someone get her some gauze? A cold compress? Does anyone have a first aid kit? Is there one in the house?”
“I’ll check,” I said, already halfway up the stairs. I pretended I didn’t hear Bri when she called after me, saying she knew where the kit was and would get it herself.
I don’t know when exactly I made the decision to leave, or if I even made it at all. I’d like to think I would have actually searched for the kit had Brianna not taken over, but it’s hard to say. Next thing I knew, I was packing my things hurriedly and requesting an Uber to take me to the station, where the last train to Grand Central was leaving in half an hour.
Thankfully, the driver was there waiting for me when I snuck out the front door. He was a chatty man in a fedora. My knight in shining armor.
“How’s your Saturday?” he asked me.
“Weird,” I answered.
“Oh.” He laughed. “How about that?”
He then proceeded to tell me about his bunions for the rest of the ride.
I was relieved by the solitude of the station. I stood on the platform staring at the sky, shifting my weight from foot to foot, exhaling my adrenaline.
I turned my phone off. I figured they would gather that I bailed, and I wasn’t ready to face the fallout. I’d suffered enough.
When the train came, I stumbled on and found an open seat near a window. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and tried not to think about anything that had happened.
I tried not to think about the ritual, how fucked up it was.
I tried not to think about stupid Bri. I tried not to think about Shelby, about all the blood.
I tried not to think about Hailey and the friendship that I had let expire in that basement.
I tried not to think about how sad I would have been if I’d known at fourteen, when she and I would stay up late stargazing in her yard, that one day we would drift so far, we’d split apart.
I tried not to think about how she would look on her wedding day, in that ivory mermaid gown that I told her I liked because everyone else at the appointment liked it, though really, I thought it didn’t suit her as well as the lace A-line. I tried not to picture her walking down the aisle with her bouquet of yellow daffodils, walking toward a life without me in it.
I stared down at my hands, my open palms unscathed, and hoped that someday I could forgive her for what she was willing to sacrifice and that she could forgive me for what I wasn’t.