"So you've caught your tiger?" Gillian nodded towards the fortuneteller hanging in Serena's dining room. Back in March when Chris disappeared, Nat's friends had created the game board to help her move past her confused heartbreak. It was a grid of seven categories, from hair and eye color to their favorite 'sexytimes' column, with Serena's illustrations in each square. They'd all rolled dice to predict their perfect matches, and Nat's final toss had promised her a tiger in her bed.
They took their accustomed seats so Serena's partner Dillon could serve them dinner. Nat looked from the curled lip of the tiger to her oldest friends. "According to my mom, yes. But she doesn't know about the tiger thing, and don't any of you dare mention it to her."
"Like Elaine speaks to me." Serena wiped imaginary sweat off her brow. As preteens, Nat and Serena had been stepsisters. Elaine's schemes to catapult Serena on board the instant family dynamic all failed. Serena had been through a number of stepparents by then, none of who worked much at winning her heart, so at twelve she was closed off. When Elaine and Duncan divorced a year or so after the marriage, Elaine hadn't quite blamed her erstwhile stepdaughter for the split, but she'd never warmed to Serena once she and Natalie had reconnected in college.
Natalie hadn't been consciously making up for her mother's coldness by grabbing hold of and nurturing Serena's friendship, but she'd been extra soothing when Serena and Elaine sniped. She considered asking them to accept each other, without putting her between them, but she knew where they were coming from and would rather love them than fight with them.
Gillian, deploying an instinct for peacemaking she normally hid up on the hardest-to-reach shelf of her emotional cabinet, asked, "How much of a tiger is this man? Does he make you growl?"
Nat laughed. "Groan, maybe, but not growl."
Serena wiggled her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass. "Groaning? Haven't you two just barely met?"
"Very funny. I'm groaning at his terrible puns. They were appalling."
"Let's hear one," Dillon said, bringing a casserole to the table. He caught Serena's chiding look. "Oh, I'm not allowed to gossip because I'm male? Gillian, help me out here."
"No," Gill said, tipping her chin towards the kitchen. "You go back to your domain and leave the analytical thinking to us."
"It's not equality if you're only switching the outmoded gender roles," he said, refilling their wine glasses.
"Think of it as reparations," Gillian said. Dillon shook his head but let Serena swat him on the butt as he left.
They dug in to the main course and Natalie told her friends how Evan's siblings had sniffed out the not-a-date and passed the news along like an electronic version of her old Girl Scout game Telephone, leading to a call from Elaine, in the middle of a closing, to ask why Nat hadn't introduced her new boyfriend. "And then she said she needed advice on rolling over her IRA, and could Evan call her sometime to talk her through it. I explained that's not the kind of banking he does, and offered to introduce her to Neera, but she wouldn't take her number."
"Wait. Neera Russo?" Serena's smile dimmed. Nat had met Neera and Ridley, one of Serena's current stepbrothers, when the newlyweds were house-hunting. Apparently she hadn't expected the relationship to progress.
"Yeah, she's my financial advisor now. Didn't I tell you?"
"No. You didn't."
"Well, she is. And she's good. Knows her stuff. You should give her a call."
Serena's expression made it clear how likely that was. Natalie sighed. "I'm not having lunch dates with her, I'm just trusting her with my nest egg."
"You ever think your priorities are backward?" Gillian teased.
Natalie knew they weren't. Her friendships meant the world to her, especially those with her three former college roomies. She'd worked hard to maintain them, and they'd been there whether she was poor or getting by, dating or flying solo. Serena, Gillian, and Rachel were all the family Natalie needed, besides Elaine. She said, "Neera's great, but if it bugs you, I'll find someone else."
Serena started to speak, then jumped. "Ouch. Unnecessary roughness."
Gillian shrugged.
"Did you seriously kick her under the table?" Nat asked.
"Why would I?"
Serena glowered at Gill. "Because she thinks she has to remind me I'm weird about the step siblings, and I don't own your affections."
"Sure you do," Natalie said in the light tone she used whenever her friends got tetchy with each other.
Serena sighed. "Well, I shouldn't be possessive. So, for the record, and not because I'm afraid of Gill, I'm glad you find Neera likable and trustworthy, and I'm sure she's not at all too young and inexperienced and also I'm sure her father-in-law loaded her office with every totem and charm for prosperity ancient wisdom has to offer."
Natalie snorted into her chianti. Elegance personified, that was her. "You have such a generous soul, Serena. Thanks."
"She's perfect," Dillon called from the kitchen.
"Serena's Rocket Man turned out to be a good bet." Gillian turned toward the kitchen and projected her next sentence. "Despite all our worries. Could your tiger be Evan?"
"He and Chris are three and three," Nat said.
Gill pointed the serving spoon at her. "Explain."
"It's not a big deal. Only, there's seven columns on the game. Chris matched three of my rolls--zero pets, sports car, black hair. So it's clear he wasn't my forever man, and I know he shouldn't have been in contention, since he disappeared on me and that's why y'all even invented the game, but the point is, he only got three out of seven. Not even half. Evan has three, so they're tied. Tying for loser isn't inspiring, you know?"
"Which three?" Serena asked.
"Banker, five siblings--if we count the lost twin--and black hair."
"He has pets?"
"I don't know. He might. But he drives a sedan and his eyes are brown."
"I think none of that is the point." Gillian reached out for Natalie's hand. "Chris wasn't a tiger?"
Crap. She hadn't meant to let that slip. "When we first got together? I can't remember. But, no. Not for a while, anyway."
"Aw, sorry, sweetie," Serena said.
She took refuge from their pity by baiting her friends. "Well, probably it'll happen to you, too. Ol' Rocket Man in there will start delaying his launches, and there will be technical failures. Heat shields down, aborted countdowns."
"We are always mission ready!" Dillon called.
"And you were complaining about Evan's puns," Serena said.
"Trust me, they weren't nearly so clever."
"Well then, steer clear. I don't think even his being a potential tiger can make up for puns as terrible as yours," Serena said.
"You'd better have excellent dessert for me," Nat said. "Or I'm going to rethink making Neera my new best friend."
She wouldn't, though. Kind and smart as Neera was, Natalie was beyond committed to her existing best friends. And speaking of commitment, she had to find a way to convince her mom to stop trying to force a relationship on her. Neither she nor Evan was on the market. And when Natalie was ready to look for permanence, she wasn't going to settle for someone who was only three-sevenths of the way to being the tiger she deserved.
Dillon brought out the brownies and Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla, the only ice cream worth stockpiling. "Fortifications. Good. Now I can complain about the actual problems in my life," Nat said.
"You mean this meal is going to pass the Bechdel test?" Gillian asked.
"Yes, you skeptic. Though I wish you'd stop grading our conversations. And I'm not the one who brought up the lack of tigers in my life to start with."
"Guilty." Gill added another scoop to Natalie's bowl.
"Acquitted." Natalie savored a bite. The brownies were still warm. "I hope I get the same leniency when I admit I need to bitch about a man. Just not in a romance-related way."
"Let's hear the story and I'll let you know."
"I was at that closing, dodging Mom's questions while working out a problem with the homestead exemption, which of course was the exact moment a new client called. I'd taken them through all the prelims and they were ready to list. The call went to voicemail and next thing I knew, Carter signed them."
"Jerk." It wasn't the first complaint Gillian had heard about her fellow agent; she knew the required responses. "Oily, unethical, amoeba-brained jerk."
"It's a Museum District single family on a side street. New roof and perfect landscaping. Very high six figures."
"Amoeba-brained jerk covered in squirrel snot and moldy banana peels."
Serena laughed. "Do you put yourself to sleep at night thinking up new insults?"
Gillian's grin was feral. "Works like a charm."
"Well, banana peels aside, it's a done deal. The owners were practically flippant when I called them back. I could tell they didn't think it makes a difference who has the listing, as long as it's someone from our office. Trust Carter to jump on board. Never mind my groundwork. Never mind that I got back to them within half an hour. They couldn't wait to get started, she said, so they signed on the dotted line of a contract I filled out in the first place."
"That is a beyond crappy move on Carter's part." Serena offered more brownies, but Natalie shook her head.
"Tell me about it. I know I've said it before, but I don't know if I can keep working there. I really don't."
"Well, you found me my house, so I'm no longer invested in your being a realtor," Serena said.
"Our house!" the eternally eavesdropping Dillon called from the kitchen.
"Do the dishes, you," Serena replied. When he had the water running, she whispered to her friends. "My house."
As if there was any question.
"So are you thinking of quitting?" Gillian asked.
Natalie shrugged.
"Come on, talk it through. Would you want to leave real estate?"
She shook her head, letting her eyes follow the path of the wood grain in Serena's dining table. "Do you know why I started?" Gillian had been off in grad school when Natalie got her realtor’s license.
"Marketing degree? You're good with people? I don't know. I guess I never thought about it, sorry."
Before they'd even met her, Gillian had been set on her own career path. Maybe because she'd been so focused on her dreams, she'd never questioned the others about their own plans. Then again, it could have been one of her layers of self-protection, along with her wry defensiveness and the suspicion with which she regarded other's motives.
"I wanted to travel. Be somehow involved in tourism. Guide, trip planner, interpreter. Or to go teach English in Spain or Costa Rica, anything. Be out crossing the world, finding out about people's lives, that sort of thing." She traced a particularly large whorl next to her dessert plate. "I read about a guy once, his job was to take these small groups to all kinds of festivals around the world. Mongolia's Thousand Camel Festival. The snow castles of King Matjaž in Carinthia. Five or ten people per group, and they'd get totally immersed in whatever was happening in these communities. Learn how to make traditional foods, help decorate banners or hang streamers, play games with the children. Not in a condescending, how cute kind of way, but more life's a rich tapestry, you know? They weren't appropriating or trying to impose Western beliefs. It was cultural tourism."
Serena and Gillian both had their heads tilted to the side, listening.
"Well, the point is, I could see myself, with the camels. It was a young, idealistic dream. I wanted to go through the world, with my heart open, bring like-minded people with me."
"Rich like-minded people," Gill interjected.
"Shush, let her talk."
"Yes, I agree, tourism has a class component. So does my current job. So does yours, come to that, and you don't have to explain need-based scholarships because we all know decent public schools are a class issue and no one's getting into your elite private university without a strong education to start with. Even Serena's and Dillon's jobs aren't money-blind. Look at their client base." The couple worked together at a printing and advertising firm; she designed, he wrote.
"Yours is more class-conscious than ours," Serena said.
"Sure. Otherwise I wouldn't be so put out about Carter snaking a nearly million dollar listing from under me."
"But you're tired of life not being a tapestry?" Serena asked.
Gillian waved her question aside. "Wait, don't sidetrack her with dromedaries. How did you switch from travel to real estate?"
Natalie forced a half-smile. "I knew you'd like the camels. But they're two-humped Bactrian camels, not dromedaries. Did you know they're one of like ten animals that can eat snow to get water? So. I had a lead on an ESL job in Costa Rica, but then my dad went through his whole triple-bypass thing, so I stuck around Houston. A friend of my mom's got me doing admin at her title company, and before I knew it, Dad was headed back offshore, and I was studying for the realtor exam between scanning closing documents and making coffee six times a day. Mom kept saying how proud she was I'd settled into such a stable job, it was so good for me."
Serena snorted. "So good for her plans to find you a man to take care of you and give you babies, you mean."
"She usually wasn't so explicit."
"Usually. I like that," Gillian said. "We all know Elaine has precisely one life plan for you."
It was true. While her mom shared Natalie's love of travel, she thought Natalie might as well live on one of those camels if it was her career. Elaine was all about domesticity. Natalie shrugged. "She is who she is; we can blame the way my Orthodox great-grandparents raised her, but she's sixty now. I'm trying to exert an influence as strong as theirs, but decades at a Reform temple haven't changed her outlook. So what chance do I have?"
"Too complex to tackle after this much wine. Let's get back to your job. Have you given up your dreams of snow castles? Are you interested in a career change? Are you following Elaine's life lessons? Has this latest Carter-related hitch derailed you?"
"Aren't you supposed to give students a chance to answer when you use the Socratic method?" Natalie asked Gillian, who stood to gather their dessert dishes.
"I give you a little more credit than I do my students. You can answer in whatever order you prefer."
"So generous." Nat sighed. "I don't know if I want to change careers. I like my job. I'm talented, and organized, and people like me."
"Good mantra. I might steal it," Serena said.
"Dating a younger man has turned you into a real brat."
"Hey!" Dillon peeked in from the kitchen. "She was a brat before she met me."
"Good point. And my own point is, I know I could continue with this job for years and years, and it would be fine. I make good money, I'm used to working weekends, I usually enjoy my clients.”
Gillian rejoined the table. "But?"
Natalie ran her hands over the tight coil at her nape then examined her perfectly manicured nails. "Is it beyond superficial if I complain about scheduling regular facials?"
They all laughed.
"I know, I know. Ridiculous. And kind of...okay, it's an area where I'm too much my mother's daughter. Until I was stuck in Turkey without my hair serum and concealer, I don't think I'd gone makeup-free more than a handful of days since I was ten."
"You should have seen how many flavors of lip gloss she had when we were kids," Serena told Gill.
"That you remember?" It never failed to amaze Natalie how many moments of their year of sisterhood Serena had blocked.
"You had root beer and strawberry, and the strawberry was artificial, so I could use it without breaking out." Serena was allergic to strawberries.
"Which you found out how? I don't remember letting you borrow my makeup. Your dad always said you were too young."
"Duh. I snuck into your make-up case while you were in the other room."
"Told you she was always a brat," Dillon said from where he'd perched himself on a stool in the doorway.
They shooed him back to the sink, then Natalie looked from one friend's face to the other. They were both so lovely and confident and assured. Gill would walk into the gym wearing her workout gear, and right back out afterwards, sweaty strands of hair stuck any which way across her scalp, without thinking twice about it. Serena was into her hippie-fairy girl skirts and snug shirts, but never seemed to obsess over whether her outfits obeyed the rules about dressing for her body type.
Whereas Natalie wouldn't even buy yoga pants with a wide waistband because she'd learned early and been told often she shouldn't bisect her body with a vertical stripe. She didn't work out in makeup, but she didn't leave the gym until she'd showered, changed, moisturized, and applied lip color. To say nothing of the amount of general upkeep she did and the quantity of bottles, brushes, powders, sponges, sprays, and wands she wielded before she spent a day with clients.
She'd made herself a very pretty, elegant bed.
She was no longer sure she wanted to keep lying in it.