Forever in Love

  Another mojito, two Cokes, and one phone number exchange later, we are practically telling each other our life stories. Or maybe it’s only me. Through my haze, I’m vaguely aware that I’m doing most of the talking. But I can’t tell for sure. The blurry edges are spreading.

  “So what if I like to drink?” I hear myself say. “I don’t even care anymore. What’s the point of playing by the rules if it got me nowhere? What’s the point of planning anything? You think things are going one way, and then blam!” I attempt to slam my fist into my palm, missing and practically hurling myself off the stool in the process. Insomnia Boy reaches out to steady me.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “I’m fabulous. What was I saying?”

  “‘And then blam!’”

  “Right. You think things will always be the same, and then your entire life changes overnight. Your dad rips apart your family. The boy you thought wanted you back turns out to be playing you. And the boy you really want never wants to see you again.”

  Insomnia Boy looks over at the back room where his friends are. The light of recognition in his eyes is long gone. Along with his interest. Even in my tipsy fog, I know he will never call.

  But it doesn’t matter. Because when my cloudy judgment clears, nothing will be hiding the truth. That there’s only one boy I really want. And my chances with him are destroyed.

  CHAPTER 6

  ROSANNA

  “HERE,” MOMO SAYS. SHE MADE this jewelry box at the beginning of the summer. Shirley, the arts and crafts director, put some of the boxes on display. Shirley gave back all the projects she put on display now that summer is almost over.

  “It’s so pretty.” I admire Momo’s enthusiastic use of pink rhinestones and purple glitter.

  “It’s for you,” Momo says.

  “What?”

  “Every girl should have a jewelry box. Remember?”

  Of course I remember. That’s what Momo told me right here on this same bench in the courtyard when she was decorating it. She asked me if I had a jewelry box, and I admitted that I’d never had one. Momo found that to be unacceptable. There is nothing like an eight-year-old to remind you of what your priorities should be.

  “I felt bad you didn’t have one,” Momo says. “So you can have mine.”

  “But this is your jewelry box. Didn’t you say your old one was taken away?”

  “Yeah. But I got over it. This one is for you.” Momo pulls on the top right side of her T-shirt where a sticker that says GIRL POWER! is proudly displayed. The younger girls had an empowerment workshop this morning. They got cute stickers and notebooks at the end. “You know how we learned about strong girl role models?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re mine.”

  A significant amount of willpower goes into restraining myself from bursting into tears.

  Momo puts the jewelry box in front of me on the table. “Don’t forget to hide something special in the secret compartment,” she instructs. “And you might want to put more glue on this heart rhinestone.” She wiggles one of the pink hearts, which is a little loose.

  I don’t know what to say. “Thank you so much. This is really nice of you.”

  For a second it occurs to me that she’s giving me her jewelry box because she knows I went to her apartment to check up on her. Is this her way of saying thank-you? But I’m not sure if she knows. Momo hasn’t said anything about it.

  Frank hasn’t said anything, either, because he is the lamest camp director of all time. I told him I suspected Momo was being abused, but he didn’t do anything. He still hasn’t. That’s why I decided to take matters into my own hands. Visiting Momo’s home was the first step. I don’t know what I’m going to do next. But when I have an opportunity to find out what’s happening with her, I will jump on it. I would do anything to help her.

  Momo goes back to working on her sand bird. Everyone has clear plastic bottles they are filling with colored sand. Shirley showed the kids how to make the colors of sand appear in thin or thick stripes. Then she expertly tilted the funnel in the bottle she was using to make her stripes zigzag. The completed sand birds will have googly eyes, feathers, and a yellow golf tee for a beak. I remember making one of these when I was little, except with a glass bottle.

  Jenny uses the last of the pink sand. She’s sitting on the other side of Momo. This is how we’ve been sitting in arts and crafts every day: Jenny, then Momo, then me. The four other girls in my group are on the bench across from us. Momo doesn’t even have to ask me for more pink sand. Her love for pink is extreme and unwavering. I ask if anyone needs anything. Then I go up to the hut for more sand.

  The service window where Shirley gives us materials is closed, which is weird. Usually Shirley keeps it open all day. Same with the door on the side of the hut, where Shirley is usually dashing in and out, distributing supplies and complimenting the kids on their projects.

  I look around at the tables for Shirley. She’s not out here. Should I knock on the window? Instead, I go right to the door.

  I knock.

  No one answers.

  I knock again, louder.

  Still nothing.

  Shirley was just at the tables a few minutes ago. She was handing out more golf tees. She’s got to be around here somewhere.

  When I try the doorknob, it turns smoothly. I push the door open and walk in.

  At first I don’t see her. It’s more like I sense someone is in the room. But then I see Shirley in the corner, sitting on the cement floor, wedged between some shelves and the wall.

  Crying.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, darting over to her. “What happened?”

  “I’m okay,” Shirley says. She wipes tears from her face in quick strokes, pushing up from the floor. “Sorry about that. Did you need something?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She jams her lips together, trying not to cry. “Sorry. I just need a minute. I’ll be right out.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I want to help you. What can I do?”

  “No one can help me.” Shirley presses her fingertips against her eyelids. “No one can fix this. Not even me.”

  “Did something happen with one of the kids?”

  She drops her hands and shakes her head, trying for a smile. It looks as broken as she must feel. “No, this has nothing to do with camp. My husband and I are . . . having problems.”

  My eyes cut to her wedding ring. Have I ever noticed her ring before? Did I know she was married and somehow forgot? I don’t think she ever mentioned her husband.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do?”

  Shirley gets up and goes over to the service window. She lifts it open. “You can help me bring out more sand. Was there a color you needed?”

  As I help Shirley bring out more containers of sand, I can’t help but wonder what kind of problems she’s having with her husband. Shirley is really young to be married. I know she’s twenty-one. She must still be in college, unless she doesn’t go to college. Shirley and her husband must have really been in love to get married so young. But maybe their love is changing. Or maybe it’s not what they thought it was.

  “Here you go.” I put a container of pink sand on the table in front of Momo.

  She grins at me. “How did you know I wanted more pink sand?”

  “Because I know you.” I sit down next to her, watching all my girls put the finishing touches on their sand birds. “These are fabulous,” I announce. “You girls should start a sand bird business.”

  “We totally should!” Jenny agrees. She taps the GIRL POWER! sticker on the back of her hand. “If we start planning now, we could throw a fund-raiser when school starts. What should we call our company?”

  As the girls brainstorm ideas, the sweet sisterhood moment with Momo giving me her jewelry box and the startling discovery of Shirley crying on the floor collide in an odd mixture of feelings. I am grateful but also upse
t. It’s strange how two feelings so different can inhabit your body at the same time, competing against each other to see who wins. Or maybe it’s not a competition at all. Maybe there are times you are meant to feel happy and sad together, even if you don’t know why yet.

  CHAPTER 7

  SADIE

  COFFEE SHOP IS USUALLY PACKED all night. Just like it is right now, on a Tuesday night at eleven. A lot of places around here are on the emptier side in August. But Coffee Shop is stuffed with regulars and tourists. We were lucky to snag a window booth.

  Rosanna agreed to midnight pancakes as long as we get home before one. She’s even having pancakes with us this time instead of her usual two eggs/potatoes/toast dish, which is a few dollars less than pancakes. Rosanna is the most frugal person I know. Darcy could definitely pick up a few tricks from her expert saving skills.

  “Something happened last night,” I say after the waitress crams our table with plates of fluffy blueberry pancakes, coffees, cream, butter, and syrup. I move the sugar dispenser to make room for my coffee.

  “Ominous much?” Darcy says.

  “Austin’s ex showed up when I was leaving to meet him for dinner.”

  Rosanna puts the syrup down. Darcy chokes on a mouthful of water.

  “I think she had been waiting outside for a while,” I add. “Like she knew where I lived and knew I was going to meet up with him.”

  Darcy waves her hands in front of her face frantically. Then she pops her eyes at me. “So. Many. Questions.”

  “What did she say?” Rosanna asks.

  “She asked me why I was doing this. I told her that I didn’t know Austin was married until the night I answered his phone and spoke to her. She said, ‘I understand that, but why are you still with him?’ The way she said it, it was like they were still together. There was no way I was going to remind her that Austin moved out and they’re getting divorced. I didn’t want it to blow up into this huge confrontation. So I said I had to go.”

  “You just left?” Rosanna says.

  “What else was I supposed to do? I feel horrible about what happened. But like you guys keep telling me, their marriage falling apart wasn’t my fault. I shouldn’t have to defend myself to her.” I take a pat of butter from the bowl and unwrap it. “This is one of the reasons I wasn’t going to get back together with Austin. I don’t want to have to deal with her. Does that make me a monster?”

  “No,” Darcy tells me. “It makes you human. Who wants to deal with their boyfriend’s ex-wife?”

  “Should I tell Austin about it?”

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  “I felt bad for her, so I didn’t say anything. I doubt she would tell him herself.”

  “But didn’t you have dinner with Austin right after you saw her?” Rosanna asks. “How could you have pretended it didn’t happen?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to have one night without drama. The way it used to be. I mean, is this how it’s going to be from now on? Where every time I see him, we’re either talking about her or avoiding the topic?”

  “Do you think you need more space?” Darcy asks. “If you and Austin take a break, she might chill.”

  “I’ve only seen him a few times since we got back together. Remember how I was telling you about his field study placement for the rest of the summer? He’s not at my internship anymore.” I cut off a small section of pancakes and drench it in syrup. I always like to have a few extra syrupy bites. But I have to limit the syrup drenching. Pouring too much syrup all over my pancakes makes me nauseous after I eat. Kind of like how talking about Austin’s ex is making me feel now. “Whatever. Your turn, Rosanna.”

  “For what?”

  “How’s it going with Donovan?”

  “Good.” Rosanna stirs sugar into her coffee. “We’ve gotten a lot closer. I just wish . . .”

  “What?” Darcy says.

  Rosanna shakes her head. “No, I just . . . wish he wasn’t hanging out with Shayla.”

  “That girl is still sniffing around?” Darcy scowls. “She needs to get a life.”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I tell Rosanna in an attempt to take the sting off Darcy’s bite. “It really seems like they’re just friends.”

  Rosanna keeps stirring her coffee in slow circles, staring at her mug. “I didn’t tell you guys this because I was trying to move on, but D and Shayla went out in high school. I had a feeling there was more to their history than just friendship. And I was right.”

  “See?” Darcy plunks down her coffee mug with emphasis. “What did I tell you? That girl has been trouble since day one.”

  “But that was a long time ago,” I say. “You can be friends with someone after your relationship with them ends.”

  “Can you?” Darcy challenges. She points her fork at Rosanna. “Why don’t you throw down an ultimatum? Either he stops hanging out with Shayla or you walk.”

  “He told me I don’t have anything to worry about,” Rosanna says. “Threatening him would be like saying I don’t believe him.”

  “Do you?” Darcy asks.

  “I’m trying to. Things are a lot better between us. Anyway, he doesn’t even see her that much anymore. We’ve been together like every day.” Rosanna smiles at Darcy. “But thanks for being so protective. You’re a good friend.”

  “Any time.”

  “So what did you do last night?” I ask Darcy.

  “Guess who I ran into at Lit Lounge.”

  “Who?”

  “Remember that cute guy from Insomnia Cookies? The one at the counter I got shoved into?”

  “The one who kept looking at you?”

  “Yes! He was there. We talked for like two hours.”

  “Awesome! I knew he liked you!”

  “Who is this?” Rosanna asks.

  We tell her how we wandered around on Darcy’s birthday, letting the energy of the city pull us in whichever directions it wanted. I was so excited that Darcy got the whole look up thing. She was totally into looking up and noticing beautiful details people don’t usually see when they’re walking around. And I loved that she loved those cookies. And that she captured my suburbanization rant on Bleecker Street. I posted the video a few days ago. So far there have been a decent number of views.

  “What’s his name?” Rosanna asks about the boy from Insomnia.

  Darcy thinks for a second. “I don’t remember. Blame it on one mojito too many. Or, um, three.”

  Rosanna and I exchange a look. Ever since Darcy found out Logan was scamming her, she’s been drinking. A lot. Now that I know her credit card was confiscated and she found out about her dad’s indiscretions at the same time she discovered the real reason Logan came here, I realize she’s been trying to drown a lot more than just boy sorrows.

  We’re worried about Darcy. She’s been covering up her drinking, playing it off like she’s just tired or has a headache when we see her the next morning. But she’s not fooling us. Rosanna even asked me if I thought we should do an intervention. Now might be a good time to ask Darcy how she’s doing . . . and refuse to accept any answer besides the truth.

  “We know this is an awful time for you,” I begin, “but we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “We?” Darcy says.

  I gesture to Rosanna. “Us. Your roommates. The girls you live with. Who have noticed that you’ve had some pretty rough nights recently.”

  “The return of Summer Fun Darcy is reason to celebrate, not be concerned.” Darcy picks at where her sparkly purple nail polish is starting to chip. “True, I might have been slightly on the hungover side this morning, but I rallied. End of story. Weren’t we talking about boys?”

  It’s so Darcy to veer away from any subject she’s uncomfortable discussing. But I follow her lead, because it might be the only way to talk to her.

  “Are you seeing the boy from Insomnia again?” I ask Darcy.

  “Yeah, no, he’ll never call. That’s what happens
when you get too wasted and reveal too much.”

  “Like what?”

  “Everything you’re not supposed to talk about on a first date.” Darcy laughs. “Like ex-boyfriends. Can you believe I talked about Logan and Jude? Not that it was a first date. It was more of a drive-by encounter.”

  “We like Jude,” Rosanna chimes in.

  “Who doesn’t?” Darcy cuts a huge bite of pancakes, stuffing it into her mouth.

  “I mean . . . we like him for you.”

  Rosanna and I exchange another look. We love Darcy and Jude together. I don’t know what went wrong. One minute Rosanna and I are tracking Jude down at the park where he does his magic shows, explaining that we want him to fight for Darcy. The next minute Darcy doesn’t want to talk about what happened when they got together at Dean & DeLuca. Whatever went down is wrong. And tragic. And, in my opinion, not too late to fix. But not until Darcy fixes herself.

  “Jude officially wants nothing to do with me ever again,” Darcy says.

  “Are you sure?” Rosanna asks.

  “He made it pretty clear when he walked out on me.” Darcy gives us a bright smile. “No worries. More boy adventures for me!”

  “But he was just frustrated that you didn’t know what you wanted,” I say. Why is she playing this off like she wasn’t hurt by Jude’s rejection? “Everything’s changed. You’re not with Logan anymore. Does Jude know that Logan was trying to scam you?”

  “Would it make a difference? I chose Logan over Jude. Even if Jude found out we’re not together anymore, it would come off like he’s a consolation prize if I say I want to get back together. That’s not even—he wanted us to be exclusive. I can’t promise him that.”

  I want to say: Not like this. Not if you keep drinking to avoid your problems. But now that Darcy is opening up, I can’t press her. She’s under enough stress already. And I don’t want anything to come between us. Our Coffee Shop girl time means a lot to me. I would never forgive myself if we got in a fight. So I back off.

  A threatening cloud has formed over our booth. This is not how I want us to remember Coffee Shop. I want us to be excited to come back here together, to know that this is a safe space where we support each other, not attack. The best way to be Darcy’s friend in this moment is to support her the kindest way I can.