Page 4 of The Note

The age gap felt negligible now. With less than a decade between them, they were basically contemporaries, and though Lauren had landed a job as the director of the Houston Symphony, May knew at an intellectual level that she was impressive in her own right. Raised by a first-generation Chinese single mother, she graduated magna cum laude from Harvard, then did the same at Columbia Law. Until that video blew up online and she was asked to consider resigning, she had been a board member on the state’s Asian American Bar Association. Now she was on her way to becoming a tenured law professor. But when Lauren was around, she felt a little like a nerdy kid again. The same excitement, but also still the same insecurities.

Lauren reached from the passenger seat for a second hug. “Oh, the way I have been looking forward to this. I need this vacation so much.”

“Me too,” May said. “So much.The Canceled Crew, finally together in person.” Weeks into the text thread, May had been the one who entered a name for their group chat:The Spelling Bee Hive.It was a reference to the fact that May had told Lauren and Kelsey about her daily habit ofcompleting all theNew York Timespuzzles as a distraction from her floating anxieties. Work, politics, her mother, wedding planning—all of it disappeared when she was grinding out a word game.

It turned out that Lauren and Kelsey had gotten hooked on one of the puzzles too, called the Spelling Bee, which involved compiling words from seven letters arranged in the shape of a beehive. The discovery of additional words was rewarded by increasingly complimentary levels of accomplishment: Nice, Great, Amazing, Genius, and, on that special day when the puzzler found every possible word, the elusive Queen Bee. For a dispositional grade-grubber like May, those digitized words of praise were a morning drug. Rather than get stalled at Genius, May, Lauren, and Kelsey conspired to hit Queen Bee every day by comparing word lists.

ButThe Spelling Bee Hivedidn’t capture the true nature of their bond, so May tried out theDon’t Judge Me Hivebefore Kelsey amended it toThree Despised Bitchesand May came back withThree Non Karens.The evolving group-thread name became a game of its own until Lauren weighed in with her own suggestion—The Canceled Crew.Whether it was because the name was a good one or it had come from Lauren really didn’t matter. It was the name that had stuck. It was what had brought them all together again asa trio—three ladies who had gone through the cancel mill.

Canceled.When had that word hit the cultural lexicon?

He got canceled.

Cancel culture.

Shhh, I don’t want to get canceled.

What did it even mean? A human being can’t literally becanceled.You’re either alive or dead, breathing or not. Brain-dead, maybe, but that’s still not canceled. But whatever it meant, it was why Lauren had reached out to May in the wake of that disastrous video. She and Kelsey had already been through it, their lives … what? Not exactly canceled, buttransformed.And transformed in a specific way—revealed, and then reduced. Forever altered by the specific mechanism of public scrutiny and judgment. Lauren, because of the affair. Kelsey, because of her husband’s murder. And May, because of a confrontation on a subway platform. Three women, judged and vilified by strangers.

“Canceled, my ass,” Lauren said, reaching for the car stereo to blast Janelle Monáe while she sang along.I’m looking at a thousand versions of myself, and we’re all fine.“We’re going to have the best trip ever.”

3

We knocked it all out. I say a little reward is in order.” Lauren pulled a bottle of prosecco from the refrigerator and expertly popped the cork, tipping a few ounces into two wineglasses she had laid out on the kitchen island.

Since the drive from JFK, they had managed to unpack, make supermarket and liquor store runs, and put away the cheese, crackers, chips, dips, eggs, bread, milk, coffee, and every other thing they piled into their overflowing grocery cart.

The house had three bedrooms. One was the upstairs suite with a king bed, en suite bathroom, and a deck with a view of the bay. The parents’room, which meant it was Lauren’s room, no question. She was the original Queen Bee. The elder. Their glue. The one who had remained close to both May and Kelsey after the May/Kelsey BFF Duo had fallen out of touch. Even though the three of them were a hive now, Lauren somehow felt like the overlap in their Venn diagrams.

A smaller bedroom was next door, simply furnished with a full bed and a single nightstand. The first floor had a second suite with its own bathroom and a sliding glass door out to the pool deck.

May took the small room. No deck, no view, no en suite bath. She was the one who had to go back to the city early, and she was the one letting Kelsey pay. It was the obvious decision.

“The house is nice, right?” May asked, as she neatly folded the final paper bag to set out with the recycling.

May knew that Lauren generally preferred hotels when she traveled. The first time she rented an Airbnb, a neighbor had called the police to report a trespasser. When Lauren told May about it, May responded too quickly, saying she “couldn’t believe anyone would do that” and lamenting what bad “luck” Lauren had had. Lauren replied under her breath that luck had nothing to do with it, then quickly changed the subject. That night after work, May googledvacation rentals racismand understood why Lauren avoided owner-operated rentals. Harassment from prying neighbors. Callsto the police. Claims by homeowners that the rental was suddenly unavailable, despite what the website clearly stated.

When Kelsey proposed renting a house in the Hamptons for a girls’ trip, May hadn’t wanted Lauren to feel boxed into an uncomfortable situation, so she suggested that hotel rooms would be less expensive than a whole house in the Hamptons. Kelsey insisted that they needed a place large enough to hang out and chill in private. She also offered to pay for the entire rental.

Checkmate. May was out of moves.

Lauren’s next text, sent only to May, followed seconds later.I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but please stop. Let her pay. It will be fine. Don’t overthink it.

The next day, Kelsey texted photos, saying she had the perfect place.Kind of small but right by this gorgeous bay beach.Out of curiosity, May had used a reverse Google image search to find the listing.

She was grateful Kelsey was footing the bill, because the rent was fifteen hundred dollars a night. It sounded impossibly expensive to May, but apparently the market warranted it. According to the rental listing, the house was booked solid for the entire summer, and the detailed home instructions left on the refrigerator by the owner—full of exclamation points and random all caps—gave a “FIRM!” checkout time because the houseneeded to be turned over immediately after their departure. The long list of prohibitions and rules ended with a handwritten note.Have a great stay, Callie!!! xox Arianna.Theiin her name was dotted with a heart, and she left a contact number for emergencies.

Lauren’s and May’s phones simultaneously pinged with a new message on the Crew thread. It was a short video that began with the view of the wake behind a boat and ending with a glimpse of Kelsey, her long hair blowing wildly around her face as she squinted against the sunlight. She had added an animated sticker of a ferrryboat and the words volume up.

May unmuted her phone and heard “Let the River Run” by Carly Simon. She and Kelsey had watchedWorking Girlthe summer after seventh grade and became obsessed with Melanie Griffith’s transformation from sneakers and a wall of permed hair to boss of the boardroom. Rewatching became a Wildwood annual tradition as they gathered a growing number of girls each summer in front of the communal television with hoards of snacks, reciting their favorite lines from memory.I’m not steak, you can’t just order me … I’ve got a mind for business and a bod for sin.And May’s personal favorite:Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear. Doesn’t make me Madonna.

Kelsey was driving down from Boston, whichinvolved a ferry that would carry her first from southern Connecticut to Orient, then from Orient to Shelter Island, and then from Shelter Island to the South Fork of Suffolk County, aka the Hamptons.

May leaned in close to Lauren, snapped a selfie, and attached it to the group thread.Yay, you’re almost here! Can’t wait to see you!Send.

How’s the house?Kelsey asked.

May typed in five star emojis and hit enter, then quickly followed up withThank you again for being so generous. What a treat.

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