Page 51 of We Used To Be Magic

thanks edie. heard you’re in new york? ezra

If she thinks I’m ignorant to her being in the city, then this is bound to freak her out. It also reads as kind of terse, but that’s probably for the best. The dynamic between Edie and me has always been skewed in her favour – social hierarchy was a big thing at school, and she was a honeyed blonde with a crisp accent and a flair for tennis. I was the loner American kid with the weird camera – you do the math. Still, I was happy existing in her orbit, and none of that shit mattered when it was just us. It didn’t even bother me that I so obviously loved her more. It was an absolute. Trying to deny it would have been like trying to deny that the sky is blue.

Point being, better that I sound a little cold, now. I decisively hit send, pop the last dumpling in my mouth and lean back in my chair, pondering my next move. The cinema, maybe. Sitting in a dark, air-conditioned room with one of those bucket-sized slushies sounds pretty good right now.

My phone buzzes and I physically start. But the message isn’t from Edie.

Can I see you today? No worries if you’re busy.

Audrey. I exhale, quickly tap out a response.

i’m out right now, but i can meet you somewhere?

Her answer comes back in less than a minute.

Or I’ll come to you?

I reply just as quickly.

i’m at the restaurant on the corner of my street. are you anywhere nearby?

No immediate response. A few minutes pass, then a few more, and I’m wondering if I should have offered more details when I see a flash of pale hair through the window, a streak of brightness in the otherwise grey day. I raise my hand to wave but Audrey doesn’t see me, her head ducked low to avoid the rain. The bell above the door jingles when she steps inside, hair damp, nose pink. She’s wearing her green jacket again, and I wonder then if she’ll be here long enough to need something warmer.

‘Hi.’ She smiles, taking a seat opposite me and placing a brown paper parcel on the table. It’s oblong, speckled with rain.

‘Hey.’ I grin back, not caring if it’s obvious how entirely fucking jazzed I am to see her again. ‘How are you?’

‘Good.’ She nods. ‘Better, I mean. Um – this is for you.’

She nudges the parcel across the table.

‘Oh,’ I say, surprised. ‘Really?’

‘It’s partly a birthday gift,’ she tells me, tugging at her sleeve. ‘Partly an apology. I know I was a total mess last night—’

‘No, you weren’t—’

‘I was. It was stupid and I don’t have an excuse, but you took care of me anyway and I’m really grateful.’

She pushes the parcel a little further towards me, and I abruptly understand. She feels indebted to me and she doesn’t want to be, hence the gift – she’s trying to even the scales. It kills me a little, sure, but I get it. I just wish she knew that it isn’t necessary. That she doesn’t owe me anything – that I wouldn’t want her to.

‘Thank you,’ I say instead. ‘This is really nice.’

I push my empty plate to one side and pick it up. It’s surprisingly heavy, and Audrey watches me closely as I pull the paper back.

‘She was one of the photographers that you mentioned liking,’ she says uncertainly. ‘Right?’

‘Right,’ I echo, stunned. In my hands is a huge, cloth-covered volume of Nan Goldin photography – the exact same book that I discovered on a dusty shelf in the art room at school. I must have leafed through its dog-eared pages a hundred times, totally rapt. It showed New York as a place I’d never known, so far removed from the city of my childhood that it might as well have been a different planet. I trace the embossed lettering with my fingertips, gold and perfect where I remember it dull and worn.

‘You don’t already have it, do you?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Uh – there was actually a copy of this at my school. I coveted it the whole time I was there – I almost took it when I left, but there’s no way they wouldn’t have known it was me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, feeling dazed. ‘Wow. Thank you so much.’

‘I’m glad you like it.’

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