Page 31 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Okay.’ She nods. ‘Take some time to think about it.’

‘I just said no.’

‘And I’m saying yes. What a conundrum.’

‘I’m starting to regret coming here, actually.’

‘And you’re about to regret it more.’ She grimaces. ‘I’ve got news.’

I bolt up in my seat, immediately alarmed.

‘Don’t freak out,’ Caroline says quickly, putting her hands up like I’m a spooked horse. ‘Everyone is fine. But I spoke to Maggie this morning—’

‘Is she okay?’

‘What did I literallyjustsay?’

‘Okay, but can we skip the exposition and get to the point? You’re freaking me out.’

‘Fine.’ She sighs. ‘It’s Edie. She’s in New York.’

I stare at her blankly. Of all of the disastrous scenarios that my brain had so helpfully proffered, none involved Edie. Why would they?

‘Edie,’ I finally manage. ‘Like –Edie, Edie?’

‘Your Edie.’

‘She’s not my anything,’ I say quickly, getting to my feet. ‘And – that doesn’t make sense.’

‘She’s working as an intern for one of Maggie’s marketing friends. Maggie saw her last night, at this event—’

‘That’s ridiculous. How would she even know what she looks like? How wouldyou?’

‘She was in basically every picture you sent me for three years, so …’

‘Oh,great. You showed them to Maggie as well as Dad. Now everyone knows my business and Dad’s on my back about fuckingphotographyof all things—’

‘That’s not what we’re talking about,’ Caroline says curtly. ‘And don’t fucking swear at me.’

I screw my eyes shut, pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s a weird reflex I’ve somehow picked up – I do it when I’m stressed, angry, or both. So – often, basically.

‘Sorry,’ I say finally. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I just – I don’t know what to do with this.’

‘That’s okay,’ Caroline says after a beat. ‘Do you want a hug or something?’

‘A drink,’ I say weakly, sinking back into the sofa. ‘A drink, please.’

Edie, Edie, Edie. Before I decided that she was the love of my life, I knew Edie as the smartest person in our English class. Her defining traits were a semi-famous sister and long, ash-blonde hair that she wore in a braid every day until the grey January morning that she arrived back at school with it cut to her chin. Much later, she told me that it was because she’d watchedThe Royal Tenenbaumsover Christmas break and developed an obsession with Gwyneth Paltrow’s character. She had the haircut and the stoicism down – the school dress-code forbade her from wearing a tennis dress and heavy eyeliner, but she could emulate Margot’s smoking habit, albeit furtively.

That’s where I came in. I used to stock up on cigarettes when I was back in the city, approaching college kids outside bodegas and letting them keep the change if they bought me a pack. Then at school I’d trade them for other contraband items, including books subversive enough to have been banned from the school library. I gave Edie four for her battered copy ofWe Need to Talk About Kevin.It would have warranted two, ordinarily, but she was pretty and I was predictable. And I liked how serious she was, how spiky. Every smile felt like something earnt.

She hated smoking, as it turned out. But she liked me, and that was the beginning. The end was just over four months ago.

‘Here,’ Caroline says, plonking a coffee down on the table before settling back into the armchair with one of her own. Not the kind of drink I’d had in mind, but I take it anyway.

‘Have you spoken to her at all?’ she asks. ‘Edie?’

‘Since she kerb-stomped my heart? No.’

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