Page 106 of Masks and Mishaps

ESSIE

Therewasanearthquakein California the day my mother died, the kind that made Los Angeles come to a standstill. While the city held its breath for aftershocks, I held my mother’s hand. She slept through the tremors, but I felt the jolts in my bones and muscles, a gnawing unease like the world was off its axis.

Tonight feels like an earthquake.

I’m completely fine. I’m completely fine.

I don’t know how you caneverbe happy living the life you do.

Your mom would have hated this.

I’m not fine. I’ve never been fine.

Cora lets out a slow sigh. “Saltimbocca,” she says, breaking the silence.

Valeria and I both face her. She’s on the stool at the end of the island, drumming her almond-shaped, black fingernails on the marble.

“Chicken saltimbocca,” she clarifies. “That’s what I miss most now that I’m engaged to a vegan.”

“Help yourself,” Alyssa announces as she strolls into the kitchen, making all three of us jump.

After we abandoned the dining room a few hours ago, she and my father stayed behind for a long, long time. This is the first I’ve seen of her.

She opens the gigantic refrigerator, illuminating the kitchen, and takes out two brown paper containers before she faces us. Her brow pulls. “Why aren’t you drinking?”

“I’m so sorry,” I respond immediately.

“For what, my love?” she asks, sparing me a glance before she brings the containers to the island.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I tried to stay platonic with Dalton. He’s …”

“He’s annoyingly endearing in a strange, haphazard way, isn’t he?” Alyssa replies as she slides one of the containers over to Cora.

“You had chicken saltimbocca lying around?” Cora blurts out.

Emphatically, I clear my throat and shoot Cora a look. She mouths an apology before picking up a piece of chicken with her bare hands.

“He’s so generous,” I say, facing Alyssa again. “I know he got that from you. So much of what makes Dalton wonderful came from you—and not just Dalton, but Everett and Lander too. I think I love you, Alyssa, and—” I sigh. “Youwere the reason we tried to stay away from each other. I’m so embarrassed and sorry—”

Alyssa lets out a sigh and flattens her hands on the island. Her gaze lingers on the marble, but after a beat, she looks up. “First of all,” she begins, “nobody in this kitchen is apologizing for anything. Not you.” She points at me before she faces Cora and then Valeria. “And neither of youever. We don’t apologize until men do.”

“But Dalton and I were—”

“Reckless,” Alyssa fills in while she opens the second container. “Messy. Woefully obvious, frankly. This morning, I noticed so many hickeys beneath the collar of his shirt that I thought he’d been attacked by bees. Again.” She passes the container to Valeria. “But Porter and I had this coming. I knew you two had feelings for each other and I should have told him, but I respected your privacy.” She bends over. When she stands, she’s holding a bottle of wine. “Getting engaged was reckless. Messy. But I’m human, and Porter made me laugh. It had been a long time since I’d really laughed. And sometimes, it’s okay to do what you want. Don’t the three of you do that every day?”

“I do,” Valeria confirms.

“Me too,” Cora adds after she swallows a bite of her chicken.

Alyssa slides the wine bottle to Valeria. “Can you uncork that, love? Thanks.” She bends again and reappears with wine glasses. “I spent the first fifty-four years of my life not doing what I wanted. I see you three, and in a world that tells me I should be scandalized, I’m not. Do you know why that is?”

“Because we’re all so stunning,” Cora replies through a mouthful.

Alyssa smiles and pours from the now-open bottle into the glasses in front of her. “It’s because you three are happy.” She looks between us. “The world is determined to tell women what should make us happy with no regard for what actually does. Marry one man, have his baby, and cook his dinner.” Alyssa scoffs. “No. Fuck a lot of people, have as many babies as you want or don’t, and cook his dinner if you feel like it—but only if you feel like it.

“At one point, every person at that table likely once believed women like you should hate yourselves for what you do. But the good ones can learn they were wrong. The great ones want you to be happy. The rest will figure it out eventually. And if they don’t? That’s their problem, not ours.”

Valeria, Cora, and I all exchange a glance. We’ve been saying it since the guys barreled into our lives: Alyssa Cavendish is a queen.

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