Page 114 of Happiness for Beginners

At lunchtime, GiGi made a mushroom and chive frittata. I sat at her table in my favorite chair and let my brain revolve around everything she’d said. I had to revise the entire story of my life. It was one thing to be the child of a mother who didn’t want you, but it was another thing entirely to be the child of a mother who couldn’t keep you.

“Maybe I’ll give Mom a call while I’m in town,” I said at last.

“I bet she’d like that.”

“Can I tell her that you told me?”

“Yes. I always warned her that I’d tell you if you asked.”

“Do you think she’ll be angry?”

GiGi turned to shake her head. “I think she’ll be relieved.”

“I’mrelieved,” I said. There had been a great question at the center of my life that I didn’t even know was there. Now it was answered. Of course, answers always raise more questions, too. But now, at least, I knew what to ask. And who. As it all sank in, I felt my body relax, as if I’d been bracing, somehow, for years, without even knowing it.

“It explains a lot, doesn’t it?” GiGi said.

I nodded, but then I wasn’t sure what I was nodding about.

“Like why you have so much trouble letting people love you.”

I stopped nodding. Did I?

“Maybe you just decided—so long ago that you don’t even remember—that it made more sense to be alone.”

“But I hate being alone,” I said.

GiGi reached over to smooth my hair. “Exactly.”

***

After lunch, I forced myself to get on the ball. I had toenails to paint, elbows to moisturize, hair to trim. There was a lot of deferred maintenance, to say the least. The bar mitzvah was looming at the end of the day, and I couldn’t imagine how on earth I’d agreed to go. But I moved through the day like a robot, crossing things off my to-do list. By the time I got all the grunt work done, GiGi had gone upstairs for her siesta, and it was time to get ready.

But “ready” sounds easier than it is. As I showered, I felt full of dread. It’s a tricky thing, dressing for an occasion like this particular one. As a rule, when you haven’t seen the boyfriend who dumped you for your best friend in fourteen years, it’s best to look hot, if at all possible. But I’d never been an obviously pretty kind of person. When I looked pretty, it was usually in a kind of subtle way, not in a hit-you-over-the-head “hot” way, which, really, had forced me to be interesting, instead. Which was fine. I was old enough now, and had seen enough lives unfold, to know it’s always better to be an interesting girl than a hot one.

Except on a night like this. On a night like this, I would have gladly given up all my “interesting” for “hot.” I’d brought a suitcase full of clothes to choose from, knowing that I’d need lots of options for this moment, and I tried on everything at least twice before I settled on a little pink ’50s-style sleeveless shirt dress and white strappy heels. I put my hair into two ponytails, and then I twisted them around into buns and stole two of GiGi’s mini chopsticks for decoration. Makeup-wise, I went for it: thick, retro liner on the top lids, mascara, and dark red lipstick.

I was ready way too early. I had overestimated how long it would take to make myself presentable, and now I’d have to pace around until it was time to go. I stared myself down in the mirror. Did I look like I was trying too hard? I wanted to seem fabulous, but effortlessly so. If you have to try to be fabulous, it doesn’t count. I wanted to seem as unlike my scruffy high school self as possible. To make it clear to everybody how distantly I had left those days behind. I might have been a frizzy-haired, sandals-wearing, forgettable hippie back when we’d all known each other before, but I wasn’t that girl anymore. I was no longer the kind of girl you’d cheat on and leave for someone else. I’d grown up to be amazing, dammit! I’d grown up to be the kind of girl you never get over.

I was trying to decide if I should brush-and-floss one more time for good measure when the doorbell rang. In the seconds before running downstairs to answer, I decided it had to be Jake. He’d come back for me! He’d somehow magically sensed how great this outfit was, politely ended things with Windy with no hard feelings, and hitched a ride here! As I walked toward the front hall, I felt a little guilty at the prospect. I wouldn’t want to break Windy’s heart. But, even still, I could feel little electrical flashes of anticipation sparking around my body, and I held my breath as I pulled the door open.

But it wasn’t Jake.

It was Duncan.

He held a large Igloo cooler in both hands, leaning back to counterbalance its weight. I was just about to ask him about it when he spoke.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head. “You look hot.”

A thousand points for Duncan. “I do not,” I said. But I smiled.

He shrugged. “Have it your way.”

I shook my head. “What are you doing here?”

“Coming for a visit.”

“What’s in the cooler?”

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