Page 2 of The Seven Year Slip

Fiona and I gave each other a knowing look. Drew had said the same about the play I narrowly avoided last week as I moved into my late aunt’s apartment on the Upper East Side. Fiona told me on Saturday, while I heaved a record player into the elevator, that she would never go swimming in the ocean again.

With that said, Drew did have a fantastic eye for what a personcouldwrite, not what they had already. She was brilliant at possibilities. She thrived on them.

That was what made her a unique sort of powerhouse. She always took in the underdogs, and she always helped them bloom.

“What’s that look for?” Drew asked, looking pointedly between the two of us. “My instincts were right about that musician we saw on Governors Island last month.”

“Sweetheart,” Fiona replied patiently, “I’m still getting over the play I saw last week about aman who had an affair with a dolphin.”

Drew winced. “That was... a mistake. But the musician wasn’t! And neither was that TikToker who wrote that amusement park thriller. It’s going to be phenomenal. And this chef... Iknowthis chef is special. I want to hear more about that summer he turned twenty-six—he alluded to it inEater, but not enough.”

“You think there’s a story there?” Fiona asked.

“I’m sure there is. Right, Clementine?”

Then they looked at me expectantly.

“I... haven’t read it, actually,” I admitted, and Fionatsked in that way of hers that will end up making their future child incredibly contrite. I ducked my head in embarrassment.

“Well, you should!” Drew replied. “He’s been all around the world, just like you. The way he relates food to friendship and memories—I want him.” She turned her hungry gaze toward the kitchen. “I want him so badly.” And whenever she had that kind of look in her eyes, there was no stopping her.

I took another sip of too-dry wine and picked up the dessert menu to scan it. While we usually took lunches together—it was a perk of having best friends who all worked in the same building as you—we mostly stayed around Midtown, and the restaurants in Midtown were...

Well.

I’d eaten more sandwiches and lobster mac and cheeses from food trucks than I cared to admit. Midtown in the summer was tourist central, so trying to find a lunch spot anywhere that wasn’t a food truck or the greens at Bryant Park was nearly impossible without a reservation.

“Well, when you get him, I have a question about this dessertmenu,” I said, pointing to the first item there. “What thehellis a deconstructed lemon pie?”

“Ooh, that one is the chef’s specialty,” Drew informed us as Fiona snatched the menu from me to read about it. “I definitely want to try it.”

“If it’s just a slice of lemon sprinkled with some granular sugar on a graham cracker,” Fiona said, “I’m going to laugh.”

I checked my phone for the time. “Whatever it is, we should probably order it and head back. I told Rhonda I’d be back by one.”

“It’s Friday!” Fiona argued, waving the dessert menu at me. “No one works on Fridays in the summer. Especially not in publishing.”

“Well, I do,” I replied. Rhonda Adder was my boss, the director of marketing and publicity, and copublisher. She was one of the most successful women in the business. If there was a bestseller to be had in a book, she knew exactly how to squeeze it out, and that was a talent in and of itself. Speaking of talent, just so Fiona and Drew knew the situation, I added, “I have three authors on tour right now—and something isboundto go wrong.”

Drew nodded in agreement. “Murphy’s Law of Publishing.”

“Murphy’s Law,” I echoed. “And Juliette cried herself sick this morning because of her boyfriend, so I’m trying to lighten her load today.”

“Fuck Romeo-Rob,” Drew intoned.

“FuckRomeo-Rob,” I agreed.

“Speakingof dating.” Fiona sat up a little straighter, and put her elbows on the table. Oh, I knew that look, and I inwardly suppressed a groan. She leaned in to look at me, arching her eyebrows. “How’re you and Nate doing?”

Suddenly, the wineglass looked very interesting, but the longer she stared at me waiting for an answer, the less resolve I had, until I finally sighed and said, “We broke up last week.”

Fiona gasped like she’d been personally insulted. “Lastweek? Before orafteryou moved?”

“While I was moving. The night you all went to the play.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” Drew added, more curious than her distraught wife.

“You didn’t tell us!” Fiona echoed in a cry. “That’simportant!”

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