The thing about a woman like Sophie is that from the moment of matriculation at Horace Mann, she had been in control. Even her wild youth had probably been a calculated wild youth, designed to give the optimum amount of risk-taking without ever venturing near legitimate danger. But after thirty years of perfect management, she had gotten used to her life being managed. She was a bit slow to recognize a threat.
“I just—I remember you said that thing. About his mother. I just wondered how he was doing with all that.”
Beside me I could feel Lacie turn to stone.
“Ohhh, that?” Sophie stuttered out a laugh. “I can’t believe you remember all that. Yeah, he’s fine. We’re doing fine.”
“The thing is that I’m not a controlling person!” Lacie practically yelled out of nowhere. “That’s what pisses me off about this whole situation. He says I’m not giving him space. I always give people space! Everyone thinks I’m the most chill person in the world.”
“You are,” Sophie reassured.
“You totally are,” I added.
“Then what the fuck? I mean really, what the fuck? Why wouldn’t he pick up his phone? I know that motherfucker is glued to it.”
“I mean, just ask him if he’s seeing someone.” As a child I could never resist picking my scabs. I always had to see what was underneath. “You said you wouldn’t care. You said you felt kind of European about it.”
“Somehow the reality is different,” Lacie mumbled.
“I don’t think this line of thinking is particularly productive—” Sophie began.
“I don’t know why we can’t just be practical about it. I mean, people have affairs. That’s the truth. Even really unlikely people cheat.” I turned to Sophie. “You know that.”
“I know what?” Sophie’s chin jutted up.
“You know that people have affairs. All the time.”
Beside me Lacie groaned.
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“I mean, you’re seeing someone else, right? It’s not a big deal.”
Sophie threw her napkin. Literally dropped her napkin, right onto her plate. “How do you know that?”
Lacie turned to me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I thought it was just like, a fact. Hasn’t it been going on for years?”
Sophie had gone white. She was trembling, and beads of moisture had appeared on her upper lip.
“Jesus,” Lacie moaned. “Don’t you remember me saying, ‘Don’t repeat this’?”
“But why did you share it?” Sophie stood. “I told you that in confidence. That wasn’t for gossip.”
“I’m really sorry,” I said. I was in fact starting to feel sorry. Somehow in my head it had seemed funny. Or cosmopolitan. Or, I guess, to be precise, I was still pissed about that lame lunch date.
“God, Soph, I’m so sorry.” Lacie stretched out her hand, and Sophie recoiled.
“I’m going to go. Not”—she held up her hand—“because I’m mad, but I’m just—I’m going to go. I’m not mad at you.” Already she was backing toward the door and patting her hair as if her hair needed preparation for departure.
Lacie and I watched her as if she were an actress in a play. We waited to see what she was going to do next, even as we already knew. She put on her shoes. She put on her coat. Her dark head bobbed in the foyer. She sent us one last desperate glance, and then she was gone.
Lacie and I looked at each other. The meal was not even half done. The wine bottle was still beaded. Sophie’s fork remained in her mound of rice.
“I—”
It was lucky that Lacie jumped up at that moment because I had no idea what was coming after that I. She yanked the platter of chicken, marched to the kitchen, and slid the whole carcass into the trash. Lacie never wasted food.
I followed her, and began washing dishes. This was our first fight. It was funny how calm I felt.
“You always do this,” she said after a moment.
“Do what?” In high school I had been a champ at keeping secrets.
“You just, like…you just, like…you’re like—I can’t explain it.”
More silence. I ran the water hot and made myself keep my hands under it. Behind me I could hear Lacie slamming down glasses. I could picture them piling up behind me like little soldiers. What we’re trying to do, I thought, is really stupid. You’re supposed to outgrow your childhood friend. You’re not supposed to move in together and try to build a new life on the ash heap of the old.
“I mean, why would you even say that?” Lacie finally said.
I turned from the sink. My hands were chapped and raw pink from the water. “I forgot it was a secret.”
“All night, you were like, affairs, affairs, affairs! You couldn’t help yourself. You kept bringing it up.”
I said nothing.
“Are you trying to sabotage things between Sophie and me? Is that it? You’re jealous of our friendship? What’s going on?”
“I honestly didn’t think she would care so much.” But I was mumbling. I didn’t believe myself.
“You always do this! It’s like you can’t see yourself, like you think nobody’s paying any attention to you. Take responsibility for yourself!”
She was yelling.
“Okay, okay, I am, I am. I’m sorry. I fucked up. It was really bad. I don’t know why I did it. I’m sorry.”
We eyed each other. She looked pretty. Her cheeks were flushed, and her T-shirt had slipped off one shoulder, exposing a graceful curve of clavicle.
“Okay,” she said. “Thank you. But do you know what I’m saying?”
“Lacie, I really am sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Probably I am jealous of how close you are to Sophie, or something.” I flapped out my hand, a gesture of honesty. “Probably I’m just jealous of her, period.”
“Is that why you asked her to lunch?” She folded her arms.
“What?”
“She told me you asked her to lunch. That you went to lunch. You went all the way to Midtown to meet her at some crappy Indian place on her lunch break.”
“She chose the Indian place.”
“She thought it was weird.”