You Knew Me When (18 page)

“Mom!” Both Gemma's voice and the slam of the front door echoed throughout the house. “I'm here!”

“We're upstairs. Third door on the right when you get to the top.” A series of thumps later, Gemma tumbled into the room, breathless and red-faced from the cold weather, and shucked off her coat and boots. “So, how was it?”

“It was good, actually. You wouldn't believe how nice the people were, and some of them don't have any place to live at all.”

“I know, sweetheart. It's terrible.” Laney beamed with pride inside and out. Nothing was more gratifying than watching your child learn a lesson, especially one you'd orchestrated.

“Hi, Katherine.” Gemma's face lit up.

“Hi, Gemma. I'm so happy to see you again.” She looked to Laney for approval, and Laney nodded. “I know you and your mom have to get going pretty soon, but I have a little treat, if you're up for it.”

“Sure!” Gemma's eyes brightened at the prospect of any treat Katherine could possibly offer.

“Excellent! Let's get started, then.” Katherine had retrieved the box of makeup from her car in advance of Gemma's arrival, and she'd even set up a stool from Luella's bar by her bedroom window to achieve the best lighting. “First, you should open this.” She patted the seat of the stool, where Gemma sat obediently, and handed her a nondescript big brown box.

Without missing a beat, she lifted the flaps to reveal what appeared to be a lifetime supply of Blend cosmetics. “Oh, my God! This is all for me?!”

“You got it!” Katherine grinned.

“Eh-hem.”

“Oh, sorry. You have to share with your mom.”

“No problem!” Gemma appraised every bottle, every brush, every compact, and every lip gloss like it was an Academy Award. “Thank you, Katherine!”

“That's not all.” She checked back in with Laney, who gestured her approval again. “What say I give you a little lesson on how to apply some of this stuff? Like a mini makeover.”

“Right here, right now?”

“Yup.”

“That would be
amazing
.” Gemma nodded eagerly. “Casey is going to be so jealous!”

“Well, that's the whole point. Isn't it?” Laney winked at Katherine, as she set about arranging the products she was going to use on Gemma's perfectly unmade-up face. If only she recognized how beautiful she was without any of it.

“Now let's start with a tinted foundation.”

“What's that?”

“It's foundation that has a hint of bronzer in it. Evens out the skin tone while giving you a sun-kissed glow.”

“Ooh.”

“Exactly.”

“Then we'll dab on some cheek stain, otherwise known as the modern-day girl's blush, a little brown eyeliner, and some clear mascara, and you should be good to go. It's all in the application—trust me. Less is always more.”

“I like a smoky eye.”

“Do you?”

“Uh-huh. And red lips.”

“Well, that, my friend, goes against the first rule of makeup.”

“It does?”

“Absolutely. You never want a dark eye and a dark lip.”

“Oh, okay. How come?”

“It's too much. If you wear a dark eye, you want a nude gloss on your lips. If you want red lips, we go light on the eyes.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Do you think I look okay?”

“Yeah, but you're gorgeous.”

“That's what you think. Or perhaps I just know how to apply my makeup the right way.”

“Thanks for the tip!”

“Anytime.”

Laney sat quietly while Katherine did her handiwork, sketching and coloring to highlight Gemma's finest features, which were all of them. She had to admit, Katherine was talented.

Twenty minutes later, Katherine stepped back to evaluate her progress. “Almost there.” She moved close to Gemma's face again and then away, over and over, intermittently smudging and dabbing this spot or that. “Voilà! You, my dear, look like a supermodel. Go see for yourself.”

Gemma hopped off the stool and ran into Luella's massive bathroom.

“You're good with her.” Laney smiled.

“Believe it or not, it comes easily.” Katherine started packing the makeup back into the box. “She reminds me so much of you at that age and the instant rapport we once had.”

“Well, I applaud anyone who can have a civil conversation with a teenager, namely my teenager.”

“Thanks.”

“I love it!” Gemma shrieked from the bathroom, practically signaling Katherine's cell to ring.

“Hi, Brooke.” Katherine sighed, lifting the phone to her ear while sealing the makeup box with duct tape. “I know. I'm sorry, but I have things to take care of here. Well, John will have to wait . . . oh, Christ, fine.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and whispered to Laney. “I have to take this.”

“Go ahead. I have to get my delightful daughter home anyway.”

“So, I guess we're skipping tomorrow for Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, I'm at my mom's all day. What about you?”

“My dad's. Hazel is doing her thing.” Katherine put the phone back to her ear. “Brooke, I'll be a few more seconds and then I'm all yours.”

“Listen, I know it's last-minute.” Laney was whispering too, though she wasn't sure why. “My mom made me swear to invite you for dessert or coffee—whatever—if you can make it. Obviously, you shouldn't feel obliged. I can see where it could be awkward, and you have your own plans . . .”

“I'd love to.”

“Really?” Laney hadn't expected Katherine to say yes, certainly not so immediately. If she were being honest, she didn't really think it was the best idea, but her mom had been unrelenting. She'd yet to see Katherine and, despite her litany of questions, Laney hadn't been willing to talk about her at all. “You do know Grant and Michelle will be there.”

“Sounds good.” Katherine nodded decisively, smoothing her glossy black hair and slipping into an expensive-looking shearling coat. “I'll look forward to seeing the entire Drake clan.”

“Great.” Laney smiled stiffly. Whatever faint trace of Kitty had resurfaced, it was no longer discernable. Katherine had regained control.

The question was, Which one would show up to Thanksgiving dinner?

F
or about four and a half years after my mom died, I had this recurring dream. I never mentioned it to anyone, but it was always exactly the same. My mom would be sitting on the rocking chair in my bedroom in our old Bennington house, talking to me about life. She'd be racing through all the really important milestones at warp speed, like time was running out and she had to transfer all of her knowledge to me in a hurry.

I have the feeling my mom would have liked the opportunity to write a note. You know, to express her opinion one last time, have one final say, and possibly offer me some self-improvement advice before she died so suddenly. I don't know—maybe it's me who would have liked some motherly guidance in advance of losing her forever.

Anyway, I can't remember the specifics of the dream anymore, but lately I've been having it again, which I believe has been updated since I was eleven. I doubt I had sex on my mind back then. Now it's on my mind all the time because of Grant, so in the new version of my dream, my mom is explaining the birds and the bees and urging me to “be safe.” I guess even my dream self didn't want to hear my mom use the word
condom
. Unfortunately, the whole thing is kind of past the point. I figured out the birds and the bees on my own. And how to be safe. Well, actually, Grant takes care of that part.

I will say that I definitely do not recommend commencing a relationship with someone less than four months before they leave for college. Obviously, I didn't give it much thought back then. That's what happens when you're in love. Yes, I am in love. There, I said it. At first I was completely against it. Saying it, that is. Which really annoyed Grant. I'm sorry; it's just that it's so . . . what's the word?
Syrupy
.
I'm in love with you
is tantamount to
I want to make love to you
. Sweet, sticky, and gooey. I might as well be on
General Hospital
.

Grant used the “L” word before I did, this past August when I was with the Drakes on Nantucket. I was kind of caught off guard, so I didn't say it back initially. This probably won't come as a surprise, but it was a first for me. That's right. Never been in that situation before. Apparently, prior to Grant, I was unlovable to the male sex, except for my dad, who doesn't count. I'm only seventeen, so it's not a big deal or anything. In fact, I'd venture a guess that this is the one social milestone I'm not behind on. I mean, really, how many girls lose their virginity to the second guy they've ever kissed? And how often is the second guy you've ever kissed the one to tell you he loves you? I'm not sure, but I don't think it's a high number. Leave it to me to make the one and only normal teenage experience I've had completely abnormal.

At any rate, now that Grant and I are
in love
, he's gone. It wasn't easy saying good-bye either. I cried for nine days. Not in front of Laney, because I think she's already a little thrown off by the whole thing, even though it's been seven months now. After Grant told me he loved me, I told her, and she acted really strange for the rest of the vacation and for a few weeks after that. No guy has ever told Laney he loves her. Well, at least not in a serious way. I'm pretty sure it bugs her that I did this one thing before she did. And the fact that it's with her brother just makes it that much more complicated. Once Grant left for school, things with Laney and me went back to normal. She still reverts to her weird behavior when he comes home on the weekends, but I can deal with that.

I suppose I'm lucky he didn't go far. University of Vermont is only a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Manchester—it's in Burlington, which is a very cool town. Grant's come home all but three weekends, which I survived by counting down the days on the UVM wall calendar he bought me, along with a sweatshirt, socks, and a mug. My dad really appreciated the mug.

It's going to be great when we're all at UVM together next year. Laney and I have both been accepted already. We applied early action, which means you find out if you got in before all of the regular applicants send their stuff in this coming January. I wasn't too worried about it. I've been getting pretty much straight A's since we moved to Manchester, and I scored a 1420 on my SATs, which was the second best in my whole class, next to Mark Chin, who got a 1590. Seriously, Mark? We were slightly more concerned for Laney, who doesn't pay any attention to homework and tests, though still manages to get mostly B's and a few C's. She did have the whole legacy thing going for her, since Grant is there and Mr. Drake and his brother went to UVM too. Laney only got 1100 on her SATs, which really isn't bad. She's not good with standardized tests and she even got to take it untimed, because she was diagnosed with a mild form of ADD. I could have told the doctor that.

I got my letter two days before Laney, so she was convinced the writing was on the wall and that she was destined to disgrace the Drake name by being rejected from her father's, uncle's, and soon-to-be her brother's beloved alma mater. She tried to convince me to wait to open my letter, but both my dad and Grant said that was absolutely ridiculous. I thought it would be a nice display of solidarity, since we are best friends and all, but—as my dad pointed out—since Laney is my best friend, she can't be upset with me for wanting to know. Turns out he was right. She was superexcited for me, if not biting her nails in anticipation of her own fate.

I'm kind of jealous because Laney went up to visit Grant this weekend. Her dad had some alumni reunion, so she joined him. I didn't say as much, but I would have liked to go with them. Unfortunately, Laney didn't extend an invitation, and Grant didn't mention it either. He did say he can't wait to see me when he comes home next weekend, though. So, back to the calendar.

Today I'm going over to Luella's. She called the house last night to ask if I'd like to come for lunch.
I want to talk
were her exact words, which was somewhat unnerving. I feel like whenever anyone says anything along those lines, it's never a good sign. Not in real life and definitely not on
General Hospital
. So here I am, standing at Luella's door, waiting for her to answer, so I can find out what it is she wants to talk about. Maybe she wants her emerald earrings back.

“Hello, darling. Come on in.” Luella glided through her expansive foyer and into the kitchen, where she'd laid out a beautiful lunch of poached salmon with dill cream, her famous warm saffron potato salad, and hot mulled apple cider with cinnamon sticks. I wish I had her gift for making a meal look like a magazine spread lifted from the pages of
Elle Décor
.

“This looks delicious, Luella. You've outdone yourself, as always.” I sat down at the kitchen table and spread a powder blue cloth napkin over my lap. I'd dressed up a little for the occasion in my mother's black crepe slacks and one of the few of her sweaters that fit me on top—a pale green cashmere shell with a matching cardigan that's snug across my chest. For whatever reason, going to Luella's house for lunch, if it isn't a pool day, feels much more formal than dining at anyone else's house. She'd probably drop dead on the spot if she knew that my dad and I put plastic containers directly on the dinner table. Like, if we buy coleslaw from the deli counter at Manchester Market to eat with our hamburgers, we don't bother transferring it to a serving bowl. Gauche, I know.

“Nonsense. Salmon is brain food. Keeps the mind sharp. And with all that college preparation, it can't hurt.” She placed a small piece of fish on my plate, dolloped the dill cream on top, and spooned a conservative portion of potatoes next to it. Luella believes that moderation is the answer to most things. She claims she's never dieted a day in her life but has also never deprived herself of anything she's craved. She always says,
A piece of chocolate does not wide hips make. The whole bar, well, that's a different story
.

“Sounds good to me.” I waited until her own plate was full and she'd sat down opposite me. One of the many things Luella has taught me is to mind my dining etiquette. Thank God, because my dad is relatively hopeless in that area.
Never begin eating until everyone at the table has been served. Always chew with your mouth completely closed. Smaller, outside fork for salad. Larger, inside fork for main course. Utensils rest on the plate together in between bites, not on the table. Soup bowl tilted away from you to scoop up that last drop.
And so on. And so on. “You know I got into college already, though. So that kind of takes the pressure off.”

“I did, yes.” Luella furrowed her brow. “That's what I wanted to talk to you about.” She lined her fork and knife up neatly on her plate, took a deep breath, and folded her creased hands on the table in front of her. “What would you think about going to New York City for school?”

“You mean instead of UVM?” Didn't she understand what already being accepted to college meant?

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I'm sure you've heard of New York University—NYU the kids call it.”

“Of course.” Although I think everyone calls it NYU, not just the kids. Luella can be so old-fashioned sometimes.

“It's a highly esteemed university.” She nodded meaningfully. “The kind of place that launches careers.”

“Sure.” I nodded back. I don't know much about NYU, but it seems like Luella does. And who am I to argue?

“A unique opportunity has presented itself, Kitty.” She looked me directly in the eyes. “One of the board members at NYU is a dear friend. We spoke at great length about you yesterday, and she'd like to set up an interview.”

“Oh, wow.” I wasn't sure what to say. Did I mention I got into UVM already? I mean, I know early action isn't binding, but why would I bother applying elsewhere, especially someplace so far from home and from Grant?

“Do you understand what this could mean for you?”

“I think so.”

“It could change your life, Kitty. New York City is a mecca for bright minds like yours. There are so many opportunities UVM won't afford you.”

“Isn't it really expensive? You know, what with it being out of state and all?” I knew my dad was already working overtime to be able to pay for college. I'd offered to apply for financial aid, but he'd said he was going to try to get by without it. He too can be so old-fashioned.

“I took the liberty of speaking with your father before I approached you. He feels very buoyant about the prospect, Kitty.”

“Okay.” So she was really serious about this. It's no wonder my dad was eager to get me over here today. He kept asking what time lunch with Luella was, which is pretty uncharacteristic for him. “I don't know what to say.”

“Say you'll at least think about it.”

“I guess.” Laney and Grant would kill me if they even knew I was considering Luella's offer, not that an interview meant I would get in.

“I know there's the issue of Grant.”

“And Laney.”

“Yes, of course.” Luella thought for a moment. “Kitty, sometimes the best decisions we make are the most selfish.”

“Okay.” It seemed ironic coming from Luella, who, by all accounts, hadn't made a selfish decision in her entire life.

“Do you understand what I mean?”

“I think so.”

“What I'm saying is that, while UVM might be the best school for Grant and Laney, it might not be the best school for you. And just because they want you to go there too doesn't mean you have to. If they love you like I know they do, they'll want what's best for you. Often, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“That's true.” Though absence from Grant hadn't made my heart grow any fonder yet. My heart was just about as fond as it could get, and what it most wanted was to be
with
Grant. All the time. Still, what if Luella was right? What if I could go to a school like NYU? I hadn't even considered applying anywhere but UVM, even though my guidance counselor had told me I had options. Now I was beginning to wonder why. Why had I not looked into NYU or even Harvard or Yale? Mark Chin was probably applying to all the Ivies. What if I passed up Luella's offer and regretted it forever? Or what if—like my mom—I couldn't make it in New York?

“You know I want what's best for you, Kitty. I love you very much, and while I know it's not my responsibility to guide you through life, I'd like to think my opinion carries at least a little weight.”

“Of course it does.” Luella had never led me astray; quite the opposite, in fact. “I'll give it some serious thought. I promise.”

“That's all I can ask. Naturally, it would be my pleasure to help you.” She commenced picking at her salmon. “Now, enough academic chitchat.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it, Luella.” I closed my eyes for a quick second, visions of the Empire State Building, the Twin Towers, Times Square, and the Statue of Liberty cavorting in the darkness. “Can I ask one favor?”

“Anything for you, darling. Anything at all.”

“Can we keep this between us for now?” Looking down, I pushed the potato salad around my plate. “You know, not say anything to Laney and Grant. At least not yet.”

“That's sounds very wise, darling.” She smiled. “Very wise indeed.”

•   •   •

“I
still can't believe it.” I sat in our kitchen, poring over the glossy NYU admissions booklet spread open in my hands. Four students walking shoulder to shoulder—all different nationalities and all alarmingly academic looking—beamed up at me. Their smiles spelling it out one pearly white at a time:
If you enroll at NYU, you'll be as happy and smart and successful as we are.

“I'm just so darn proud of you, Kitty Kat. Have I told you that?” My father looked like he might cry, for about the tenth time since my acceptance package arrived this morning. Apparently, the admissions office was so impressed by me and had one student suddenly back out, so a slot opened up practically by magic. I asked Luella if they have a waiting list for when this kind of thing happens, but she just waved her hand and said, “What's the difference? You're in.”