“I ran errands, you lazy bitch. Please go shower, you smell like a frat house.”
—
SLACK MESSAGE FROM ROGER LUDERMORE TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 12:20 PM: need Tim Cook’s email address
Charlotte did feel better after a shower. She’d long suspected that her state of mind was tethered to the cleanliness of her hair: When it was a greasy, tangled mess, she felt cranky and out of sorts.
Ben once told her she should shave it all off, that maybe then she’d be less of a pain in the ass. She bought the infamous jar of Manic Panic as a rare protest against his bullshit. Instead of a funky lilac, her hair wound up a startling silver, almost white. As Jackie said when she helped her rinse the dye in their bathroom sink, “Mistakes were made.”
Her (now naturally graying) hair air-dried in the wind as Jackie raced them across town. She would have a new set of knots to untangle when they got back to campus, but the rush of fresh air across her face felt divine. It’d been ages since she’d driven somewhere. The occasional Uber she sprang for in the city rarely went faster than fifteen miles an hour on the traffic-clogged streets.
“You’re like a dog,” Jackie teased as Charlotte stuck her entire head above the windshield. She laughed and the wind snatched the sound away.
“What are you thinking today?” Jackie chattered on. “I want to sit on the quad and see who looks terrible.”
“Liam got married.”
“Hockey team Liam? To who?”
“High school sweetheart.”
Her best friend shook her head as she processed the new information. “Straight people. Who else is here?”
“Matt and Jio drove up from D.C., they’re still adorable. Amy’s killing it at work. Nina is super in shape, I think she could break me in half.”
“Did Eliza make it?”
“Nah, she couldn’t fly back from Dubai.”
“Thank god, I can only handle so many pining exes this weekend.” Jackie gave her a wry grin and Charlotte shoved her in the shoulder. “Hey, don’t strike the driver!”
“How’s dating in L.A. going?”
“I’m swiping left on that question.” Jackie changed lanes and signaled to turn into the grocery store parking lot. “It’s cool, I wanted to be single for the reunion.”
“Ew, why?” Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “You know everyone in our year, and the seniors look like babies. You will not believe how tiny they are.”
Jackie pulled across the boulevard and eased into a space by the front door. She shrugged as she put the top back up on the car. “Maybe there’ll be some wise lesbian in her thirties who wants to adopt a baby gay. I don’t know. I’m down for whatever.”
That captured their entire friendship. Jackie was down for whatever and always had snacks, while Charlotte made skeptical jokes and passed out early.
“Besides,” Jackie added. “I don’t plan on spending the reunion prying you away from your phone.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes as she grabbed her purse from the floor. “I’m not engaging with that.” No matter how many times she reminded Jackie that this weekend was technically a business trip for her, it didn’t seem to sink in. Hopefully there would be plenty of quality best-friend time in between tasks for Roger.
The grocery turned out to be a popular destination. Soon-to-be-graduates ransacked the store’s selection of barbecue charcoal and hot dogs.
While Jackie went off in search of sweets, Charlotte beelined to the chips aisle.
Just as she slid a bag of popcorn into her basket, her phone started blaring. Charlotte maneuvered the basket onto her other arm and dug it out of her pocket. Roger’s dead-eyed headshot stared back at her on the screen.
She held her breath as she took the call.
“Where are we on live tweets for Sunday?” her boss snarled.
Some days she admired Roger’s disregard for polite greetings. Why waste energy on is this a good time or how’s your day going when you could jump right into bossing around your employees?
Charlotte pinned the phone between her shoulder and her ear and grabbed a bag of Doritos from the shelf. “Just waiting on a finished draft from you, and then I can write them up. How’s it going with Peter?”
Roger scoffed. “I got rid of him. He accused me of being out of touch.” He adopted a high-pitched whine as he mocked his speechwriter’s spot-on feedback. “He’s all sensitivity this and appropriateness of venue that. It’s fine, I can write it myself,” Roger continued, working himself up. “Don’t know why I bothered hiring him in the first place. I’m not Steve fucking Jobs, I can put two sentences together.”
Jackie emerged from the next aisle over and gave her a searching look.
Roger, Charlotte mouthed, rolling her eyes. Jackie rolled her eyes and took the basket from Charlotte’s arm.
“Get me those tweets ASAP,” Roger snapped, apparently remembering the reason for his call. He hung up as suddenly as he called, leaving her staring open-mouthed at her phone.
“That looked fun,” Jackie drawled.
Charlotte followed her up the aisle to the register. An exhausted cashier waved them over. Jackie set their plunder down on the counter.
“He fired his speechwriter but still expects me to draft Twitter coverage of a commencement address that does not exist.” Charlotte took out her wallet. Jackie waved her off and handed her credit card to the clerk. “Let me Venmo you for half,” she protested, still uncomfortable with Jackie’s generosity after all these years. Jackie’s love of thrifting wasn’t born from financial necessity—her dad was a hot-shot attorney, and her mom was the most sought-after knee surgeon in Westchester County. The Slaughters never made Charlotte feel like a charity case, but she winced as Jackie signed the receipt.
“Absolutely not,” Jackie declared.
In the end, they stocked their dorm room with Doritos, Oreos, popcorn, party cups, and another pair of four-dollar flip-flops. Not to mention a nice bottle of gin and two bottles of tonic from the liquor store next door.
As Jackie mixed cocktails and organized a tote bag to take to the quad, a wall began to thaw in Charlotte’s chest. What a delight it was to be scolded to put on sunblock by a woman who’d known her for years. Charlotte had friends from work, sure, but no one who badgered her with just the right level of affection and tough love. No one who would tell her that she smelled like ass and give her a bear hug anyway.
