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  “Yeah. Real original.”

  The rest of them jump in. “Are you faster than Bob Corvette?”

  “And Bob Porsche?”

  “And Bob Jaguar?”

  They are cracking themselves up, but Bob isn’t paying them any attention. He only has eyes for Marnie.

  “We’re sorry, Bob,” Harper says finally. “We can’t help ourselves. You see, we’re reunioning.”

  “Reunioning?”

  “I haven’t seen them since November,” Marnie explains.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Scarlett says. “She flew all the way from Rhode Island to see us, Bob.”

  “We just can’t contain our excitement,” Presley says.

  “We played hooky from work, Bob,” Caro whispers. “Shhhhh, don’t tell my boss.”

  “Well, if you need anything while you’re in town…” Bob reaches into his chest pocket and pulls out a business card. He hands it to Marnie and smiles just for her. Cleft chin and everything. “Call me.”

  For a second Marnie hesitates, holding the card. It occurs to me that this is a Charlie-and-the-Golden-Ticket moment, and most women would take it. And if Marnie were not married to my father and I were not standing here, this might be a different story.

  But she is.

  And I am.

  “I can’t,” Marnie says, handing the card back to Bob. “I’m married.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She holds up her ring finger for proof.

  “She has a baby, too,” Scarlett says.

  “And a stepdaughter,” I feel free to add.

  Bob notices me for the first time. “You’re the stepdaughter?”

  I nod, because my face is suddenly burning and I don’t trust my voice.

  “Too bad,” he says to Marnie.

  “Well,” Harper says, snatching the card right out of his hand, “I’m not married!”

  And everyone laughs. Because Harper is so bold. And so funny. And she is also, in Marnie’s words, “chronically single.” Everyone else brought dates to the wedding. Scarlett brought Ford. Caro brought Trey. Presley brought Jason. Harper—even though she caught the bouquet when Marnie threw it and is therefore supposed to be getting married next—still has no one. Marnie says that Harper “intimidates men” because she is such a “strong, independent woman.” She is as tall as a professional basketball player, with hair even curlier than mine, and a nose too big for her face.

  I think Harper is an Amazon goddess, but Bob clearly doesn’t see her that way.

  I am a little surprised that he lets her keep his card. Then I remember something Dani told me once: When the lights go out, boys don’t care what you look like.

  I hope that’s not true.

  I hope that Bob gives Harper a real chance. I hope that when she calls him up and asks him out he says yes. And I hope that—after spending time with her—he falls in love not just with her personality, but also with her height, and her crazy curls, and her big nose.

  On second thought, a guy who can’t come up with any adjectives other than beautiful probably doesn’t deserve Harper. She is too smart for him.

  * * *

  Zooming down the freeway in Scarlett’s SUV, it hits me that I am really in Atlanta, Georgia. I have never been anywhere, unless you count Boston—which I don’t because it’s practically my backyard—or Tenafly, New Jersey, where I only went to visit my grandma Collette in her nursing home. And it’s not like I saw the New Jersey sights or anything. I just sat around playing backgammon and breathing in the smell of adult diapers and creamed corn.

  Now I am seeing some sights.

  “You see that sign?” Caro says. She is sitting next to me in the third row, pointing out the window. “The panda?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re only like a mile from Zoo Atlanta … And those lights over there?… Turner Field. Home of the Atlanta Braves.”

  “Cool,” I say.

  “Too bad they’re not playing tonight. We could go to a game.”

  “What do you girls want to do tonight?” Presley asks. She is sitting in the second row, her feet in Marnie’s lap.

  “I don’t know, sleep?” Marnie turns to me. “Right, Anna? No Jane to wake us up?” Without makeup, the circles under her eyes really stand out. I probably have them, too.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Unacceptable!” Harper calls from the front seat. “There will be no sleeping on this visit!”

  “No sleeping!” Scarlett echoes. “We’re playing hooky for you!”

  “You try having a baby,” Marnie says.

  “A baby?” Harper says. “I can barely take care of myself!”

  “You got that right,” Scarlett says.

  There is a scuffle in the front seat.

  “Hey! No smacking the driver!”

  “How is that sweet baby of yours?” Presley asks Marnie.

  “Amazing.”

  “I’ll bet. Those pictures you posted … I just want to eat her.”

  “She is pretty scrumptious.”

  “Those cheeks,” Caro says.

  “I know. David calls her his little meatball.”

  “Awww.”

  “Shit!” Marnie suddenly jumps in her seat.

  We all turn to look at her.

  “What’s wrong?” Caro says.

  “I’m leaking!”

  “What do you mean leaking?”

  “Milk, okay? I’m breast-feeding. If I were home I would have fed Jane hours ago.”

  “Ohhhh.”

  “I need to pump. Now.”

  “Pull over!” Presley says to Scarlett.

  “I can’t pull over. We’re on the freeway.”

  “Well, exit then. Something.”

  “Shit!” There is a new level of panic to Marnie’s voice as she rustles around the bags at her feet. “Anna. Did you grab that black briefcase thingy?”

  “What black briefcase thingy?”

  “By the mudroom door, when we were leaving the house?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I’m sure because I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Oh, God,” Marnie moans.

  “What?”

  “That was my breast pump.”

  Ah.

  “I knew I needed it. I put it right by the door…” Marnie’s voice is taking on a hysterical edge. “But I was in such a rush to leave … God, I’m such an idiot! Look at me!”

  We look. Her sweatshirt is soaked.

  “I hate when that happens,” Harper deadpans.

  “I’m a milk cow!”

  “I’m getting off here.” Scarlett jerks the steering wheel, shooting us into the exit lane. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “Well, you could not kill us,” Harper says. “There’s a suggestion.”

  “Tell me where to go. Damnit, Prius, move!” This Scarlett yells at the car in front of us.

  “Babies ‘R’ Us,” Marnie says.

  “Do we have a Babies ‘R’ Us?”

  “I’m on it,” Caro says, tapping away on her phone.

  Harper reaches over and blasts Scarlett’s horn. “This is a milk emergency, people! A MILK EMERGENCY!”

  “Got it!” Caro says. She calls out the name of some highway.

  “Could you please stop saying that word?” Presley shouts.

  “What word? Highway?”

  “Milk!”

  “What’s wrong with milk?” Marnie says.

  “It’s disgusting!”

  “Milk is not disgusting. It’s natural.”

  “Milk, it does a body good,” Harper adds.

  “Agh!” Presley cries. “I’m lactose intolerant! How do you guys always forget that?”

  Everyone is laughing now, even Marnie.

  “I miss you guys,” she says.

  “Of course you do,” Harper says.

  She and Marnie exchange a smile.

  My stomach pangs, just fo
r a second. Dani, I think. But then I snap out of it. I am in Atlanta, Georgia. I am on an adventure with a bunch of wild bridesmaids, and Dani is stuck in school with Mr. Pfaff, freewriting.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, we are at Harper, Scarlett, Caro, and Presley’s apartment. It is in Westside, which, Harper tells us, is the only place to be. There are just two bedrooms, so they have to double up, but there are loft beds, and beanbag chairs, and cool posters everywhere. Marilyn Monroe. David Beckham with his shirt off. The Periodic Table of Mixology. There is one really messy bathroom, a kitchen with gold counters, an ant-sized patio, and a living room with a bar and a pool table, where Marnie is now sitting, pumping away with her brand-new pump.

  Everyone but Presley is watching. You would think Marnie would be embarrassed, but no. You would think I would be embarrassed, watching my stepmother milk herself, but it happens to be pretty cool. Tubes and suction cups and this strange whoosh, whoosh, whooshing sound.

  “Wow,” Harper says softly.

  Marnie nods. “I know. When I first started nursing I was afraid I wouldn’t make enough.”

  “No problem now,” Scarlett says.

  “Nope,” Marnie says. “I’m a regular milk dispenser.”

  And we all just keep staring.

  After Marnie has filled two bottles, she lies back on the pool table, closes her eyes, and smiles.

  “Better?” Caro says.

  “I’m a whole new woman.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  PICTURE THIS, my first night in Atlanta: I am out to dinner with five overgrown sorority girls and we are all dressed identically. It is a replay of the wedding, only this time Marnie isn’t the bride, and instead of matching bridesmaid dresses it’s matching orange tank tops bedazzled with tiger paws. No joke.

  I got one for you, too, Anna, Presley said back at the apartment when everyone was getting ready. This will look so cute on you! You can be our mascot!

  Presley is their spirit leader. I remember this from the rehearsal dinner, when she led the entire wedding party in a song she wrote herself, all about my dad and Marnie.

  “To Marnie!” she says now, raising her beer.

  Harper, Caro, and Scarlett raise their beers and clink. “To Marnie!”

  Marnie and I are drinking iced tea, which here they call “sweet tea.” It is basically liquid sugar.

  “And to Anna,” Presley says, lifting her bottle higher. “Our future Clemson tiger.”

  “To Anna!”

  Marnie meets my eye and smiles. “You’re in for quite a night,” she says.

  I smile back. I am bedazzled with tiger paws, and I have butterflies in my stomach. But they’re the good kind of butterflies, the giddy kind. My mother is a thousand miles away. Dani is a thousand miles away. School is a thousand miles away. The place we’re eating, according to Harper, is very famous. On days of Georgia Tech football games, it serves more than thirty thousand customers. On just a regular day, it cooks two miles of hot dogs.

  Right after we order, the front pocket of my jeans starts buzzing. My chest tightens for a moment, but when I pull out my phone, I see it’s not Regina. It’s Sarabeth Mueller.

  whr wr u 2day? r u sick???

  It is my first text ever, but nobody here knows that. Harper, Scarlett, Caro, and Presley give me way too much credit.

  “Who’s texting you? Is it a boy?”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Is he cute?”

  “Is he asking you out?”

  “No,” I tell them. “It is not a boy.”

  It is the perfect time to excuse myself. When I ask for the ladies’ room, Harper points across the restaurant. Harper is their captain. She has planned this whole night. She knows where everything is.

  Being a texting novice, I am now in a bathroom stall, painstakingly plunking out one letter at a time.

  I-a-m-f-i-n-e-

  Before I can finish, my phone rings.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Hey. It’s Sarabeth. I just texted you.”

  “I know. I was just texting you back.”

  “Are you okay?” she says.

  “Yeah. I’m in Atlanta.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Why?”

  I feel weird telling her about the broken glass, so I don’t. I say this was a spontaneous adventure. Just me and my stepmother.

  “That’s so cool.”

  I can’t help smiling. It is cool.

  Silence for a moment, and I think maybe we have run out of things to talk about, but then she says, “So … talent show posters went up today…”

  “Yeah?”

  “November fourth. That gives us a month. I think we should do an act.”

  “What kind of act?”

  If she says Irish step, there is no way I’m saying yes. I will tell her I have stage fright, which is not far from the truth. Thanks for asking, I will say, but no thanks. Oh, and, Sarabeth? You may not want to Irish step by yourself either. Everyone makes fun of you when you do. Of course, I will say this as nicely as possible, so I don’t hurt her feelings.

  “Singing,” she says.

  “Singing?”

  “You, me, and Shawna. Like at my party. But a cappella.”

  “No instruments?”

  “You heard Shawna’s voice.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “but that was your basement. I don’t exactly see Shawna Wendall getting up onstage in front of the whole school.”

  “She’s in.”

  “What?”

  “Reese and Chloe and Nicole said no, but Shawna’s in. She’s fired up.”

  “Seriously?” I say.

  Sarabeth laughs. “Seriously … So what do you think?”

  I hesitate, picturing Dani and Jessa Bell and Whitney Anderson—and all those ninth-grade boys in the front row—laughing. I hate them for thinking they’re better than everyone. I hate myself for caring.

  “I know you love to sing, Anna.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Chorus elective. Fifth grade. You sang ‘Corner of the Sky’ from Pippin.”

  “You remember that?”

  “Of course. You were good.”

  It’s crazy, but I feel somewhat brave in this bathroom stall in Atlanta, Georgia, wearing my bedazzled tiger-paw tank top. “Okay.”

  “You’ll do it?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Great,” Sarabeth says. “So we’ll talk about it when you get back?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When’s that going to be?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Cool. We’ll talk Wednesday.”

  After I hang up, I walk back to the table, where the Sisters have been hitting the curly fries and beer at an impressive rate and the volume of their voices has increased fifty decibels since I left.

  They are remember-when-ing. Remember when we had that scavenger hunt with Theta Chi? Remember when we toilet-papered the Alpha Delta Phi house? Remember when Marnie ran naked through the quad? At one point, Marnie laughs so hard iced tea shoots out her nose.

  This is what she meant when I heard her on the phone saying, “I used to be fun.” Marnie was the fun one. The one who stole the red velvet rope from the movie theater to win the scavenger hunt. The one who climbed the tree to paint three orange triangles on the roof of Alpha Delta Phi. The one who streaked through the quad. The way they describe Marnie, she sounds like the disco ball at every party. Not unlike my mother, I realize. If she and Marnie had gone to college together, they might have been friends for a while. The irony isn’t lost on me. The line between “fun” and “crazy” is hard for most people to see. But I am not most people.

  “See why we call your dad the tiger tamer, Anna?” Harper says. “See why we gave him that hat at the wedding?”

  They did. They gave him a silky black top hat. Also a press-on mustache. They gave him a whip, too, but that didn’t come out until the reception.


  “Hey,” Marnie says. Her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are bright. “I have not been tamed.”

  She is smiling, but there is a little edge to her words. I’m not sure if anyone else catches it. I look at Harper, and she is laughing; this is all in good fun. Marnie is her best friend.

  Our server appears. He has beers balanced on one tray, chili dogs on another. “Hey, Jeremy,” Marnie says, reading his name tag. “Do I look like a fun girl? Be honest…”

  Marnie waits. Jeremy looks her over. He has yellow hair flopping in his eyes. He has a long, skinny neck like Ichabod Crane.

  “Yes,” he says. “Definitely.”

  “See?” Marnie says.

  Like this is proof.

  * * *

  After dinner we go to a place called Mustang Sally’s. Harper’s plan was country line dancing, but Marnie has other ideas. She wants to ride a mechanical bull. The man working the door is huge and dressed in a western shirt, jeans, and beat-up cowboy boots. He tells us the bull is named Fu Man Chu, and no one has ever ridden him for more than six seconds.

  “I will,” Marnie says. She is so sure.

  Later, she’ll tell us that she felt the same confidence about natural childbirth. While she was pregnant she was positive she could deliver Jane without any pain medication, but as soon as the contractions hit—bam!—she was screaming for drugs.

  Marnie on a mechanical bull is a total spaz and hilarious to watch. Her first attempt, she flies off almost immediately. Her next, she lasts two seconds. After that, she squeezes hard with her legs and even manages to let go with one arm. She makes the most ridiculous noises as she bucks, part cowgirl, part howler monkey, and I’m laughing so hard my throat hurts. I look at the Sisters and they are laughing, too, snapping pictures with their phones.

  A small crowd has gathered. Marnie is loving it. You can tell from her face. For a moment I almost wish I were the one up there, yeehawing and bucking around, but then Marnie flies off the bull. Hard.

  From the sawdusty floor, she says, “Ouch.”

  We all laugh.

  “No, seriously. My neck.”

  “Oh,” Harper says. “Shit.”

  * * *

  At midnight we are in the ER waiting for Marnie to see a doctor. Harper, Caro, Scarlett, and Presley are line dancing in the triage room, which is not exactly big enough to hold their dance moves. I try to keep up, but I can’t, so I go over and stand by Marnie, who is talking to the nurse on duty.