on their covers and endless permutations of the Calhoun gang inside. There were stacks of loose photos, too, and I carried everything into the living room, piling it on my lap.
Damn, had Edie ever taken a bad photo? She’d awed me even then, and sometimes, alone in my insecurity, I’d play out the impossible scenarios: Did Edie ever fart? Trip? Say the wrong thing and then blush bright red? For twenty-three years, she floated through life a few inches above us messy, gaffe-prone mortals. And then…
A photo of me pointing at my new cartilage piercing, coral pink and swollen. My fingers floated up and found it; ten years later, I still walk around with the piercing ring in. I remembered that day, early in the spring: I’d vaguely mentioned wanting a new piercing and Edie had jumped on it, declaring Saturday “bruncture day” because we were to get drunk at brunch and then make our way to a piercing place. I’d been distracted and nervous as we picked at our eggs, but I tried to hide it, to mirror Edie’s effortless cool. I lay on the piercing table, my head flopped to the side, while she flirted with the tattoo-covered piercer; he smirked at her as he snapped on his gloves. Later, she told me she could see my pulse pounding in my neck. With the steel hoop in place, Edie had hugged me and bought me iced coffee at the café across the street. As we’d browsed the racks of nearby vintage stores, I kept touching the earring, the flash of pain a permanent reminder of our “bruncture” bond.
I opened another photo album: Here were Sarah and Edie, monkeying around on the boys’ guitar and drum kit. Here were Kevin, Edie, and me, playing a drinking game while snow piled against the windows. I’d been so delighted to be part of a group, and a hip one at that, the kind of club that kids all over the nation would kill to be in. I turned the page: Here were Kevin and Edie, giving cheesy smiles and middle fingers to a flyer posted on Calhoun’s front door.
I squinted at it and remembered: People were trying to make TV shows and movies about our kind, and someone had hung flyers around the building to cast for a reality show; from what the gossip blogs reported, the concept was “hipsters in incongruous situations,” kids dressed like us working on farms and struggling through military boot camp. Sarah and Alex had been so irritated by the whole thing, so scolding whenever anyone used the h-word around them, but Edie had remained amused, simultaneously above and inside of the whole amorphous mass.
The grin on Kevin’s face. Nothing seemed to get under his skin. Kevin, who’d snicker good-naturedly or crack an off-the-wall joke or make a farting sound with his mouth if the moment got too prickly, if you were feeling self-conscious or judged or small.
My feet moved before I knew exactly what I was doing. In the kitchen, I had his profile pulled up in seconds. He had his phone number listed. It’s a habit I picked up from being a fact-checker: Don’t think, just dial.
“Hullo?” It was him. Everything in me buzzed.
“Is this Kevin?”
“Yes, it i-is.” The suspicious singsong of anyone who suspects a telemarketer.
“Wow, hi! It’s Lindsay Bach. How are you?”
“Whoa, hey! I—I’m good, and yourself?”
“I’m good, thank you, I’m really good. So, I know this is so out of the blue—”
“Hey, I’d really love to catch up, but I’m actually waiting on another call? From one of Evelyn’s doctors.”
Evelyn? Was he straight now?
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, not at all, it’s just my daughter—you don’t even know who Evelyn is, do you?” He chuckled and for the second time that week, ten years dissolved; it was his same whispery titter, tssh-sh-sh-sh. “But listen, can I call you right back? Just at this number? It shouldn’t be long at all.”
I took that to mean I wouldn’t ever hear from him and so was elbow deep in soapy dishes when my phone rang a few minutes later.
“Hello!” I cried, after too many rings. “Everything work out okay with your daughter’s doctor?” I’d meant it politely, but it came off as invasive.
“She’s…Yeah, I heard back from him, so no worries. Thanks for waiting. What’s up?”
“Um, thanks for calling me back. I’m actually calling ’cause…well, I just had dinner with Sarah, if you can believe that.”
“Sarah! How is she?”
“She’s good,