Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,13

They were facing jail time, possibly for the rest of their lives.

“Anyway, I’ve got to run. I called because I’m trying to find the name of that masseuse—the one you used to help with your lower back.”

“The masseuse?” Chanel stopped by my feet and looked up at me, her tail wagging.

“Yes. I can’t remember her name. Tom said you would know it.”

Tom. My father. I pictured him standing there, his eyebrow raised, waiting on the masseuse’s name. A name I couldn’t remember. “Is he there?”

“He’s busy, love. Do you remember the girl’s name?”

“No. I’m sorry.” I thought of all of the questions I had for her, my knowledge of their new life based mostly on an American Greed episode that had aired last week. “Did you get my email about my new job? I’m—”

“I’ll have to catch up with you later, sweetie.”

“But—” There was a beep, the call ending, and I looked at my cell, our conversation lasting less than two minutes.

Two minutes. Not long enough yet it told me all I needed to know.

They didn’t miss me, and certainly weren’t stressing over my well-being. How was that possible? Were they that confident of my ability to survive? What if Cammie kicked me out? Or I lost my job? What if one of my calls that they had ignored had been from the hospital?

I didn’t know anything about having a child. And we may have never been very close. But surely, written somewhere in Parenting 101, they were supposed to give a fuck.

Cammie, Benta, and I first bonded over gladiator sandals in NYU’s spring orientation. This was back when everyone was wearing them and we thought we were so above that. I didn’t pick them because they were kind and compassionate. I didn’t pick them for their fierce loyalty. I picked them because they wore the same things I did, carried the same purse, and had the same lifestyle. They preferred fashion shows to poetry readings, and shopping to working out. They were spoiled, as was I, and we melded together in a blend of entitlement.

I was always the worst in our bunch. The least reliable. The most self-centered. It was the general expectation that I would flake in any time of need.

And I really expected, in the dark parts of my soul, for them to leave me over this. For our friendship to wither away into nothing, our common ground lost. Instead, they rallied—feeding me, housing me, and distracting me in times of struggle.

They had been better friends than I deserved, our friendship turning a corner, becoming deeper through all this. I hoped, one day, I would be able to return the favor. At the very least, to become a better friend.

Benta’s new boots clipped across scratched wooden floors, her new Givenchy bag slouching on the tiny table before me. I pulled my jealous eyes away and studied my phone, calling the next realtor, my gaze lifting to Benta as she returned. I left a message, taking the coffee from her. “Thanks. We’ve got one place left.”

“Good. These boots are killing me.” She sipped her coffee and leaned forward, looking at my notepad. “What’s your top choice so far?”

I shrugged. “Probably that last one.”

“In that neighborhood?” The corner of her mouth lifted in what could only be described as a sneer. I let out a controlled sigh, swallowing a hundred snide thoughts. There were moments, in between my unending gratitude for their help, that I really hated her and Cammie’s wealth. Hated even more my jealousy of that wealth.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “But really.”

I let out a pitiful groan, leaning back in my seat. “You think I want to live there? I’m desperate. And I’m wearing a hole in Cammie’s couch.”

“I’d offer to let you stay with me, but I value our friendship too much.” She smiled sweetly over her cup, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thanks.” My cell rang, and I scooted back in my seat. “That’s the next realtor. Let’s go.”

It was our last showing of the day, and the one with the most promise, mainly because it was in Manhattan. Anything within walking distance of the Brantleys’ was gold to me. Granted… this one was twelve blocks away. A hike, especially for someone with my limited experience with cardio. But that was all secondary because it had just hit the market, was in my price range, and Benta was about out of patience. I would have taken Cammie; she could handle low-rent experiences better than Benta, but