the kitchen telephone.
Laurenâs mother used to lament Sarahâs being an only child, feeling that explained some of the girlsâ incredible, instantaneous closeness. Of course, she wasnât truly an only child, but Bella never came to know Lulu well enough to learn any of this. Lauren didnât see Sarahâs condition as solitude. She was envious: no big brother, burping in her face then laughing hysterically, none of that rank, powerful smell of teenage boys, the one that she understood much later has to do with the discovery of masturbation. At any rate, Sarah was never alone, so she couldnât have been lonely. She was always in a group, always a group of girls. Sarah had authority, she had presence. She was a leader, born to it. She had a kind of stardom, one that had nothing to do with who her parents were or how much money they hadâeveryoneâs parents were someone, except Laurenâs, and they all had money, except for Laurenâsâbut it was something that came naturally, like the way her hair kinked when the air was steamy.
Seven years later, another first meal in another strange cafeteria; Lauren had never been so relieved to see Luluâs daffy face, Huckâs dignified head. She didnât care if their classmates woulddenounce him, later, as a war criminal. She just sat and watched Lulu poke her fork at a salad, exclaim over the fact that the salad bar had lentils, watched Huck eat a grilled cheese sandwich, which seemed at once incongruous and wholly fitting. He loved America so, et cetera. Sarahâs glow was diminished, a bit, in this unfamiliar setting, a grand columned building that had suffered an institutional adaptation, stripping away its character, mostly by means of harsh fluorescent lighting, which is better for the planet. Maybe it had to do with Huck and Lulu. Her own mother and father had dropped her off, said their good-byes, and Lauren feigned sorrow though her chest was breaking open with excitement. The liberation of adulthood. She watched them disappear out of the parking lot in the maroon station wagon, and a burden lifted off her shoulders, flew away into the late summer afternoon. She had spent her entire life waiting for the next thing; this was the first moment sheâd actually experienced that thing. It seems impossible and hilarious to her now that this was fourteen years ago.
There had followed four years of meals together. Breakfast, which Sarah loved and Lauren did not, only coffee for her. Lunch, when their schedules allowed. Dinner, most nights. There was a fourth mealâthey were college students, they stayed up late and thought nothing of a plate of Tater Tots at 11:00 P.M. while discussing Middlemarch, a book everyone resented reading but would get much mileage, years thence, for having read. Once it seemed if not inconceivable then certainly odd that she and Sarah wouldnât dine together; now it seemed noteworthy that they had. Life, life is funny.
Karen has reddish hair and a sardonic laugh. She has a sardonic everything. She grew up in Ohio and has a strange way ofpronouncing everything. Her wryness has an accuracy to it. One of the first times they had lunch togetherâKaren had tendered the invitation, âHey, letâs have lunch,â and it seemed so logical Lauren naturally said yes, though it wouldnât have occurred to her to make the same offer, not everâKaren had entertained her with her observations about their bosses. She pointed out that one of Mary-Bethâs legs is shorter than the other, by a significant margin; you can tell it by the way she walks. Lauren had been there two years before Karen showed up, had never noticed. She wasnât that attentive, in the end, to the small details of other peopleâs lives. Karen mimicked Mary-Bethâs gaitânot cruelly, more imitativelyâand Lauren was astonished. Karen was perceptive. Maybe in the end being perceptive is better
Laurenâs mother used to lament Sarahâs being an only child, feeling that explained some of the girlsâ incredible, instantaneous closeness. Of course, she wasnât truly an only child, but Bella never came to know Lulu well enough to learn any of this. Lauren didnât see Sarahâs condition as solitude. She was envious: no big brother, burping in her face then laughing hysterically, none of that rank, powerful smell of teenage boys, the one that she understood much later has to do with the discovery of masturbation. At any rate, Sarah was never alone, so she couldnât have been lonely. She was always in a group, always a group of girls. Sarah had authority, she had presence. She was a leader, born to it. She had a kind of stardom, one that had nothing to do with who her parents were or how much money they hadâeveryoneâs parents were someone, except Laurenâs, and they all had money, except for Laurenâsâbut it was something that came naturally, like the way her hair kinked when the air was steamy.
Seven years later, another first meal in another strange cafeteria; Lauren had never been so relieved to see Luluâs daffy face, Huckâs dignified head. She didnât care if their classmates woulddenounce him, later, as a war criminal. She just sat and watched Lulu poke her fork at a salad, exclaim over the fact that the salad bar had lentils, watched Huck eat a grilled cheese sandwich, which seemed at once incongruous and wholly fitting. He loved America so, et cetera. Sarahâs glow was diminished, a bit, in this unfamiliar setting, a grand columned building that had suffered an institutional adaptation, stripping away its character, mostly by means of harsh fluorescent lighting, which is better for the planet. Maybe it had to do with Huck and Lulu. Her own mother and father had dropped her off, said their good-byes, and Lauren feigned sorrow though her chest was breaking open with excitement. The liberation of adulthood. She watched them disappear out of the parking lot in the maroon station wagon, and a burden lifted off her shoulders, flew away into the late summer afternoon. She had spent her entire life waiting for the next thing; this was the first moment sheâd actually experienced that thing. It seems impossible and hilarious to her now that this was fourteen years ago.
There had followed four years of meals together. Breakfast, which Sarah loved and Lauren did not, only coffee for her. Lunch, when their schedules allowed. Dinner, most nights. There was a fourth mealâthey were college students, they stayed up late and thought nothing of a plate of Tater Tots at 11:00 P.M. while discussing Middlemarch, a book everyone resented reading but would get much mileage, years thence, for having read. Once it seemed if not inconceivable then certainly odd that she and Sarah wouldnât dine together; now it seemed noteworthy that they had. Life, life is funny.
Karen has reddish hair and a sardonic laugh. She has a sardonic everything. She grew up in Ohio and has a strange way ofpronouncing everything. Her wryness has an accuracy to it. One of the first times they had lunch togetherâKaren had tendered the invitation, âHey, letâs have lunch,â and it seemed so logical Lauren naturally said yes, though it wouldnât have occurred to her to make the same offer, not everâKaren had entertained her with her observations about their bosses. She pointed out that one of Mary-Bethâs legs is shorter than the other, by a significant margin; you can tell it by the way she walks. Lauren had been there two years before Karen showed up, had never noticed. She wasnât that attentive, in the end, to the small details of other peopleâs lives. Karen mimicked Mary-Bethâs gaitânot cruelly, more imitativelyâand Lauren was astonished. Karen was perceptive. Maybe in the end being perceptive is better
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