The Girls Are All So Nice Here by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn

Author:Laurie Elizabeth Flynn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2021-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

NOW

To: “Ambrosia Wellington” [email protected]

From: “Wesleyan Alumni Committee” [email protected]

Subject: Class of 2007 Reunion

Dear Ambrosia Wellington,

The people you grew close with during your time at Wesleyan knew you at your best—and sometimes even your worst. We all have things we wish we’d told our friends back then. There’s no better time than now!

Sincerely,

Your Alumni Committee

Kevin McArthur looks the same, at least through a windshield. I can’t stop staring at his face, even when Sully gets out and makes her way toward me. As she walks over, I realize that maybe she said There is no us not because of what we did, but because of what she did when I wasn’t looking.

“Amb,” she says, her voice forceful. My eyes flit back to Kevin, who is watching us. I can’t read his expression. “Amb, wait. I can explain, okay?” Her hands are on my wrists. I want Kevin to get out of the truck and complete our fucked-up trio, our walk to the darkest parts of memory lane. But he stays where he is.

“Amb, hear me out, okay?”

“I don’t know what to say.” My teeth chatter, like they did the night of Dorm Doom, even though it’s warm out. “Why is he here? Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

“He reached out to me,” she says. “A few weeks ago. He got a note too. I should have told you, but I didn’t know if we could trust him.”

We. We’re we again. I watch, powerless, as Kevin starts the truck, wishing it weren’t so easy for him to leave all over. But he pulls onto the road without so much as a glance. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again, and what I would say to him if I did.

“How did he even know where to find you?” I ask.

“It’s a long story.” She drops her hands to her sides. “I’ll tell you later. You just have to believe me that everything I’ve done has been for us.”

There’s only an us when it’s convenient for her.

“Can we?” I sputter. “Can we trust him?”

She nods, her face solemn. In the hard afternoon sun, I can see that age has played with her after all. It’s there in the lines around her mouth, in the light waves creasing her forehead, the pucker between those eyebrows I used to envy. “I think so. He said he didn’t know who else to reach out to, and he found my email address.”

“But it doesn’t even make sense. He must have received hundreds of letters just like that. Hate mail. Death threats. Why would he do something about this one? Why now?”

“I don’t know why. But I obviously didn’t tell him. He doesn’t know what we did.”

“Unless he does, and he’s the one who sent the notes. He has more reason to hate us than anyone. We ruined his life.”

She plays with her tank top strap. She knows more than she’s telling me. I want to shake the information out of her, turn her upside down like she’s a saltshaker and watch her insides spill out.

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