The Heart of the Deal by Lindsay MacMillan

Author:Lindsay MacMillan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

FRIENDSHIP MARKET FRAGMENTATION

“Two weeks?” Ellen said that Friday night, balking at Sarah. “You’re moving away in two weeks?”

“Classes don’t start until next August,” Mina said. “Why’re you leaving us already?”

“I need enough time to travel beforehand,” Sarah said. “You know, to mentally prepare.”

The Scramblettes were sprawled out in the penthouse. They’d started the evening on the couch and chairs, but nostalgia had brought them all to the floor. They’d even resurrected coffee mug wine glasses as an end-of-an-era tribute.

Earlier today, Sarah had announced in an all-caps group text that she’d been accepted early admission to business school at the University of Austin next fall and had just put in her two weeks’ notice at the bank where she worked, a rival of Rae’s.

The chart tracking the Scramblettes’ get-togethers had exhibited a downward slope over the past couple of years, but the impending fragmentation was still jarring. It was one thing not to see each other often and another to realize you were about to be physically out of Uber range.

“I bet they don’t even know what a scramblette is down in Texas,” Rae said, feeling several pricks of envy at Sarah’s finance escape plan and how her parents were funding it.

“I’ll just have to bring it to their menus, then,” Sarah said. “Barbecue scramblettes with a side of cornbread.”

It sounded pretty good, but Rae scowled anyway.

“Let’s go around the circle and share our favorite Scramblette memory,” Ellen said, refilling their mugs with a bottle of white wine they’d remembered to chill, even if it had been a last-minute freezer treatment.

Sarah thought about it. “Maybe that time we got kicked out of the ice cream shop for taste-testing too many flavors? Or that concert in the Hamptons when we convinced those guys that the Scramblettes were the opening act.”

“Oh yeah,” Mina said. “When you autographed that old man’s nipples.”

“Not his nipples,” Sarah corrected. “His heart.”

They snickered, reliving the scene.

“My favorite memory,” Mina said, “was making Rae’s dating app. Or crashing that NBA party.” A few years back, they’d taken the wrong elevator to the Gansevoort Hotel’s rooftop bar and half accidentally waltzed right into a top-floor suite featuring half of the New York Knicks, their flawless girlfriends, and the world’s most elegant cupcake display. “When we got a taste of real penthouse life.”

“Shhh!” Ellen said dramatically. “Don’t let Perry hear you. She’s very sensitive.”

“So sorry,” Mina said, patting the wooden floorboards affectionately.

“I’m biased,” Ellen said, “but I liked my birthday dinner at Carbone when the four of us were crammed around that tiny table, devouring bread rolls. Before the night spiraled and you had to talk me off the ledge from breaking up with Aaron, obviously.”

“Another round of focaccia, please!” Mina quoted Rae, and they all laughed.

“I don’t think it’s one specific memory that stands out for me,” Rae said. “It’s just recurring motifs—passing around ice cream pints, belting into wine-bottle karaoke microphones, texting from toilet stalls, and patenting new scramblette flavors. And sitting on the floor, of course, in an awkward diamond shape that feels like a symmetrical circle.

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