As the party entered its last gasp, Hattie was a port in a storm for Laurie, and possibly vice versa. As Jamie did farewells that involved working the room for an hour, Hattie had pulled chairs together and fetched Laurie a nightcap of a very sticky plum-flavored vodka.
She’d known Jamie since childhood when their parents lived next door to each other. She worked at the university, putting its magazine together. Her husband Padraig was home with their two-year-old, Roger.
“I know—Roger,” she said, though Laurie had hoped her reaction was neutral positive. “I was on the gas and air when Padraig got me to agree to it, it was his favorite uncle’s name, he died eating poisonous mushrooms. I’ve warmed to it. Poor little bastard, hope he’s OK at school. And never goes mushroom foraging.”
She was disarming, unpretentious, and humorous, and Laurie really took to her.
“You’re nothing like I expected,” Hattie said, and Hattie wasn’t like anyone Laurie would have pegged as a Jamie Carter BFF either, expecting someone flashier, more conspicuous. Not someone who’d stayed in their childhood town, content with her lot.
She’d not believed Jamie about not adversely judging other choices to his own, and yet Laurie was forced to admit here was a powerful corroboration.
And it was obvious they were honest-to-goodness best mates, from the sibling-like shorthand between them and Hattie’s casually worn and yet contemporaneous knowledge of the inner workings of Salter’s.
“Oh, why’s that?” Laurie said, thinking, (1) black, (2) too old, (3) not glamorous enough.
Hattie slopped her drink from side to side. “Don’t be offended, as I’m clearly saying you’re not like this, but I expected a trophy girl who’d spend the night studying her gel manicure and messaging her friends about how basic we all were. The sort who posts those Boomerangs of clinking flutes with her Mean Girls.”
Hattie mimed a repetitive backward-and-forward motion with her glass and a strained Miss World full-teeth smile, and Laurie hooted.
“Haha! I’m not a trophy, agreed.” Laurie grinned.
“No, you are. But one with real value. I thought Mrs. Jamie would be a princessy madam, that’s all.”
“Is that because you think Jamie is a princessy madam?” Laurie said, but with a conspiratorial smile to make it clear she wasn’t laying traps.
“Hah! Nooo, well, he has that side to him, for sure,” Hattie said, and Laurie could see by how slow her blinking was and the slight fuzz of the edges of her speech, that she was considerably drunker than Laurie. She would probably cringe at having said this in the morning. “He’s always had this other, much better side to him. More serious, more reserved. Almost fiercely moral, actually. You fit with that.”
“Has he not brought girlfriends home before?”
Hattie looked gobsmacked. “He’s not told you this? No, never. To the point where Eric and Mary were told he must be a comfort to his mother, lifelong bachelor, if you know what I mean. No. That’s why I couldn’t believe my eyes when he was posting photos with you. I mean, that is like posting wedding banns, for Jamie.”
“Wow!” Laurie said fraudulently, thinking Hattie must have heard his views on settling down, but was tactfully skirting around them with his new love.
“He was terrified of commitment,” Hattie said. “But clearly he’s got over it.”
“Ah well. I’m not . . . you know. Putting too much pressure on it.”
“But you’re in love with him, right?”
“Uhm . . . yes.”
“He’s madly in love with you. I can see it in the way he looks at you, the way he’s so affectionate with you. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s transformed.”
Laurie grit-smiled, frowned, and necked the rest of her vodka in one.
“I fell in love with him when we were twelve, you know,” Hattie said. “Then right through our teenage years.”
Laurie thought, Hoo boy. She’s wrecked. She might not even remember saying this. “Really?!”
“Yeah. Nothing ever happened, I should say”—Hattie waved a hand emphatically—“or we’d not be such good mates now. But, yeah, I was in love, and he let me down gently. He could’ve so easily exploited it, and he didn’t. That is the side of himself he keeps under wraps. When you’re his friend, he will go to the ends of the earth for you, and he won’t tolerate anyone being damaging toward you. Whatsoever.”
“Right.”
“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t make many friends—looking after people that much is a burden.”
Laurie nodded. So, she’d been right, earlier, when she saw worry flit across Jamie’s face. He didn’t want there to be any obligations after this was finished. This was strictly business, not pleasure, however intimate it might feel at times.
“And,” Hattie continued, “of course, you know what happened with his bro—”
Jamie approached them.
“I like her, can we keep her?” Hattie said, grabbing Laurie and planting a sloppy vodka kiss on her cheek.
“Uh-oh. Have you been dropping me in it, as per Hats?”
“Would I.”
He ruffled her hair.
“In a strange inversion, I’m done in and having to drag my parents home,” Jamie said. “Would you be up for heading back together?”
Laurie agreed readily; she didn’t have another drink in her. Jamie had stayed away from her for the last forty-five minutes and Laurie understood why, and was grateful. The previous tension needed to dissipate.
“It was so good to meet you,” Hattie said, encircling her waist, smushing her face into Laurie and kissing Laurie’s left breast, having evidently missed her intended target of “slightly above her left breast.” “I can tell you and I are going to be huge friends. I’m slightly psychic in that respect.”
“You and my hairdresser both.”
“Really? What did she predict that came true?” Hattie said, peering through the one eye she could still open.
“. . . Ah.” Laurie regretted this remark now. “Nothing yet.”
“Hattie is similarly unencumbered by a track record of success,” Jamie interjected.
“I told you, it’s feelings, sensations. Maybe, visions! Like, I can see you and Laurie with a toddler. A boy! Bringing him back here to visit. It’s cold weather, he’s in a coat . . .”
Laurie swallowed hard.
“All right, enough from mystic you,” Jamie said briskly. “I can see a vision of you with a hangover tomorrow, how’s that?”
