Follow Me(6)

“Here we are. Is this okay?”

“Um, this is more than okay,” I said, looking around the room. Like the rest of Cat’s apartment, her guest bedroom had the obvious touch of a professional: clean lines, soft linens, thoughtful accents. Most of the room was occupied by a low Scandinavian bed covered in a gray duvet, accompanied by a minimalist nightstand topped with fresh flowers. But beside the flowers, one thing seemed out of place.

“You’re kidding me,” I said, laughing, as I picked up the framed photo of Cat and me at a sorority formal. We were the picture of opposites: Cat draped in a gauzy, powder-blue dress with her hair pulled into a severe bun, and me squeezed into a skintight black dress with my long hair flat-ironed within an inch of its life. I remembered consuming nothing more than lemon water for two days before the event just to fit into that thing.

“Look at us! We were such babies.”

“I know,” Cat said, smiling fondly. “We were juniors there. Can you believe it’s been eight years since that picture was taken?”

“Unbelievable.” I sank down onto the bed and slipped off my sandals. “Thanks again for letting me stay tonight.”

“Stay as long as you want. Really. I rarely use this bedroom.” She smiled shyly. “It could be like college all over again.”

“You mean we could do shots of Goldschl?ger while watching Gossip Girl?” I laughed. “Sounds tempting, but my movers are arriving at the new place tomorrow.”

Concern flickered across Cat’s face. “I still can’t believe you rented a place sight unseen. How can you be sure the apartment even exists?”

“Don’t worry, I promise I didn’t wire money to some offshore scammer. I searched Google Maps and checked out the landlord, who, by the way, is a nice old lady named Leanne—”

“You think she’s a nice old lady. She could be anybody. She could be a he. She could be Ted Bundy!”

“Ted Bundy’s dead, Cat.”

“She could be like Ted Bundy. She could be worse than Ted Bundy. You never know.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes you have to roll the dice. You know what I always say—”

“Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you more interesting,” Cat finished. “Let’s just hope that apartment makes you nothing more than fascinating.”

? ? ?

CAT’S INVITATION TO move in was generous, and for a hot second I even considered backing out of my lease, but ultimately I knew I couldn’t live with Cat for more than a few days. It wasn’t that Cat was a bad roommate. Rather, she was too good of a roommate. When we lived together in college, she was always doing my laundry or fixing me tea or checking on me when I was out late. It was like living with my mother but with less nagging.

I never said anything to her, of course. Cat meant well. She was just a little needy. My stomach bottomed out as I remembered the first day of sorority rush. I’d stood in front of the Kappa Gamma Alpha sorority house—my top choice and the house I would eventually pledge—sweating in the midwestern August heat and scanning the (pleasingly lackluster) competition. As I was doing so, I locked eyes with Cat.

I recognized her from my dorm and looked away quickly, hoping she wouldn’t come over. There wasn’t anything wrong with her per se, but her entire demeanor seemed a little forced. She walked around with this approximation of a smile on her face that verged on a wince, and she was always lurking. She would come up behind the rest of us and just stand there, nodding like she was part of the conversation and smiling that weird smile.

As the door swung open and singing sorority sisters paraded out, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Cat wasn’t going to glom on to me. She must have read my expression, because her face was red, her cornflower-blue eyes bright with hurt. My mouth went sour with guilt, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let some girl I barely knew torpedo my chance at getting into a good house.

If I’d known she was a legacy, I might have behaved differently.

At the bid day party, the KGA president stood at the front of the room in a size zero Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and clasped her manicured hands together, gushing about how lucky they were to have us, how lucky our chapter was to consistently pledge such amazing women. Later, after we had dispersed into smaller circles, I noticed Cat standing alone. As she was nearly six feet, it was hard for her to fade into the wallpaper, but that’s exactly what she was trying to do.

She’s in way over her head, I thought unkindly.

But then I remembered her wounded expression from the first day of rush, and I felt a flicker of shame. Hadn’t I promised myself I would be less of a bitch in college? And here I was, just a couple of weeks into the venture, already being exclusionary—and to one of my own sisters no less! I excused myself from a conversation about sunless tanner with two girls named Lindsay and crossed the room to Cat.

“I’m Audrey,” I said. “We live on the same floor.”

“I know,” she said shyly, ducking her head so that her thick hair curtained around her face.

Stop acting like some bashful fucking tween, I wanted to scream. Instead, I smiled brightly and said, “Looks like we’re going to be sisters.”





CHAPTER FOUR





CAT


I was perpetually astounded by Audrey’s apparent belief in her own immortality and the risks she took because of it. I still felt queasy when I remembered the trip we took to Mardi Gras senior year, when Audrey disappeared with some guy she met on Bourbon Street. She laughed when I tried to stop her from leaving the group, calling me a worrywart and swearing to kill me if I told her boyfriend Nick. Four anxious hours later, I was on the verge of calling the New Orleans Police Department when she stumbled into our hotel room, giggling and wearing her shirt inside out.