Page 40 of This Is Who I Am

CASS

Savor looks different again. We’ve removed most of the tables so there’s room for a dance floor spacious enough for Bobby’s exacting demands.

There’s a disco ball—obviously—and colorful spotlights, and if anyone was under the impression this was going to be a subdued fiftieth birthday party they would be very wrong.

It’s going to be a wild one, loud and boisterous, like its guest of honor.

My staff, who all love Suzy, are in charge of catering, and Sadie and Sam have hired plenty of wait staff to keep everyone topped up. It’s been a joint effort to put this party together—and also a welcome distraction.

Bobby, in a hot-pink suit that only he can pull off, sidles up to me and says, “We did well, Mama Cass. Our Queen Suzy will be very pleased.”

“She’d better be,” I joke, although there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my best friend, who has, once again, been there for me every step of the way through this break-up.

There’s no more time for contemplation because Sadie and Sam arrive with their sister in tow. Suzy marvels at what we’ve set up for her and it warms my sad, old broken heart to see my friend so happy.

The restaurant fills with people. Delicious food is served and champagne flows freely.

I’m in a quiet corner, chatting to Suzy’s father Jack, when I wonder if I’m hallucinating.

It can’t be, yet I’m not so tipsy as to start conjuring images of people who aren’t here.

I squint and tilt my head. Obviously, I don’t know all Suzy’s friends, but she would have told me if one of her acquaintances was an Estelle lookalike.

The hair. That gait. I only see her from the back, yet I know it’s her.

“Excuse me, Jack.” I make my way through the room, trying to find Hunter or Bobby, who have been in touch with her, so I can ask if they know anything about this.

But Estelle is already wrapped in Bobby’s hot-pink arms and Hunter is grinning from ear to ear next to them. What is going on here?

Pulse racing, I head over. She looks gorgeous again and the corners of my mouth pull upwards as though they have a life of their own.

It’s possible that a subconscious part of me is happy to see her, even though the last three weeks have been blue and lonely and tinged with that gnawing feeling of a missed chance at something beautiful.

Estelle’s gaze finds mine. “Hey.” Her voice is still as sexy as ever.

“What a surprise,” Bobby coos.

“Let’s give them a minute, babe.” Hunter pulls his husband away.

“I hope it’s not too bad a surprise,” Estelle says. “I haven’t come to ruin your evening. I promise.”

“I—um… I need a moment to process that you’re here.”

“Maybe we should talk in private for a few minutes?” Estelle suggests.

My heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. This would also be the perfect moment for another well-timed hot flash to make its appearance.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I say.

I ignore the looks we get as we weave through the crowd to a side door into the hallway. Going up the stairs, the party noise isn’t nearly loud enough to drown out my heart beating in my ears. I’m not sure if I’m excited or scared—maybe a bit of both.

August is appalled by the racket downstairs. He flicks his tail once and refuses to budge from his perch by the window.

“Are you still angry with me?” Estelle asks.

“I’m not angry, I’m just…” I thought she was angry with me for sleeping with Bijou and by doing so sending her some sort of secret message that only she could understand: that I no longer wanted her.

But that’s how it goes with your thoughts after a break-up.

They swirl together into a jumble of all the things that went wrong until you can no longer make heads or tails of it.

Or maybe I’m just terribly confused because she’s standing in my living room right now. “Why are you here?”

“So many reasons.”

Not just for me, then. Good to know. But still.

“I missed… everything.” Her voice is so quiet, I can barely make it out over the noise from the party.

“Most of all you, but, um, I know this is not the time or place for that conversation.” She blows out some air.

“It’s hard to explain, but I just really wanted to be here.

I can’t find my groove in Berkeley and I just wanted to come back. ”

No big love declaration either. No big speech full of regret for how things turned out.

“Okay. Sure.” I don’t really know how to react.

“I don’t usually do this,” Estelle says. “I don’t usually come back.”

“Meaning?” My palms are sweaty.

“I know I hurt you and I’m truly sorry,” she says. “I really miss you, but I haven’t changed… or maybe I have, because why else am I here?”

She doesn’t sound as though she has thought this through very much, but sometimes, that’s how you make the best decisions.

“You did hurt me,” I say. “By leaving. By cutting me off.”

“I know.” She pushes a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s what I do. I see that now.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” All my foolish heart needs is the tiniest glimmer of hope. And if nothing else, at least we can have one last epic party together.

“So am I,” Estelle says. Her divine lips curve into a smile and I have to use all the restraint my body can muster to not bridge the distance between us, to not throw my arms around her and kiss her, but that’s not what this is.

From the start, we’ve been cautious, each for our own reasons, and that’s also not going to change now.

“I’d like to stay for a while, if that’s okay with you. ”

“I don’t have a problem with that.” It figures that Estelle is not a grand gesture kind of person. But small gestures can have impact too.

“You should go back to the party,” she says.

“Let’s go back together.” I do take a step toward her now.

“Yeah?” Her voice is soft as butter and her dreamy eyes pull me right back in.

“Yeah.” I reach for her hand. “Let’s party,” I say. Like we never broke each other’s hearts into a thousand pieces. We’ll figure out the rest later.

* * *

The party is in full swing. Suzy’s being twirled around by Sam to a nineties anthem from our youth that has everyone going wild. Bobby is vogueing solo under a spotlight, because of course he is.

Estelle and I slip into the crowd. Our fingers no longer touch but her presence is all I’m aware of.

Despite the vogueing, Bobby spots us first, his eyebrows nearly launching off his face. He beams like it’s his own birthday and not Suzy’s, who, when our gazes cross, gives me a look that says ‘we’ll talk later’.

The music changes to “Show Me Love” and it’s as if a switch gets flipped to the next level of dance floor mayhem. Ah, the power of a good tune from when we were young and foolish and didn’t know a thing about life—and couldn’t care less about any of it.

Estelle turns to me and her expression is clear—must dance now.

I let the music transport me for a few minutes, so the tension in my muscles can dissolve.

I try not to stare at the way Estelle moves—effortless and unencumbered, like she’s dancing only for herself.

She’s wearing a pair of jeans that cling in all the right places, and an emerald silk blouse that shimmers every time she turns under the lights.

Her sleeves are rolled just high enough to show the sculpted line of her forearms.

There’s a looseness to her shoulders, like she’s finally exhaled after holding her breath for weeks. She laughs at something Hunter says and tosses her head back, and that small motion—the flash of her throat, the sheen of her skin in the light—makes it impossible for me not to stare at her.

She’s not putting on a show. That’s not her style. She’s just gorgeous, maddening Estelle and I’m trying my best to not come undone by her being here.

We dance with the group, with our friends, and for the length of the song, I forget the past three weeks. Then the beat changes. The tempo drops. The lights dim. Suzy’s not going to like this because she hates them with a vengeance, but it’s time for a slow dance to a romantic song.

Estelle catches my gaze. She steps toward me and, just like that, we move toward each other.

As if our bodies can’t possibly imagine doing anything else, her arms curl around my shoulders and mine around her waist. We sway and my cheek brushes the side of her face.

Her body fits perfectly against mine—like we’re both exactly where we belong.

We move slowly, the air between us thick with unspoken things. Her hand rests lightly at the back of my neck, her fingertips barely brushing my skin, but I feel them everywhere. I close my eyes and the scent of her pulls me under again. Because I’ve missed her so much.

Not just the shape of her body against mine or how she always knew how to handle me.

I’ve missed her . The calm she brought. How she let me feel whatever I needed to, even when it was ugly—especially then.

Her patience. Her stubborn and at times incomprehensible kindness.

How she took me in her arms with all the love in the world, even when I was drenched in sweat after a hot flash.

How could I have let her go? But it wasn’t up to me.

I keep one arm around her waist, the other slides slowly down until our hands meet at our sides. Her fingers curl into mine without hesitation, and it’s the gentlest touch I’ve felt in weeks.

I don’t look at her face. I can’t. If I do, I might very well burst into tears. So I keep my cheek resting against hers and try to memorize this moment: her breath at my temple, the steadiness with which she holds me like nothing ever happened, like we didn’t fall apart.

She squeezes my hand softly. And I realize that no one’s ever made me feel more at ease when I didn’t have it together. No one’s ever held my mess with such grace. I press my palm flat against her back and pull her just a little closer—like I never want to let her go again.