Chapter 2: The Drive Home
Between Us Girls by Natalie Drenovac
If you’re new here, read: Chapter 1
Sunday, June 9
My head is pounding. Coffee didn’t help. It might have made things worse, actually. The last thing I want to do is get in a car but Miranda is keen to get back. She has calls in the morning…doesn’t want to get home too late… doesn’t want to start the week in chaos. Giselle agrees wholeheartedly, nodding and smiling warmly, her eyes flickering down to her phone to read texts from Ethan that keep popping up on the screen. “Totally,’ she says, ‘the Sunday reset is non-negotiable.’
We’re loading bags into the Porsche while Giselle stands on her deck waving goodbye like we’re leaving summer camp instead of whatever the hell happened last night.
“Drive safe. Text me when you’re back!” she calls.
Carmen’s already gone. Jess is still inside, nursing her hangover with Giselle’s fancy espresso machine. Emily is taking her home and her car is still in the driveway.
I’d heard her on FaceTime earlier telling her kids she’d be home that afternoon and she’d missed them sooooooo much. I catch her eye through the kitchen window as we’re backing out. She gives me a small wave.
“I am so ready to be home,” Miranda says, already pulling onto the main road. “Obviously, her house is beautiful but I never feel completely comfortable when it’s not my space, you know?’
Home. Our Tribeca apartment with views of the Hudson. Three years of marriage that just got more complicated.
“Let’s go.”
Miranda drives. She always does. Something about her being a better driver, which I’m not sure is true. I’m fine with it though. I stare out the window and watch the Hamptons recede. Enormous houses giving way to farmland, then strip malls, then the slow march back to reality.
“The group chat’s insane,” Miranda says, picking up my phone from the cupholder without asking.
She scrolls while driving, which normally makes me nervous, but today I’m too hungover to care.
“Carmen says ‘that escalated quickly’ with a bunch of fire emojis. Jess is demanding a play-by-play of everything she missed. Emily wrote...” She pauses, smiles. “’I keep waiting to feel weird about this but I don’t.’”
I glance over. “Everyone’s acting like it’s brunch conversation.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
Miranda shrugs, still scrolling. “I think we all had fun. And now we’re going back to real life. That’s allowed.”
“If you say so.”
“Emily’s asking where everyone learned to do those things. Carmen says ‘life experience, baby.’ Giselle added a prayer hands emoji.” She laughs. “Oh, and Jess officially filed a complaint about missing everything.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I remember things in flashes. Emily’s hands in my hair, the sounds she made, the way she looked at me after like I’d just shown her something she didn’t know existed.
“Here.” Miranda hands me my phone. “Giselle says men could learn a few things. Emily says David definitely could.”
We drive in silence for a while. The hangover is settling into my bones now, that specific exhaustion that comes from too much wine, tequila and too little sleep.
“Carmen and I talked for hours last night,” Miranda says finally. “After you and Emily went upstairs.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. By the pool. I don’t think I’ve really talked to her one-on-one before.” She pauses. “She’s really interesting. Funny. Sharp.”
She’s smiling slightly, like she’s remembering something specific. “The sex was good too.”
She says it so casually. Like she’s reporting the weather.
“Great.”
“You and Emily seemed to have a good time.”
“From what I can remember...”
“I’m glad.” She reaches over, squeezes my hand. “I love that we can do this. That we’re secure enough.”
Secure. Evolved. Like we’re passing some test that other couples fail.
I squeeze her hand back and stare out the window.
By the time we hit the city, I’m half asleep. The highway becomes the FDR becomes our neighborhood, and then Miranda’s pulling into our parking garage and I’m blinking awake.
“Welcome back, ladies,” our doorman says as we walk past with our bags.
The elevator ride is quiet. Miranda’s scrolling through work emails already, her weekend brain switching off, her Monday brain firing up.
Our apartment smells like Friday’s cleaning service. Lemon and lavender and fresh sheets. Everything in its place. It’s comforting. I drop my bag by the door and head straight for the shower.
The water is scalding. I stand under it for a long time, letting it beat against my shoulders, washing my hair twice. When I finally emerge, wrapped in my robe, Miranda’s in the kitchen.
“I ordered Thai,” she says, not looking up from her phone. “And opened wine. We earned it.”
“We’re still drinking?”
“Hair of the dog, baby.”
I take a sip and my stomach lurches. I swear hair of the dog is an urban myth.
“Bad choice,’ I laugh.
“Emily texted you, she wants to get coffee.” Miranda says, gesturing at my phone on the coffee table.
My stomach flips. I pick it up like it’s nothing.
Emily: Hey. We never got to chat, but do you have time to grab coffee this week?
I stare at the message.
“That’s nice. You should go.” Miranda wraps her arm around my waist and rests her chin against my shoulder. It feels calming and overwhelming and too warm.
“You think?”
“Yeah. Why not?” Miranda sips her wine and starts to lay out placemats and cutlery.
I text back: Tuesday works. Where?
The response comes immediately.
Emily: There’s a place in Dumbo I love. % Arabica. 2pm?
Me: Perfect.
I set my phone down. The Thai food arrives twenty minutes later. We eat in comfortable silence.
Miranda’s watching me. “So, Tuesday?”
“Yeah.”
She leans back against the couch, pulls her feet up. “I might text Carmen too. See if she wants to get drinks.”
“Sounds good.’ I say even though somewhere my brain is dinging and telling me - coffee and drinks are two very different things.
We finish dinner, clean up and end up on the couch watching something neither of us is paying attention to, lost in our own thoughts and the warmth of each other’s bodies.
That night in bed, Miranda falls asleep almost immediately.
I lie awake staring at the ceiling. I am exhausted but remnants of the hangover, afternoon coffee, and hair of the dog are still coursing a bright winding line of anxiety through my chest. I pick up my phone gently to scroll until this feeling passes, trying not to disturb Miranda.
There’s a text message. I hadn’t seen the notification because my phone had slipped smoothly into sleep mode.
Emily: I can’t stop thinking about last night. Is that crazy?
I stare at the message for a long time before typing back.
Me: Not crazy.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Emily: Good. See you Tuesday.
Me: See you Tuesday.
I delete the messages and put the phone back on the nightstand.
Miranda shifts beside me, throws an arm across my waist.
I lie very still and stare at the ceiling until I finally fall asleep.
Keep Reading: Chapter 3
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, events, companies, places, names, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance, whether direct or indirect, to actual persons (living or dead), places, events, or businesses is entirely coincidental and unintended. Where reference is made to real locations or historical events, such references are included solely for the purpose of creating a sense of authenticity. They should not be interpreted as depicting real people, their actions, or their conduct. The author expressly disclaims any and all responsibility for any such interpretations or assumptions.