Page 21 of Here With You

Em broke off a chunk of fudge and brought it to her lips. “That’s not true. Ollie liked it plenty. He licked it off my face.” She cocked her head and smiled. “I think he took a few crow’s feet with him. Maybe that’s the ticket. I can slather my face with Cricket’s honey and then get Miles’s silly dog to clean me up.” She popped the fudge into her mouth and hummed. Tilly made the best fudge. Oh, who was she kidding? Tilly made the best of everything. After she swallowed, she said, “Cheaper than a facelift.”

Tilly took the last unoccupied seat. “People say that dogs have clean mouths but just remember they were probably licking their butts seconds before your face.”

Charlotte made a gagging sound. “Yuck. Use my cream. It’s more effective.” She scrunched her nose. “And hygienic.” She rose and went to the small suitcase, laid it on its side, and opened it. Inside were dozens of vials and tubes and brushes.

“Are you moving in?” Em asked.

Charlotte pulled a scrunchy from the bag and tossed it at Em. “Big jobs require big tools. Now put your hair up.”

“I get that, but do you think I’ll need all that?” She eyed the bag again and couldn’t imagine needing a tenth of what was in it.

Charlotte looked at her and then back at the bag. “I probably should have brought both bags, but we’ll make do.” She tapped her chin. “Tell me, are we enhancing what we’ve got, or are we going all out and turning back the clock thirty years?”

Em’s jaw dropped open. She wasn’t sure which caused the reaction—that she’d need two suitcases to make her presentable, or that there was a possibility of turning back the clock thirty years without a scalpel. “You can do that?”

Charlotte took out a tube and a small brush. “No, but a girl can dream. Are you trying to make him jealous?” She set her supplies on the table and went to the sink, where she wet a few paper towels, returned, and accosted Em’s face like a mother did after her kid ate cotton candy. The blue kind that dyed everything within an inch of the mouth and took a week to fade.

“Give me that. If you keep scrubbing at me like a dirty barbecue grill, I won’t have a face left.” She gently removed any makeup remnants.

“We’ll start with a gentle peel, making your skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“If that’s the stuff you put on Brie, I’ll pass. She said it felt like hellfire.”

Charlotte ignored her and spread a glop of goo on her face. At first, it was cold, but something happened after it sat there for a few seconds. She rethought her barbecue statement because the goop was like hot coals, and her face was screaming for an extinguisher.

Em reached for the stack of napkins on the table, but Charlotte stopped her with a screech. “Don’t you dare. I just put twenty dollars’ worth on your face.”

“And I’ll need ten grand in reconstructive surgery when you’re finished.”

Tilly shrugged. “It’s not the ideal way to get a facelift, but…”

Rather than face Charlotte’s wrath, she took the napkins and fanned herself. She turned to Marybeth. “You should start praying this eases up in a few minutes, or I’m going to strangle our friend and the quartet becomes a trio.”

Marybeth slapped her hands together like she was going to pray but said, “Don’t you dare murder her before my fundraiser. She’s doing my makeup for that event.”

The pain subsided, and Em dropped the napkins but picked up another bite of fudge. Before she could get it in her mouth, Charlotte plucked it from her lips. “Sugar is the devil when it comes to aging. Do you want to look like Agnes Willoughby? She’s fifty and looks eighty.”

Marybeth had a cookie in her hand and dropped it. “I thought she was eighty.”

Em picked up the cookie and handed it back to Marybeth. “She is eighty. She’s friends with my granny, so she’s getting there in age.” She pointed to Charlotte. “Stop trying to scare us.”

“Stop threatening murder.” She pointed to the sink. “Go rinse.”

Em did, and she had to admit that her face felt like a baby’s bottom. Not that she’d touched many, but she knew they were soft like brand new skin. As soon as she took a seat, Charlotte slathered on something else that was cool and heavenly. She spent the next twenty minutes applying and removing creams and gels.

Once Em was sufficiently moisturized, Charlotte sat beside her and laid out an extensive palette of colors and several brushes. “What’s our aim? Do you want him back? Or do you want him to regret he ever left you?”

“Want him back? Heavens, no. I had no idea how overweight I was back then, but Miles leaving town was like getting a Lap Band and losing a hundred and eighty pounds of excess.”

“Okay, then we’ll make him regret ever leaving, and when he wants you back, all you have to do is Nancy Reagan him,” Charlotte said.

“What does that mean?” Em reached out, grabbed the last piece of fudge, and ate it before anyone could say a word.

Tilly raised her hand. “Even I know that.” She sipped her coffee. “Just say no.”

It was an eighties reference to drugs. The problem was, in her memory, Miles was the best kind of drug. He was the one who had her screamingyes, yes, yesin the boathouse at ungodly hours of the night.

“I have no interest in Miles.” She gave Tilly a look she hoped would silence her. Only Tilly was close enough daily to see how his presence affected her. “I don’t care if he has a date.” Her throat closed on the last word because it was a bitter lie. “I hate the man.” That left her lips smoothly because it was mostly the truth. She hated him because he made her feel the same way he did then—breathless. Then again, maybe she was coming down with something. Could a person catch asthma? Probably not, so it was reasonable to blame Miles.

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