The Note

Chapter 1

Six Days Earlier

1

May stood before her open closet, finding a reason to hate everything in it. Her clothes consisted of either suits and sheath dresses or jeans, tees, and hoodies. She was utterly unequipped for a girls’ weekend at the beach.

A few years ago, everyone seemed to be purging their belongings—dumping anything that didn’t “bring them joy.” May had quietly judged them all. To her, the act of finding happiness through decluttering was an indulgence for people who had too much time on their hands and enough money to spend on custom organizers at the Container Store. Now that she was staring down all her sad clothes, she was pining for a little Kondo energy.

She decided her good old reliable black shirtdress would work if she paired it with a colorful bangle and some cute strappy sandals. She rolled it neatly before slipping it into the carry-on bag she had flopped open on her side of the bed. Resting next to the bag was Josh, his back against the headboard, the reading glasses he only recently admitted needing perched low on his nose. Gomez was curled in a tight ball next to him.

For the first four years of that dog’s life, she had trained him to stay off the furniture. All that changed during the lockdown, when he’d been glued next to at least one of them 24/7 for more than a year straight. No going back now.

She noticed that Josh was grimacing as he read.

“That gross?” she asked. Josh was a product manager for one of the world’s largest makers of personal care products. Tonight’s homework was a report on emerging trends in the personal hygiene market.

“Reviewing a complete list of places to use full-body deodorant. Want to hear?”

“Nope. People are disgusting.”

Josh set the report aside on the nightstand and replaced it with the memoir he was reading by the lead singer of one of their favorite bands. They’d splurged on good tickets to see them live, the very first performance at Madison Square Garden after the world began to reopen. The date landed within those heavenly few weeks after vaccination appointments were plentiful, but before the arrival of the new vocabulary of variants, breakthrough cases, and boosters—when they believed that life was finally back to normal.

A few protesters showed up at the Garden, mocking them as sheep for complying with the venue’s vax requirement. The guy in front of them had heckled back. “Baaah, motherfuckers. We sheep are going to dance our asses off while you idiots sweat outside.”

May cried when the band broke into the first chorus. It’s times like these you learn to live again.

Two years later, everyone else seemed fine. They were living again. But May?

May felt like she was still learning.



“You and your suitcase burritos.” Josh smiled at the growing pile of compressed clothing bundles in her bag.

“Oh shoot,” she said, immediately rethinking her black-dress choice. “I’m pretty sure I wore this the last time Lauren was in town. Does that sound right? When she had that gig at Lincoln Center?”

“Let me check my annal chronicling your historic wardrobe decisions across time.” He pretended to reach for his iPad. “She won’t remember a dress from 2019, and if she did, it’s not like she’ll judge you for wearing it again. Plus you just bought a new outfit for the trip. You’ll be fine.”

The new outfit was a purple sundress that did, in fact, bring May joy. It had that effortless just-threw-this-on boho chic look, which meant it cost as much as catering for two people on the wedding guest list they were trying to find ways to cull. She reminded herself this was only a weekend trip, and they’d probably spend most of it at the beach or sitting around the house, just the three of them. Swimsuit, shorts, T-shirts, all rolled neatly and set in place. Done.

As she finished zipping her bag, Josh stood and lifted it from the bed for her. He was old-fashioned that way. He opened car doors, took out garbage, did the stereotypically male things. When they traveled together, he insisted on pulling both of their suitcases behind him through the airport. He was a caretaker.

As he tucked the bag out of the way in the bedroom corner, she crawled into bed, nestling Gomez into her side like a football. “I’m going to miss you so much, you little pumpkin head.”

“And here I was, thinking you were talking to me,” Josh said.

“I’ll miss you too, but Gomez can’t text and call me, can you, sweetie? No, you don’t have any thumbs or we’d text all the time.”

Even though the trip was only for a long weekend, this would be the longest she’d been away from her dog for years. It was also her first time out to the Hamptons since she’d worked at the law firm, where some of the other associates had parents with summer houses and would occasionally invite a coworker or two to share in their largesse.

Kelsey had rented the beach house for ten days, but May was heeding the warnings she had received about using her academic summers wisely. She needed to write if she was going to get her contract renewed and eventually get tenure. She knew herself. She worked best when she kept to a routine schedule. Plan your work and work your plan. Plus, Lauren and Kelsey were both single, while May was engaged and organizing a wedding. She couldn’t just take a whole week off and play with her friends in the Hamptons.

Her phone pinged from the nightstand. A text from Kelsey in the group thread. Lauren, how’d it go today?

He loved my initial ideas. He’s paying me to watch the rough cut and come up with some initial samples. Fingers crossed!

Kelsey’s ability to keep track of her friends’ important plans was uncanny. It had been at least two weeks since Lauren mentioned that an award-winning documentarian had contacted her about the possibility of composing a film score. May would have never remembered that the initial Zoom meeting was scheduled for today.

Of course you crushed it, she chimed in. Congrats!

Climbing back into bed, Josh asked, “You’re sure you want to do this trip?” He said it casually, as if they hadn’t had this conversation multiple times since it was planned three weeks earlier.

“Of course. I told you. I’m excited. Do you not want me to go or something?”

“No, I promise it’s not that,” he said, pulling her close into a spoon position. His left hand held hers as he adjusted her engagement ring to center the Tiffany-cut diamond on her finger. “I will manage to live without you for three days. But can I just remind you that you told me on that trip to New Orleans that I was the only human being who you could share a roof with for more than two days?”

“Oh my god. That makes me sound like a total psychopath.”

“Well, to me it was very romantic, because it meant that other people drive you crazy in a way that I do not. And now you’ve committed yourself to spending seventy-two hours with these women. Honestly, I’m not sure whether to be more worried about you or them.”

She rolled over to face him. “Lauren and Kelsey are different. I’ve talked to them, like, every single day for more than a year.” They didn’t actually talk. But the group text thread among the three of them had somehow grown into an omnipresent conversation. “I’ve known them since I was twelve years old.”

“No. You used to know them. Not the same.” His lips curled into a sly smile. He knew he had a point. This would be the first time she had seen Lauren and Kelsey in person at the same time for nearly a decade.

“Well, I was super close to Kelsey for like ten years—all the way through college. And Lauren and I never fell out of touch.”

“A few phone calls a year and lunch when she comes to New York is not the same as a vacation together under the same roof.”

“No, but back in the day, the three of us basically lived together for weeks on end.”

“When you and Kelsey were kids at summer camp a lifetime ago.”

“One, Wildwood was an arts camp.” And she hadn’t exactly been a kid that final summer after college graduation, when the economy crashed and even her Ivy League degree couldn’t land her a good job. Off to law school she would go instead, spending the interim summer as a counselor at the camp where she’d once been a student. She was surprised when Kelsey chose to do the same. Kelsey had a ready-made job waiting at her father’s commercial real estate company, but when she found out May’s plan, she asked her father if she could defer adulting to join her.

“And two,” she added, “don’t make me sound like such a geezer.” She ran the math in her head. “Wow, that last summer at Wildwood was fifteen years ago.” Not half a lifetime, to be sure, but how was that even possible?

“May, you are definitely not a geezer.” Josh gave her a soft kiss on the lips. “And even when you are . . .” He moved down to her clavicle, and she felt herself smiling. “Your gray hair and wrinkled skin will be all my old man junk needs to—”

She pushed him away playfully. “Oh god, I’ll never get that image out of my head.”

“My OMJ will have you saying OMG.”

“Stop!”

He pulled her close to him again, nudging Gomez to the foot of the bed and wrapping his arms around her. “I am going to miss you,” Josh whispered. “I don’t even remember what it’s like to sleep without you.”

“You’ll have Gomez.”

“You’re really sure you want to go? What if your pen pals are torture in real life?”

“They won’t be.” She didn’t know how to explain to Josh how important this trip was. A year ago, after the worst day of May’s life had made her infamous, Lauren—more than anyone, more than her mother, more than even Josh—had been there for her. And then, through Lauren, Kelsey was there too, in the group thread that sometimes felt like her only tether to sanity.

Of course she was going to East Hampton tomorrow. She couldn’t wait.

2

May was making her third loop around the JetBlue terminal at JFK when the next text from Lauren popped up. Okay, finally made it outside. Pick up 4.

As she passed the third area for passenger pickup, May had no problem spotting Lauren in the crowd, even though she hadn’t seen her in person for nearly four years. There had been plenty of Zoom happy hours, but those were typically conducted with unbrushed hair, makeup-free faces, and the athleisure they had all come to live in for months on end.

Where May felt like she was having trouble readjusting to a world that expected a certain level of aesthetic attention, Lauren was apparently back in full fashion mode. She wore wide-legged peach linen gauchos with a silk paisley wrap blouse and chunky wedge sandals. Her long hair was pulled back sleekly at the nape of her neck, then fluffed into a perfectly round pom-pom. Her giant square sunglasses screamed peak Jackie O. If May tried to pull off Lauren’s look, people would say how nice it was that she was able to get around by herself.

I see you! Pulling up now. May watched as Lauren read the message and then scanned the tangle of cars jockeying for space near the curb. Lauren waved enthusiastically at the sight of Josh’s Subaru.

May hit the hazards and hopped out to help Lauren with her bags. She felt a familiar heat in the pit of her stomach as the gazes of two twenty-something-year-old white women followed her when she moved in to hug Lauren. When the video of May first went viral, she was convinced people were staring at her everywhere she went. Recognizing her. Whispering about her. Judging her. She didn’t leave the apartment for five days straight because she was convinced that her neighbors would shun her in the elevator. And when she finally did, she was grateful to have the N95 mask as an excuse to cover most of her face.

She looked directly at the two women who had been watching her, reminding herself of the times Lauren had tried to comfort her by joking that May shouldn’t worry about being recognized because “most people think you all look alike.” Instead of confronting May, the young women seemed discomforted by her stare.

“Sorry, we were just admiring your whole vibe.” They were talking to Lauren, not her. May was most definitely not a vibe.

“Your hair is amazing,” the second woman added.

“Why, thank you,” Lauren said, primping her hair puff with her fingertips. “Have a good day, y’all.” As she threw her bag in the hatchback of Josh’s car, she whispered under her breath, “At least they didn’t try to touch it. That’s a good way to lose an arm with me.”

May studied Lauren in her periphery as they strapped on their seat belts. Lauren had arrived at Wildwood as the lead symphony coach during May’s third summer. She was twenty-three years old and had already served as the first-chair violinist in the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra. By the end of the first week, the camp rumor mill reported that she played five other instruments, had been identified in grade school as a prodigy, and had composed the score to an entire animated film. By week four, she supposedly had a recording contract with Quincy Jones. That part turned out not to be true, but she did land a two-year artist-in-residence gig at the Music Institute of Chicago when it wasn’t camp season. She was only nine years older than May, but seemed impossibly talented and sophisticated. It wasn’t only that Lauren felt an entire generation apart from May at the time. She seemed like a completely different species.

The age gap felt negligible now. With less than a decade between them, they were basically contemporaries, and though Lauren had landed a job as the director of the Houston Symphony, May knew at an intellectual level that she was impressive in her own right. Raised by a first-generation Chinese single mother, she graduated magna cum laude from Harvard, then did the same at Columbia Law. Until that video blew up online and she was asked to consider resigning, she had been a board member on the state’s Asian American Bar Association. Now she was on her way to becoming a tenured law professor. But when Lauren was around, she felt a little like a nerdy kid again. The same excitement, but also still the same insecurities.