Ten years. But I don’t point that out.
“Do you have some time? Want to grab a coffee or something?”
I warily study Kristen. Doesn’t she know about the way things fell apart back then? I can’t understand why Dominic’s sister wants to have coffee.
The silence stretches a bit, and Kristen begins to look less certain. “Um…but if you’re busy…I, you know…understand.”
The disappointment and embarrassment in her voice make me feel like a kitten kicker. I make a show of checking my watch.
“You know what? I do have a few minutes, so why don’t we grab something?” I gesture at the Starbucks next to Yu-Jin’s shop.
Kristen’s smile returns. “Perfect!”
We walk inside together. The place is redolent with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Over the speakers, Ed Sheeran sings about the perfect girl he found. The lyrics always make me wistful and sad because it could’ve been a song about me and Dominic.
If only he’d said, “Yes,” when I asked for his trust. Instead, here I am, a pretty heiress who’s so messed up that not even an army of shrinks can fix me.
I get a hot chocolate, while Kristen orders a skinny latte with two extra shots of espresso. We sit in a booth in the back, away from the windows.
Kristen sips her latte for a few moments, then inhales deeply. “I kept hoping I would run into you, but…I didn’t realize it’d take this long.”
“Any reason in particular?” I ask calmly, even as I brace myself. She and Dominic are tight. She undoubtedly wants to cut me for hurting her precious brother.
She clears her throat. “I wanted to return the dress, for one.”
I just stare. What is she talking about?
“The prom?” she says.
Oh. I’d forgotten all about the dress—some Versace, wasn’t it?—I lent her. In the grand scheme of things, it isn’t really important. “It’s okay. I hope you got some good use out of it.”
“Well… I couldn’t. I felt really bad about wearing it again after the prom because it wasn’t mine. It seemed a little bit like stealing,” she whispers, as though she’s confessing to grave robbing.
She isn’t angry. She feels bad about the dress.
Relief courses through me, and I blink away sudden tears before she can notice. “I didn’t think of it that way at all. Believe me.”
Kristen smiles a little.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to,” I say, desperate to steer the conversation away from the heartbreakingly happiest moments in my life.
“Well, you know. The usual. Finished high school. Went to college. Studied fashion and design.” She tells me about her internships, working with some of the best up-and-coming designers in Paris, Tokyo, New York and Los Angeles.
I nod. That’s the Kristen I knew. Always with her face buried in Vogue and designer catalogues, always exceptionally knowledgeable about fashion.
“I was lucky because I got so many scholarships and stuff, so my education ended up being more or less free. I went to college a year earlier than normal because I graduated early.”
“I’m proud of you.”
She flushes. “Come on.”
“You’re supposed to say, ‘Thank you. I’m proud of myself, too.’ Women are often modest for no reason.”
“Well, I’m not. The fact is, I just feel ridiculously unaccomplished next to you. You’re, like…super, and I admire everything you’ve done. I read all those articles about your charity work.”
I blink. “You follow the gossip columns?”
“I read the society columns and articles about what people were wearing at fancy parties and events. And you usually get mentioned as one of the best dressers. I thought your white cape dress was, like, amazing.”