The After Girls Read Online Free PDF Page B

Astrid.
    There was a boy behind the counter. It was usually just her or Astrid, sometimes Becky. Rarely a boy. And definitely not a cute one. He had curly brown hair and a weak shadow of stubble on his chin. He wore thick-rimmed glasses and a Beatles shirt that he was just a tad too skinny for. He wasn’t out-and-out attractive, not like Ben, with his blond hair and tan skin and perfect muscles, but he was good-looking in that
I-listen-to-Indie-music
sort of way.
    He stuffed bills in the register without looking up.
    “Uh, is Grace here?” Ella asked as the door jingled shut behind her.
    He looked up, and in a strange way he looked familiar.
    “Sorry, I was counting,” he said. He smiled, looking at her intently. Then he moved the till over, lifted up the counter, and walked to the other side.
    “I’m Jake,” he said, sticking out his hand. He was silent a moment while they shook.
    “Astrid and I were cousins,” he added. “I saw you at the wake.”
    “Oh,” she said. That must be why he’d looked familiar. But there was more to it than that. It was something in his face.
    Jake cleared his throat, and she realized they were still shaking hands. She let go too fast. “Ella,” she said. “I’m … her best friend.”
    He nodded, and their hands weren’t touching anymore, and in an instant she realized it was his eyes. They were big and wide. They looked so much like Astrid’s.
    “Are you alright?” he asked, and his eyes narrowed. Concerned. And she saw her, just for a second. Astrid, asking her if she was alright after she and Ben had had a fight. And she missed her so much then, so much that she wanted to crumple up on the floor and just cry. Cry for as long as she could until it all came out.
    But she shook her head, trying to get the image of her friend out of her mind. “Sorry,” Ella said. “I just — ”
    But she didn’t have time to finish. “Grace,” she said, because she was there, standing in the doorway to the back room. An older, sadder version of her daughter. And those same damn eyes. Her red hair was pulled back into a tight bun, errant strands framing either side of her face. She wasn’t wearing makeup, like she usually did, like she had at the wake, and now Ella could see her face. Naked before her.
    Her eyes — though wide — had deep circles beneath them, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks; her cheeks were thin, skeletal, as if she hadn’t eaten either. She was still beautiful — how could she not be? — but it was in a different way, a broken way. She looked like one of those messed up Hollywood stars who ends up having to go to rehab or something.
    It was hard to imagine this woman blasting a Pink Floyd album or entertaining them with stories of sneaking out of the house when she was younger. Ella had always thought Grace was so cool. So young and hip. She’d ask them about school gossip and rant about the bitchy girls she’d hated when she was their age. Ella had always wanted her own mother to be more like her. Now she barely recognized her.
    “Hi, Ella,” Grace said finally. “Thanks for coming.” She spoke the words slowly, as if each one took energy.
    “Hi,” Ella said, and on impulse, she rushed behind the counter and wrapped her in a hug. Grace barely hugged her back, her arms hanging limp at her sides, and she didn’t utter a single word. Instead she slowly moved out of the way as another woman walked out from the back, pushing her hand out at Ella.
    “I’m Claire,” she said. “Astrid was my niece.”
    She had dark auburn hair, not as fiery as Grace’s or Astrid’s. Not as wild either. It was cut into a short bob and obviously straightened. She, too, was pretty, but in that conservative First Lady sort of way.
    “Ella,” she said, forcing a smile, giving Ella a firm shake. Then she turned to Grace. “There’s still lots you need to show me,” she said, and she grabbed her shoulder and directed her back into the office, almost as if she were a