“What about you?” I asked. “Are you from Ohio?”
“Me? God, no. The one thing my parents did right was not birthing me in Ohio.”
Was that a joke? I didn’t know whether I was supposed to laugh or not, but since Alanna remained serious, so did I.
“I’m from L.A.,” she said. “But I like to tell people ‘I’m from the world.’ Only born in L.A.”
“What was it like down there?” I thought back to all the depictions of L.A. I remembered from the movies and television shows I had watched with Miss Hatfield. “Sunny?”
“Yup.” Alanna popped the “p.” “Full of people who think they know it all—who they are, how they’re supposed to live their lives—but actually don’t know a thing. People like my mother, basically.”
“And your father?” I said carefully. I probably shouldn’t have asked anything. I didn’t want to cross any lines I couldn’t see, but Alanna seemed to take everything in stride.
“He’s the quintessential Los Angeles plastic surgeon. Went to med school to help children born with cleft lips. Came out and was quickly indoctrinated by society singing ‘Get rich. It’s the only way you’ll look like a person of value.’” Alanna tugged at the hem of her shirt. “But at least he started out well. His biggest mistake was marrying my mother.”
For someone who hated her mother so much, Alanna kept bringing her up. I was afraid to ask, but fortunately I didn’t have to.
“My mother’s a shark. She survives on pushing people.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I said.
“She riles people up just so she can push people to their maximum everything. Their max operating potential. Their max abilities. Their max everything.”
I frowned. “Isn’t that good?”
“It breaks people,” Alanna said. “She’s the type of person who knows exactly what your weakness is—the worst thought you’ve ever had about yourself, the biggest insecurity you hide from people. If she doesn’t know it, she makes it her job to find it out. And all so that she can use you to her advantage.”
Alanna looked different as she spoke about this side of her mother. Sure, she was speaking mostly in generalities, but there was something changed in her face. Were her eyes a little narrower? Was there a little crease on her forehead not there before? Were her eyes a little glossier? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I could see from her face that she spoke from experience.
“She’s ultimately the reason I travel.”
So that was it. I finally understood her. “People travel for two reasons: to seek something out that they need to find, or to run from something in their past.”
“Don’t judge me, but I’m definitely the latter,” she said.
I was the last person who could judge her. “Don’t worry, I’m not.” Because I was the latter too. I was running from the past itself.
“This looks like it!” Alanna pointed out a small shop with a pink door and a sign with an illustration of three scoops of gelato on a cone. “Look at how cute it is.”
An old-fashioned bell rang as we opened the door. My first thought was that Henley would like it. It looked physically different from the ice cream parlor he’d taken me to in 1904, but it somehow felt the same.
The room was much smaller than the parlor in 1904. This room could only fit two tables by the window up front. The walls were painted the same cheery pink as the door. It wasn’t a sickly bubblegum pink. It managed to look sleek paired with the white chairs and the stainless steel counter.
I heard the bell ring for a second time when Henley and Peter came in. Henley didn’t say anything, but he walked up to stand next to me.
“Welcome!” A man with a rounded stomach waved us in. “What can I do for you?”
“We’d like some gelato in a second, but for now, we’re still browsing,” Peter said.
“Let me know if I can get you samples.”
I peeked through the glass into the display. I saw the traditional, standard flavors were on the left: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry. And the right side had the newer, unconventional flavors: Nutella and strawberries, caramel macchiato, roasted banana.
I already knew what Henley was going to get. Though he liked blueberry muffins, when it came to ice cream he always got strawberry. It was his favorite.
I squinted at Alanna and watched her as she made her decision. She would probably go for one of the unconventional flavors. She would be the type of person to wonder if the caramel macchiato used actual coffee beans, and if so, if the coffee beans were fair trade and sustainably produced. So she’d end up picking the Nutella and strawberries or the roasted banana.
Next, I eyed Peter. Underneath his rebellious outside, he was still an Ohio boy. Not only that, but he still cared about it enough to visit. I had a feeling he’d go back to the safer, traditional flavors. Maybe even something as safe and classic as vanilla.
“I think I’m ready to order.” Alanna stepped up to the counter first. “Could I get a cone of the roasted banana?”
I smiled. I had been right.
The man came over with a small tasting spoon. “Do you want to try it first? It’s a bit of an unusual smoky banana flavor. It’s a tad hit or miss with people. Some people think it tastes a bit burnt.”
“Oh no. No need for that. Being surprised with something new is part of the fun, whether you love it or not.”
“Okay . . .” The man put the spoon away. “Cones come with two scoops. Would you like another flavor, or just two scoops of the roasted banana?”
“The roasted banana’s fine.”
The man heaped two scoops of the pale-yellow roasted banana flavor onto a cone. Alanna gleefully took it from him and tasted it straightaway.
“Mmm . . . So. Good,” she said between licks.
“Guess I’m next.” Peter stepped up after glancing at both Henley and me. “Vanilla for me.”
Two out of two. I was feeling smug.
“On a cone?” the man asked.
“Sure.”
“Two scoops of that?”
“Yeah.”
Before long, Peter had his vanilla gelato. He grabbed a napkin, presumably waiting for Henley and me to order before he started on it.
Henley looked at me. “You want to go first?” It was the first time he had spoken to me since our earlier argument.
“No, it’s fine. Why don’t you choose?” In truth, I was waiting for my last prediction to be proved correct. I knew Henley better than anyone.
Henley looked like he didn’t want to argue over something so little. He stepped up. “Strawberry for me.”
Right again.
“And then Nutella and strawberries for the second scoop.”
I tilted my head without thinking. I couldn’t decide whether the second scoop was characteristic of Henley or not.
“Miss, are you ready to order?”
The man was looking at me. Henley already had his cone of gelato.
“The Nutella and strawberries for me as well.”
“Two scoops of that?”
“Yes, please.”
When we had all gotten our gelato, Alanna made to walk up to the counter by Henley to pay.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Henley playfully shooed her away. “You got dinner last time. This is our chance to make up for it and save face.”
We both knew we still had to save up money, but this was Henley trying to seem inconspicuous and fit in with Alanna and Peter.
“You sure?” she said.
“Of course!”
“Well, only so you can look good in front of Rebecca.” She winked at him, making her way to sit at the tables up front.
Peter and I followed. He sat down next to Alanna, putting his feet up on a spare chair and draping his arm around her shoulder. She looked so small sitting there with her shoulder enveloped by his arm.
Henley joined us as soon as he was done. I watched to see what chair he would take—the one next to me or the one across from me.
He took the one across from me.
“Thanks for the treat, Henley,” Alanna said.
“How’s your roasted banana?” he asked her.
“It’s really good. You want a bite?”
Henley shook his head. “I’m sticking to my strawberry combination.”
“Is the strawberry flavor good?” I asked.
Henley hesitated, and I knew it was because I was speaking to him. “Yes, it is. Would you like to try it?”
I declined.
“It tastes like real, freshly picked strawberries,” he said.
“That does sound good,” Alanna said.
“Henley’s always had this thing for strawberry ice cream,” I told her.
“Just like how Peter here loves his vanilla.” Alanna poked Peter. “I always tell him that’s boring and he needs to branch out, but—”
“But I like it,” Peter finished off for her.
“You need to be more adventurous!”
“I’m adventurous with other things, but there are certain things I stick to because I like them: vanilla ice cream and you.”
Peter leaned in for a kiss, but Alanna jokingly slapped him away. It was clear she loved the attention, though.
Did Henley and I look like that sometimes? Did we have moments where we were wonderfully absorbed in each other and everything else didn’t exist . . . or rather didn’t matter? Yes. Yes, we did.
They looked effortless.
“How did you two meet?” Henley asked. He was grinning at Alanna and Peter. “That’s a surely entertaining story neither of you have told us yet.”
Alanna giggled. “This one here”—she pointed to Peter—“this one was actually interning for my father one summer in the office.”
“What did your father do?” Henley asked before I could fill him in.
“Plastic surgeon with a God complex,” Alanna answered without batting an eyelash.
It was clear Henley didn’t know how to respond to that. “Ah . . .”
“Anyway, for some reason, this doofus thought he might want to work under a plastic surgeon.”
Peter spoke up. “In my defense, this was many years ago and I was an impressionable young man.”
Alanna waved him quiet. “As I was saying . . . Oh yeah, so I was home from university that summer. My father had forgotten something at home and texted me to ask me to drop it off—Peter, what was it?”
“His lunch, I think.”
“That’s right! Mother had just started him on the Paleo diet, so he couldn’t just eat with everyone else at the nearby café. He had his lunch packed, but he forgot it that day. And Peter just happened to be working the front desk, isn’t that right?”
Peter nodded. “This beauty walked in among all those women in the waiting room with bandages across their noses and all those men waiting for a pec implant consultation—”
“And you know what he said to me?” Alanna cut in. “His first words were—”
“Dear God, I hope you’re not getting a nose job. That little nose is perfect on its own. Don’t you dare touch it,” Peter finished off for her.
Henley’s lips twitched up in a smile as he watched them laugh in unison.
“And then I told him that he was bad for business since he should be encouraging people to get procedures done, rather than discouraging them.”
“I had no idea Alanna was the boss’s daughter. They look absolutely nothing alike,” Peter said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. That’s saying I look nothing like a balding, post-middle-age man.” Alanna looked pleased.
“That’s why I love you.”
The rest of our time in the gelato shop went similarly—Alanna and Peter did most of the talking, while Henley and I sat silently. It was as if Alanna and Peter spoke the words that needed to be said between Henley and me. They were so effortless together. Alanna and Peter’s banter reminded me of the way Henley and I sometimes were, but we didn’t have the easiness that they did. Henley and I needed so many heavy conversations just to stay on the right page, in synch with each other. I was willing to bet that Alanna and Peter never had to discuss living eternally together versus having a meaningful life. That would put a wrench in most relationships. It certainly had in ours.
EIGHT
IT HAD BEEN a relatively . . . taciturn week. My last long conversation with Henley—the argument, if you could call it that—was hanging between us. I wasn’t sure if we had really made up.
It wasn’t as if he was giving me the childish silent treatment. Henley was talking to me—he even talked to me in the gelato shop after we had argued—but things weren’t normal yet.
I looked at Henley across the room from my spot by the window. He had parked himself on the farthest corner of the bed from me and was staring at the ceiling. I knew we couldn’t go on like this.
“Henley.”
He didn’t move.
“So what are we going to do?” I said.
He knew I was talking about us. I didn’t have to say it.
“Do you want me with you?” Henley spoke to the ceiling.
“You know I do—”
“Then I don’t understand why there’s a decision to be made.”
I hesitated. “Because I feel selfish making that choice merely to keep you with me forever.”
With those words, Henley turned to look at me. “I want to be with you. How is that selfish?”
“Because you don’t know what that entails. You’re giving up a lot more than you realize.”
I waited for Henley to argue with me. But he simply said, “I know.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do, Rebecca.” Henley got off the bed and walked to my side. “I haven’t experienced it before, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen how you’ve dealt with it. You’re strong. Sometimes I wonder if I can be as strong as you. But I do know that whatever the case, I can’t stand losing you again.”
I braced myself against the window. “We need to make a decision soon, don’t we?” I already knew the answer to that question.
“We need to figure out what our next steps will be.”
“And you’re still willing to make your life meaningless and to give up one of the things that makes you human?”
“To keep you? In a heartbeat. Besides, how human can I be, being half-immortal already?”
I tried to even out my breathing. It was as if I kept forgetting to inhale.
“Rebecca, I love you, but you know this isn’t your choice to make.”
“I know,” I said.
Henley’s eyes bored into mine, trying to read me.
I slowly nodded. “If you’re set on this, then we’ll turn you immortal.”
Henley cupped my cheek with his hand. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“Yes.”
He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “We can be happy.”
“We can have a shot at happiness,” I corrected. “We still have this murderer. We’re not in control.” Our happiness wasn’t up to us.
Henley stepped away from me, his face turning dark. “So what do we do about this murderer?”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t just sit and wait for him to find you.”
I was tired of the waiting game too. “But what else can we do?”
“We have to end this,” he said.
“It’s only going to end when one of us is dead.”
Henley looked at me. His eyes were wild. “Then we have to make sure it isn’t you.”
“Kill this person, you mean?”
“He’s after you. We can’t just wait.”
I massaged my temples. “I know we need to do something, but how do we kill someone we know nothing about? We don’t even know for certain that it’s a he and not a she.”
“We need to find him,” Henley said.
He couldn’t be serious. “That’s much easier said than done. How in the world are we supposed to do that?”
> “Simple. He’s looking for you. You’re our bait,” Henley said.
I sat down on the bed. “So wait till he kills me?” Of all possible ideas, this one by far had to be the worst.
“No. Prepare ourselves so we’re ready to strike first when he makes his move.”
“That sounds impossible.”
“Well, it’s the best we have.”
There was a knock on the door, and I leaped up from the bed.
I frowned at Henley, but he was already going over to the door to get it. I hoped whoever was out there hadn’t heard our conversation. There was no peephole to look through to see who it was.
Henley opened the door. It was Aaron.
“Oh good! You two are in,” he said. “There was a phone call for you that came in, and I wasn’t sure whether I should wait until you two were in the lobby again or if I should just come up—”
“A phone call, you said?” I joined Henley at the door.
“Why yes. Let’s see . . . it was from a place called Carter House.” Aaron leaned against the doorway. He stared into our faces, looking for recognition.
“And?” Henley prompted him.
“And they asked you to call back.”
I didn’t know if this was good news or not.
“How long ago did they call?”
“Oh, about twenty minutes ago, I’d say.”
“Thank you,” Henley said. “We’ll be right down to use the phone.”
“Of course.”
Henley started closing the door while Aaron was still there. Aaron took a step back, so as not to get caught.
“So they’re getting back to us?” Henley whispered. I wondered if he was talking quietly because he was worried that Aaron was still on the other side of the door, eavesdropping.
“It has to be good news, right?”
“I can’t imagine anything going wrong . . .”
We both knew that wasn’t true.
“It’s not as if we’re trying to sell them knockoffs.”
I guess Carter House could refuse to buy directly from us because it wasn’t “standard protocol.” Henley was probably thinking the same thing, but we didn’t dare voice it. We didn’t want to jinx it.
“I suppose the only way to find out is for me to call them back,” Henley said. He grabbed the piece of paper with the phone number off the bedside table.
The Day Before Forever Page 14