She was Dad’s assistant.
CHAPTER 12 – NICK
I’d like to punch past-me in the face.
For several reasons.
One, present-me can’t take enough cold showers. If I ever thought that one make-out session with Em would be sufficient, I was delusional.
Two, past-me should have never let her leave the studio after telling her about Claire Carter. She muttered that nothing was making any sense and then she left. Present-me can’t reach her. Present-me has no clue what to do. I grab my cell from my desk. I check my messages. Again. “Your father will be home late.” That’s my dad’s assistant. “Happy Fourth of July.” Mom even included a smiley face. But she hasn’t called.
My fingers hover over the screen. Maybe I could text Em.
Again.
It’s been four days.
Four days and she hasn’t been to the studio, she hasn’t returned my calls, she hasn’t updated any of her social media, she hasn’t told Rob because when I saw him, he seemed totally oblivious. And I couldn’t press without sounding suspicious. I flop on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Today, she won’t be able to ignore me. It’s the Fourth of July and Rob invited me to join them in Central Park.
I close my eyes. I’ve been up all night, checking online for more clues, checking Dad’s office for any files that would help Em, checking her old pictures on Facebook. There’s a bunch of the two of us: dancing of course, but also jumping in the pool at their house in the Hamptons, laughing by the fire last year, on my birthday. I look happy in those pictures; she does too. And I’m starting to see why Jen always bitched about the time I was spending with Em, why all my girlfriends complain about her.
My cell rings, and I quickly sit up. Rob’s calling—it’s like he knows I’m having very inappropriate thoughts about his sister.
“Hey Nico,” Rob says. “Can you do me a big favor?”
“I would say sure but the last time you asked me for a big favor, I almost got arrested.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s not about helping me break into a lab.” He pauses. “Can you stay with Em today?”
“I thought we were all going to chill in Central Park and wait for the fireworks. It’s our first Fourth of July in the city.”
“I wanted to. But Giovanni wants us to drive to Cape Cod for a few days. Come on, you met Giovanni. He’s I-ta-lian.” He emphasizes the last words as if that’s supposed to explain everything. “Like not Little Italy, but Italy, my country.”
I chuckle. “You were born here, your dad was born here, your grandfather was born here. You’re more American than me, dude.’
“Whatever. I’m Italian and he’s Italian and he’s so hot and he’s funny. And he’s got this accent.”
“Okay, I get it. No Fourth of July fireworks for you.”
“Oh there might be. I’m hoping there will be.” He laughs. “Anyways, Dad and Mom are trying to figure out some more financial stuff and it’s tense in here. Em has been even more OCD than usual. And all of her friends are in the Hamptons.” He sighs. “Nonna even has plans with someone she met at the market.” He pauses and then repeats each word slower. “She’s seventy and she has plans.”
“I get it. You want to make sure your sister isn’t alone.” I pace around in my room.
“You’re my last resort. Trust me.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the vote of confidence.” I pick up a collage Em made for my birthday last year—pictures of all of us, funny quotes and some of my official dancing photographs. That was the first time someone ever made something for me.
Rob whistles. “You know what I mean. She’s been asking weird questions about her birth parents. Being even more evasive than usual. Dad’s been mostly brushing her off and Mom goes into one of her sad moods whenever the topic comes up. Like it’s her fault she couldn’t have another baby.”
“Does Em know you’re bailing on her?”
“Not exactly. If she did, she’d cancel and she’d go dance or wallow in her room. You know how she is.”
I even know how amazing her lips taste. I place the collage back on my bookshelf, tighten my grip on the phone and shake my head. I so don’t need to think about this right now.
“Fine, I’ll meet her by the little street vendor by the water.”
“Great. You’re the best.”
“Tell me about it. Now, go have fun. And don’t forget to practice your Italian.”
“I’m about to perfect my Italian, trust me.”
The park is full of happy laughter and chatter. Em’s smiling as she kicks a balloon back to a group of little kids playing soccer, but she freezes as soon as her eyes land on me. “Where’s Roberto?” she asks from a distance. One guy is ogling her, but his girlfriend turns his head back to hers. I can’t blame him. Her skirt may be long but with the slight breeze, it hikes up her legs at every step, showing only a little but giving so much to the imagination. And man, I’m turning creative. Her tank top is tight and light blue and definitely gives a good view of her small cleavage. Her boobs aren’t huge but they’re perfect. Her hair is flowing on her shoulders, and on her wrist she wears a leather bracelet. The leather bracelet I gave her for her birthday two years ago. The leather bracelet it took me weeks to find, because I wanted it to be perfect. Perfect for her.
She finally moves closer, but it’s like each step is hard to take. She taps my shoulder with her finger before dropping her bag to her feet. “Hello? I tried to call him but he wouldn’t pick up. I assumed we would all meet here.”
I’m tempted to take her hand in mine and whisk her away.
But instead, I shrug. “There’s an Italian guy.”
“I should have known. He was talking about Giovanni and how he wanted to spend more time with him.” She pauses as if she talked too much, as if we didn’t know almost everything about one another, and my chest hurts. “I should go.”
I gently touch her hand and when she doesn’t move, I let my fingers trail on her arm. “Come on, Em. Let’s relax. I’ve got a few drinks for us. Your favorite.”
“Grape juice?”
I laugh, remembering how Em always had grape juice in her lunch boxes when we were kids and how she used to share it with me because Mom asked our maid to put veggie juices in mine. “Better than that.”
She glances around and lowers her voice. “You didn’t. How did you manage to get rum and Coke?”
I lean toward her too, whispering. “My parents’ liquor cabinet is very well stocked.”
She jolts back and crosses her arms on her chest—putting more distance between us again. “What are your parents doing today?” Her tone is a mix of worry and suspicion. I wish I could erase the frown on her face. It’s like we’re tiptoeing around the real topic that’s scaring her and I’m fucking afraid that if I say the wrong word, she’ll bolt away.
Instead, I keep the conversation casual. “Dad’s having a party. And Mom’s still enjoying her spa-cation.”
“Hmmm,” Em replies. She stares at her flip-flops and then chews one of her nails.
“Come on, there are still pretty good spots.” I point to the grass almost already full. The weather is so humid, Em’s hair has turned all frizzy, and I’m tempted to run one finger through it to see how the curls would feel. Em grabs her sunglasses from her oversized bag.
“I brought some sandwiches and some fruit.” Her voice is tentative, but at least she’s not running in the opposite direction.
I smile. “Then, we’re good to go.”
We settle on the grass, talking but not really talking, laughing but not really laughing, and we wait. We wait for the weirdness to dissipate. We wait for the fireworks, close to families and large group of peoples and lovers cuddling next to one another. Our hands touch a thousand times, they touch for short periods of time and then for longer ones, as if we’re playing with fire, not sure if we want to burn.
CHAPTER 13 - EM
The world spins. And there are happy bubbles everywh
ere. “It’s a blue one,” I giggle, pointing to the sky.
Nick laughs. He’s got a pretty laugh. A sexy laugh. A laugh I want to hear all the time. Or his voice—his voice is much deeper now than it used to be. And it’s a hot voice. A voice that gives me tingles everywhere. “So blue,” I say again.
I lean into him. He’s warm.
“It’s red,” he says and kisses the top of my head.
I kick off my shoes and my fingers play drums on his thigh. “It’s pretty,” I tell him and then tilt my head so I can look at him. “Do you think my real mom’s pretty like Amanda? Do you think it’s that Claire Carter lady?” The words tumble out of my mouth and they’re kind of slurred together. Or maybe they should be slurred together. That’s an important question. I shake my head, concentrating on the way his green eyes are almost blue right now. “I didn’t want to talk to you.” I close my eyes. “I didn’t want to see you. Why does your dad have information I don’t? What does he know? Why...” I open my eyes again and then shake my head. “I don’t want to think about it.”
Nick says something but I can’t hear him. I love the way my body feels against his, I love the way he smells—the faint cologne he’s had since he turned sixteen. I love him. My chest expands and then constricts. I can’t say that to him. No, no, no.
“Em,” he whispers and his eyes cloud with worry.
I look up in the sky. “I like you,” I whisper. “I really really like you.” He tenses behind me and I know he’s looking for an easy way out. I should feel hurt, or confused, or sad, or disappointed, or angry. But instead, I look at him, daring him to say something.
“We should get going,” he says. And random laughter bursts out of me. I was trying to stay serious, I swear. And maybe my laugh sounds wrong, kind of like a sad clown’s laugh.
“You don’t like to talk about your feelings. You love to show up with one random girl after the other, but did you ever confide in them? Do they know you?” I slap my hand on my mouth. No-Filter-Em: that should be my nickname or my superhero name. No-Filter-Em to the rescue! I giggle at my own joke and sip a bit of my drink, but he gently takes it away. “I talk too much, don’t I? It’s like I don’t have a filter. I mean, it’s not that I don’t have a filter. I don’t want to have one with you. With you, I feel like I can talk about anything and you won’t judge me, you won’t make fun of me. Well, you might make fun of me. But not in a mean way.” My stomach churns and I roll on my side, stretching, trying to make the feeling go away, but it’s there and soon I feel like retching. “I think I’m going to get sick.”
“Let’s get you out of here.” Nick jumps to his feet. Nick doesn’t need a nickname, he acts like a superhero in my mind most of the times, except with all those girls. I hold on to my stomach. “Take my hand,” he says and pulls me up. “The bathroom’s over there.”
“I won’t make it.” I moan and wobble to the side. There are only a few people scattered around. And I throw up in the bushes. “Oh my God, everything’s spinning.”
”You can do this, come on.” He wraps an arm around my waist.
“I’m so sorry,” I whimper. “I d-d-didn’t mean to throw up like this.” My steps are hesitant, and my stomach gurgles.
Nick stops suddenly and I’m about to protest that everything spins again, when he gently wipes my mouth with cold water. We’re by one of the water fountains that joggers use, and he’s wetting one of the napkins from my picnic basket into the splashing water. “You’re fine. You’ll be fine,” he says so tenderly that I want to kiss him. But instead, I mutter, “I really do like you.”
He smiles and leads me back to the streets. People pass by us, cars rush by. He drops the basket on the ground and still holding me, he picks up his cell with his other hand. “Hey John, can you come and pick me up? I’m on West Seventy-Seventh Street, by Central Park.”
He hangs up quickly and then calls for one of the vendors close by. “I need a water bottle.”
“I’m tired,” I say and wiggle out of his embrace. “I need to sit.” And I do. And I yawn. And I want to sleep so badly.
“Come on, drink some water,” Nick says, crouching next to me. People are walking around us. I should get up. But my legs are so tired. I take a sip.
I hold on to his arm, drinking one more gulp.
“I don’t know my limits. And that cocktail was good. So. Yums. I never say ‘yums.’ I usually say ‘yummy.’ It was yummy yums.” This is funny. Yummy yums. I giggle but then sigh. “My stomach’s still not happy.”
Nick slowly caresses my forehead. And maybe I’ve closed my eyes for a second. “The car’s here,” he says. I’m still wobbly when I stand up.
The black sedan pulls in front of us.
And his father opens the door.
CHAPTER 14 – NICK
“What were you thinking? She’s drunk! And if Dino sees her like this, he’s going to lose it.” Dad’s clenching his fists and staring at me. He’s usually calm-angry, not all full-out angry.
“She’s tired,” I lie, but I know we’ve taken it too far. The last two drinks were definitely too much for her. I tried to tell her, but she shushed me, and she was having so much fun.
“You are walking a thin line, Nicholas Everett Grawski. A very thin line.”
“What is that supposed to mean? And I’m not twelve anymore—using my full name is not as intimidating.” That’s not entirely true. My dad still scares the crap out of me. Em’s snoring on my shoulder and I don’t want to wake her up, so I lower my voice. “What have you done, Father?”
His eyes widen for only a second before going back to his I’m-pissed-at-you frown. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you and Mom talk. About Em’s adoption.”
“You will keep your mouth shut. This is none of your business.”
She stirs in her sleep and lets out one big snore. I can’t help but smile a little.
“It is. Em is my business.”
“Let it be, that’s all I’m saying.” He’s using his I-can-get-you-in so much trouble tone, but for once in my life defying my father is not about testing boundaries, or about gaining something for myself, or about pushing his buttons. Defying him seems to be the only way to help her, and I’ll do anything.
CHAPTER 15 – EM
“I told you to stay out of this!”
Distant voices stir me out of my restless sleep. My head pounds and I groan. It’s like someone is doing jumps in it, and they’re not even good jumps.
“And I told you I wanted answers. Em deserves answers.” A door slams.
People shouldn’t be arguing this early in the morning. Isn’t there a rule about that somewhere?
What are Nick and his dad even doing in my house? I turn to my side with my eyes closed. Nick’s dad never comes to my house anymore. He used to. He used to play golf with my dad, they used to talk about real estate investment and country clubs and all that jazz. But he never comes anymore. Never. Ever.
Before, I was certain it was because he felt guilty about my father losing his job. Now, I wonder if it doesn’t have something to do with my adoption. I’ve never known he was involved in it, and my parents assured me they were “open” about the details.
This is not my bed. This bed is much larger. This bed has way too many pillows. This bed has silky sheets.
My eyes pop open. Definitely not my room.
“Shit!” I wince. I got totally wasted last night, and with Nick. Did I tell him I like him a lot? Did I kiss him? Again?
I struggle to remember his answer, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t declare his undying love for me.
Note to self: Never get drunk with Nick. Again.
My parents are going to freak I didn’t get home.
And his father came to pick us up. That’s great. I struggle out of bed. I’m still in my dress from last night, and I cross my fingers this guest bedroom is on the first floor so I can escape without anyone noticing me.
Someone slams a door. Heavy steps get cl
oser to my room.
A knock. “Em, are you up? I should bring you back home, or Rob is somehow going to find out you didn’t come home, and he’s going to drive back from Cape Cod and kill me.”
Of course, let’s worry about what my brother thinks. I want to be mad at Nick, I was mad at him after he told me what he overheard, but I have a fuzzy memory of him, wiping my mouth tenderly. Shit. Wiping my mouth from throw-up. That’s one sexy scene he’s not going to forget soon.
“Em?” he calls again.
“I’m up. I’m up.”
The door cracks open and Nick steps inside, with breakfast on a tray. “You look like shit,” he says and my stomach grumbles.
Nick sets the tray on the bed. He’s got big shadows under his eyes and he’s frowning.
I cringe. “Thanks. You don’t look that great yourself today.”
He turns to me, raises an eyebrow and laughs. A full-out belly laugh. I can’t help but smile back. Seeing him somewhat happy is so much better.
“I got you some of the things I know you like: waffles and eggs. I’ve read somewhere that eggs are supposed to help a hangover.”
“Thank you,” I reply, my heart warming at his thoughtful gesture.
He nods and points to the door. “If you open that door on the left, you’ll find a bathroom. You can take a shower or at least brush your teeth...”
I wince. “Is it that bad?”
“I can smell your breath from here, and it ain’t pretty.” He pulls a chair over and sits close to me.
“I’m sorry I drank so much.”
“Don’t worry... Those cocktails were pretty strong. And you’re kind of a lightweight.”
“Whatever. Don’t tell Roberto I drank, okay/”
His eyes bore into mine and my heart skips a beat. I can’t be imagining the electricity between us. I can’t be imagining that he’s looking at me like he wants to kiss me again, that he’s been thinking about it ever since that day in the studio.
Okay, maybe he doesn’t want to kiss me right at this moment, not now that I have the yuckiest breath on Earth, but something shifted yesterday. Maybe while we laughed, while we talked, or while we watched the fireworks in each other’s arms. At least I think we did.
A Summer Like No Other Page 5