Macarons at Midnight

by Suzanne Nelson

  It didn’t help that I hadn’t heard a peep from Viv since we’d said good-bye at the rink. I’d texted and called her to find out what had happened after I left, but she hadn’t answered. I didn’t know why I was worried. I mean, she’d done exactly what I’d asked her to do! And I was grateful. Wasn’t I? Only, if I was grateful, then why did my stomach twist each time I thought of Raj smiling at her as they skated, arm in arm?

  Giving up on sleep, I got off the couch and sat down at the computer, logging on. I smiled when I saw Raj online, too. Within seconds, I got an invite from him for a live chat.

  RajBat:

  There you are. I was hoping you’d feel like talking.

  FrogPrincess:

  I’m here. Can’t sleep. Family drama.

  RajBat:

  Uh-oh. What happened?

  Frog Princess:

  The usual. Do you ever feel like no one in your family really gets you?

  RajBat:

  Only every day. My family thinks I’m this person they can make into whoever they want. But I only feel like myself when I’m doing my art. And I never let them see that side of me.

  FrogPrincess:

  Why not?

  RajBat:

  My dad. He thinks art is a colossal waste of time. He’s a county judge, and he’s friends with Principal Hinkle. He helped get me the job as the newspaper’s editor-in-chief so that I could strengthen my writing skills. He’s hoping I’ll go to law school someday. You know, follow in his footsteps or something.

  FrogPrincess:

  But … wouldn’t you be happier doing what you loved?

  RajBat:

  It’s not my choice to make.

  FrogPrincess:

  It stinks getting stuck with parental choices.

  RajBat:

  But hey, at least we got to go skating today, before all your drama. Right?

  FrogPrincess:

  It was the best part of my day.

  RajBat:

  For me, too. But I got frostbite on the way home.

  FrogPrincess:

  From what?

  RajBat:

  You forgot my great act of chivalry already? Yeesh. See if I loan you my jacket again the next time you spill hot chocolate all over yours.

  I bit my lip. Viv had worn Raj’s jacket home? That was … unexpected. But if she’d spilled hot chocolate, she would’ve had to. It made perfect sense. Of course it did.

  FrogPrincess:

  Thanx for the jacket, valiant Sir Raj. I hope the frostbite isn’t serious. Don’t want it messing with your painting hands.

  RajBat:

  Frozen fingers give me a very Picassoesque style. I’m going with it.

  I heard the front door open and the sound of Dad’s and Gail’s voices in the hall.

  FrogPrincess:

  Uh-oh. Parental alert. Have to go.

  RajBat:

  Already? See u Monday. Goodnite.

  I signed off and leapt for the couch, managing to get under the covers just as Dad and Gail tiptoed into the kitchen. I held my breath, wondering if they’d buy my fake sleep act. I heard Gail whisper that she was going upstairs, and an eternity seemed to pass in silence. Then, there were nearing footsteps, and I cringed, expecting another lecture. But there was only the soft touch of Dad planting a quick kiss on the top of my head.

  I sagged into the couch as soon as he left, guilt washing over me. Except for my chat with Raj, I’d spent all night wishing that I could be back in Boston, in my own bedroom, in my own home, living my real life again. But then, Dad’s love for me was as real as everything else in my life. I just didn’t know if it was enough for me to stay.

  I ran the paint roller over the wall, covering the last stark patch of white, then took a step back to admire my work. Not bad. The walls were now covered with a smooth coat of teal, and I’d touched up the ceiling with white paint to cover up the last remnants of yesterday’s war. I was taking the tarps off the crib and rocking chair when Destry walked in, still in her pajamas and yawning.

  She stared at the room, blinking in surprise. “You … finished?”

  I nodded. “It’s almost noon, and I woke up early anyway.”

  More like, I never went to sleep. I’d spent most of the night tossing restlessly on the couch, thinking about Dad and Gail, and Mom, and Destry, and Raj and Viv. When Dad and Gail tiptoed past me early in the morning on their way out to run errands, I’d finally given up on sleep. I’d gone upstairs to work on the nursery, just to distract myself. At least the room was painted now, and I’d saved myself the awkwardness of having to work with Destry.

  “It looks good,” Destry said. “Um … thanks.” She sounded surprisingly sincere, even if the words came out reluctantly.

  I shrugged. “I didn’t want to spend all day grounded. I figured you didn’t, either.”

  Destry snorted. “That’s for sure.” She tilted her head, studying my face. “Hey, were you crying in the bathroom yesterday? I thought I heard you in there, and your eyes are totally red.”

  “No,” I said quickly, ducking my head, knowing full well that my tear-sapped eyes were super puffy. “I think it’s just … paint fumes.”

  “Whatever you say,” she said doubtfully, turning toward the door. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  I stared at her. Was I imagining it, or had there been the tiniest bit of hurt in her voice? Did that mean she wanted me to tell her?

  I opened my mouth. “I—”

  “Your dad and my mom are back. Mom was craving chocolate chip pancakes, so she made some for brunch.” Destry was already moving down the hallway when she added, “Better come while they’re still hot.”

  “ ’Kay,” I mumbled. One thing about Destry’s windows of opportunity: If they existed at all, which I still doubted, they didn’t stay open for long.

  As the mouthwatering smell of fresh-cooked pancakes wafted up the stairs, I hurried to close the lids on the paint cans. Then my cell rang. My heart leapt. It was Viv! Finally!

  “Hey!” I answered. “I tried calling you tons of times.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m so sorry. When I got home from the rink, my mom lit into me about letting my cheeks get chapped. She made me wear this avocado moisturizing mask for hours. Every time I tried to talk, I got the mask in my mouth. It was disgusting.” I laughed, but she sighed. “I’m so sick of her rants about skin care. I swear, she’d keep me in a big plastic bubble if she could.”

  I felt bad for Viv, but wanted to hear the details on Raj. “So … how was the rest of skating? Fun?”

  “Yeah, it actually was.” She sounded surprised. “I mean, Raj is sort of … intense. And when he started talking about some art thing called Cubism, I thought he meant art from Cuba. So he lost me a little there. But he’s the nicest guy, Lise. I don’t know where you’re getting this jerk stuff from. Raj is … sweet and smart and polite.” She cleared her throat. “He even loaned me his jacket when I spilled cocoa on mine!”

  “Yeah, he mentioned that,” I said, feeling the same unease I’d felt at the rink. “We IM’ed last night.”

  “You did? That’s great! Did he … did he say he had a good time?”

  “It seemed like he did,” I said.

  “Well, that’s a relief! We’re so different. I can totally see how you hit it off with him, but I wasn’t sure how we’d get along. Guys can be so … disappointing, you know? But he never acted bored when I talked, like Trent used to. And he’s not a chronic burper like Holden. So those are pluses, right?”

  “Definitely.” I laughed. “I’d never go for a burper.”

  “There you go,” she said. “That’s my problem. I can never tell a bad boy from a good. Well, except for yesterday …” Her voice faded, and I sensed a strange moment of discomfort between us. But a second later she blurted out, “Guess what? He talked about you, after you left.”

  My pulse quickened. “He did?”

  “Yeah. He said you seemed really smart, and you were probabl
y the right choice for the reporting job.”

  A frown pulled at the corners of my mouth. Probably the right choice? That wasn’t exactly a glowing compliment.

  “He said one more thing, too, but …” Viv hesitated. “I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

  My grip tightened on the phone as my heart fluttered nervously. “What?”

  “He said … that you liked to argue, and he wasn’t sure you could be a team player at the paper.” She blew out a breath.

  “What is he talking about? He’s the only person I argue with,” I cried, strangling the phone. “And I’m a great team player!”

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” Viv implored. “I promised I’d tell you everything, so I did.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” I said. “I just can’t believe he said that! I had this awesome chat with him last night, but now you tell me this!” I gave a frustrated harrumph into the phone. “Wait until he sees my first review. I’m going to knock his stuck-up socks off …” I gasped in panic, slapping a hand to my forehead. “Oh … no. I forgot.”

  “What?” Viv asked.

  “My review of Thai Me to the Moon,” I said weakly. “It’s due tomorrow.”

  “Don’t panic. It’s only noon.”

  “I have to go,” I said. “I haven’t even been to the restaurant yet! I need to get over there right now.”

  “Wait a sec.” Viv’s words rushed out. “So … are you going to tell him the truth? You know, about who you are?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I want to turn in my review first. I have to prove him wrong. I mean, he’s passing these judgments about me, and he hasn’t even given me a chance at the paper! I’m starting to think I don’t get him at all.”

  “I don’t know, Lise.” Viv sounded doubtful. “He’s got strong opinions, but … so do you. He seems pretty perfect. For you, I mean.”

  “We’ll see.” I said good-bye to Viv and hurried downstairs to grab my coat and ask Dad if I could take a rain check on pancakes. For a minute he looked as though he was going to argue, but then his face pinched, probably from a flashback of last night’s fight, and he let me go.

  I hurried outside, wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck as a crisp wind whipped through the streets. With my ThinkPad tucked safely into my tote, I scurried through the Sunday-sleepy neighborhood and, after just a few minutes, arrived in Whitman’s small downtown.

  Main Street was surprisingly quiet, with only a handful of people window-shopping, cups of coffee in their gloved hands. Within seconds, I realized why. Almost all of the shops were closed. I felt a pang as I passed Swoonful of Sugar, which wouldn’t open for a couple more weeks, I knew. The shop next door, a bookstore, was shuttered, too. I swallowed thickly, picking up the pace as a worrying thought crossed my mind. Worry swiftly became panic when I turned the corner onto Cobblestone Alley. The sign on the front window of Thai Me to the Moon spelled out my doom: CLOSED.

  Oh … crud! I put my face to the window, peering inside at the funky, East-meets-West décor—the vibrant crimson lanterns, the gold-winged griffin-like creature painted on the wall. I imagined the humiliation I’d feel confessing what had happened to Raj. He’d gloat, for sure, and then fire me before I even wrote a single word. Not a chance I was going to let that happen. I’d just have to improvise, that’s all.

  I pulled up the restaurant’s website on my cell, hoping they’d have a menu posted, but the menu page was under construction. Another strikeout. Never mind, I told myself firmly. You can do this.

  I headed for home with growing confidence. I’d probably eaten at a dozen Thai restaurants in Boston. I knew the most popular dishes. I’d name-drop a few of them in my review, and no one would ever know. Especially Raj. When tomorrow morning rolled around, I’d hand in a terrific piece. I’d prove to him that I wasn’t probably the right choice for the job. I was the perfect one.

  I stood outside the pressroom, rereading the opening of my review one more time:

  Stuck in the winter doldrums? Tired of your mom’s crockpot stews? Wake up those hibernating taste buds with a journey through the exotic dishes at Thai Me to the Moon. You don’t need your passport to experience the delicious, foreign flavors of Whitman’s newest restaurant. The tom yum goong, hot and sour soup with shrimp and lemongrass, zings over your tongue like a sunshiny spring day. And the royal Massaman curry, with its sweet coconut tamarind sauce, savory potatoes, and roasted peanuts, is the perfect comfort food to shake off those wintry chills …

  I smiled as I read to the end of the review. Sure, it wasn’t the sort of provocative piece I loved to write, but still, it wasn’t too shabby. It was clean, typo-free, and I’d even thrown in a few funny food puns for good measure. Most important, I’d made sure there wasn’t a chance Raj would find anything wrong with it.

  I walked into the pressroom with my head held high. Then I stopped short at the sight of Viv laughing and chatting with Raj, their heads bent together over a photo Viv was holding.

  “Hey,” I said hesitantly.

  Viv’s head snapped up in surprise, and the faintest blush spread over her cheeks. “Oh … hey!” she said cheerfully. “What are you doing here?”

  I smiled, deciding to play it off lightly. “I work here, remember?” I said teasingly. “What about you?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could.

  “Oh, I stopped by to give Raj his jacket back,” she said breezily.

  “Thankfully before I froze,” Raj said, smiling at her as if they were sharing some hilarious secret.

  “Okay … well … This is the Thai Me to the Moon piece,” I blurted, handing the pages to Raj.

  Raj nodded. “Thanks. If it’s adequate, it’ll run in the paper tomorrow.”

  Adequate? Seriously? “Well, I’ve got to head to English,” I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “We have that test today on the Transcendentalists.”

  Viv groaned. “Don’t remind me. All those essays on nature … I’m dying of boredom.”

  “Really?” Raj looked slightly disappointed. “I love Thoreau.”

  “Me too,” I said. “And I guess we’re going to see his grave when we visit Louisa May Alcott’s house in Concord next week.”

  “Ick,” Viv said. “Why does hanging out in a graveyard constitute a field trip? It gives me the creeps.”

  “I think it’ll be awesome,” Raj said with a hint of defensiveness. “Graveyards can be beautiful. You’ll see.” His face brightened. “Hey! We should sit together on the bus ride. I’ll bring my favorite book of Transcendentalist poetry. Maybe I can change your mind.”

  “I doubt it. I’m not a literature sort of girl. That’s Lise’s specialty. You should talk to her about it sometime.”

  “Oh.” Raj’s voice dropped as he looked at me. “Right.”

  Viv glanced at me hesitantly, then said, “But, um, sure … all of us can sit together. You, Lise, me, and Kyan. It’ll be fun!”

  The bell rang, and I shouldered my book bag. “We’ve gotta go,” I said to Viv, but she didn’t move from Raj’s side until I added, “Viv … are you coming?”

  “Oh, yup!” she said, giving Raj a wave and a smile. “See you later!”

  I turned sharply toward the door, feeling a sudden irritation. “We’re going to be late to class,” I said to Viv, “and I have my test.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Sorry,” she said. “You could’ve gone ahead without me.”

  “That’s okay,” I mumbled as we hurried through the halls toward my English class. “I wanted to walk with you,” I added more kindly, feeling a stab of guilt at snapping at her. What was my problem? Why was I so annoyed with Viv, when she hadn’t done anything?

  When we reached my class, Viv gave me an encouraging smile. “I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it. You’ll ace the test.” She started to turn away, then hesitated. “Lise?” She looked at me in a bashful way that was completely unlike her usual graceful poise and confidence. “You know that Raj and I are ju
st friends, right? And I’m only trying to help you …”

  “You are helping,” I said, feeling my cheeks heating up. “Everything’s fine.”

  She smiled in relief as she walked away. But as I sat down at my desk, I felt my insides squirming restlessly. It was the feeling you get when something’s not right, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it is.

  Even after I’d finished my English test, pretty sure that I’d done well, the feeling stayed with me. I couldn’t seem to shake it.

  It followed me through the rest of the day, and by the time I’d finished a dinner of stilted silence with Dad, Gail, and Destry, my thoughts were a tangled knot of threads. My fight with Dad was one knot, my confusion about Raj another. In the middle of it all was a snapshot of Viv and Raj, bent over that photo in the pressroom, smiling at each other.

  After I finished my homework, I logged on to the family computer. Part of me hoped Raj would be online, waiting, while another part hoped he wouldn’t be, so my heart would be spared more confusion. My heart, as it happened, was out of luck.

  RajBat:

  Hey you. I found the perfect Transcendental quote for you. Ready?

  FrogPrincess:

  I’m on the edge of my seat.

  RajBat:

  “Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.”

  I laughed out loud as I read, then quickly typed a response.

  FrogPrincess:

  Hey, was that a jab at modeling?

  RajBat:

  Who me? Never! Blame it on Thoreau. I think you’ve got great clothes, even if they are uber new.

  FrogPrincess: