chapter fifteen
“GOD, WHAT’S WRONG? You look awful,” Andi said to me as I placed my salad on our usual cafeteria table halfway through lunch on Thursday. I plopped down in the chair between her and Lindsey and stared as Andi adjusted the little camel skirt she wore over textured white leggings and boots. Her white cable-knit sweater fell loosely off one shoulder as she scanned the crowd, taking in the scene. I’d been trying really hard to dress well, varying up the khaki skirts and polo shirts. But seeing Andi during lunch always made me realize how far behind I still was.
Today, though, I didn’t really care. “Ugh. I couldn’t sleep last night,” I said, recalling the hours I spent analyzing my mother’s cards and photo. I patted at the puffy bags under my eyes. I’d been so preoccupied, I hadn’t gotten any chemistry homework done, which meant I’d been trying to work on it in between classes.
“Why?” Lindsey asked, her brown eyes soft with genuine concern.
But before I could answer, Andi said, “This will cheer you up, my dear,” and nodded in the direction behind me.
I whipped around, relieved for a distraction, and saw Aidan, Owen, and Ethan carrying their books and drinks toward us. I grabbed my cheeks and tried to pinch some color into them.
“Hey,” the guys all mumbled as they pulled a few extra ornate wooden chairs over and squished around our table.
Owen smiled at me. “Missed you last night after the meet. Me and a few buddies chilled at my place.”
I blushed. “Um, yeah, sorry I missed it.” Lindsey, Andi, and the rest of the crew faded from my peripheral vision, and it was all Owen and his huge, delicious grin. But this time, I felt a pang of something. Not quite distrust, but something else. I guess it was that he reminded me of that mysterious man who’d written notes to my mom. The mysterious “D.”
The bell rang, and even though I’d barely eaten, we collected our things and started to walk to our next classes. Owen and I walked in silence for a few minutes.
“I had such a good time on our, you know, date,” I stuttered, trying to make natural-sounding conversation. I took a breath. “I’ve been wondering, like, why or how, I guess, did you decide we were going to the Statue of Liberty that day. I mean, did you plan to take me there, or was it spontaneous?” I tried to sound casual, not wanting to reveal that after seeing Mom’s photo of a similar date, I couldn’t help but think, Statue of Liberty—how cliché is that? “D” had planned the same date years ago.
We reached my locker and all at once, Owen was leaning me against the cold, dark red metal, staring at me and saying, “Hey, who doesn’t like the Statue of Liberty, kid? Even a b eautiful, mysterious girl like you. You know, I don’t even have your number.”
Suddenly, the fact that he planned a cliché date vanished. I was melting into his deep green eyes. “Uh. Uh.” The only number I could recall was my old home number from Pennsylvania. “Uh.” THINK!
“Here.” Owen reached over, grazing my arms slightly, and grabbed my cell phone out of my purse. He flipped it open. Then he took his BlackBerry and programmed my number while I leaned against my locker, immobile. He handed me my phone. “Thanks, kid.” Then he leaned over and with the softest, fullest lips gently kissed me. My heart stopped. Like, flatline. Then he pulled away slightly, looking into my eyes, and my heart bounced back so fast I just knew I was having a heart attack. My head felt all woozy, and for a brief moment I contemplated calling 911.
The bell rang. Owen raced down the hallway.
I leaned against the locker for a full five minutes before I regained the use of my legs.
ONE KISS WAS ALL IT TOOK to catapult me from new girl in the popular crowd status to couple royalty. Walking down the hall the rest of the week, I saw underclassmen point and whisper.
In the girls’ bathroom on Thursday a nervous freshman with jet black hair in a braid asked me where I got my awesome lipstick. I told her I bought it at CVS. I didn’t want to say it was from Jolie’s latest line and then seem like I was bragging. I politely turned on the sink.
“Do you work out like five hours a day?” she asked, ogling me in the mirror and biting her lip. I shrugged, smiled, dried my hands, and walked out. Since when did random strangers talk to me in the bathroom? Oh, yeah, since I was a Darlington monarch.
Owen still had not booked an official second date, but apparently to the Darlington world, we were a couple.
WHEN JOLIE WALKED IN THE DOOR late Friday night, I flung myself toward her. All the attention I’d been getting at school must have given me confidence. I held up the picture of Mom with the handsome gentleman and the cards signed by “D.” The items I’d been obsessing over since I’d found them two nights before.
“What’s this?!” I demanded while she was still unwinding her long black scarf.
Jolie took the photo and looked at it for a long time. Her light hair was static from the cold. “Where did you get this?”
“It was tucked into one of Mom’s old art books.” I tried to read her expression. “Did you know this guy?”
Jolie shook her head. “Maybe it was just some old boyfriend.” She kicked off her gold-flecked flats as she edged past me into the living room and sat down on the leather recliner, tucking her feet up under her.
“But look,” I said, pointing at the photo in my hand. “Look at the date.”
I stood there in the entryway while Jolie tapped on her laptop and started checking her e-mails. Was she blatantly ignoring me?
“Who is D?” I asked.
Jolie shrugged and didn’t look at me.
“Well, did you know any of Mom’s friends who may have lived in the city around that time?”
“I don’t know,” Jolie said shaking her head.
“It’s suspicious,” I said, my voice wavering. “Isn’t it? Or am I being crazy? Do you not think this is weird?”
“I don’t know, Emily.”
“Jolie,” I said, my voice practically a whisper now. “Did Mom cheat on Dad?” Just saying it seemed ridiculous, but what else was I to think?
Jolie didn’t answer. She just turned and looked out the window at the Hudson.
A new kind of dread took over. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly awake, like all my nerve endings were on fire. It wasn’t a good feeling.
I took the photo and stormed down the hall. I buried it back inside the cardboard box and shoved it deep into my closet. Then I slammed the closet door and sat down on the bed, staring hard at the back of the closet door, breathing slowly, and letting the fire inside me burn.
chapter sixteen
SUNDAY MORNING, Anthony showed up for our scheduled lab report meeting. His arms were full of white cardboard boxes tied with string and marked with a green logo that read: CornerShop Bakery.
Anthony plopped the boxes onto the kitchen table. “Mom watched When Harry Met Sally on TNT last night,” he said, tearing the string and opening the boxes, revealing mountains of pastries, but I noticed no lemon pound cake. “Every time she watches that stupid movie,” Anthony continued, “she gets all teary-eyed and starts baking. She starts yelling at the TV, telling Harry not to be such a fool. And while she bawls, she keeps throwing more pans in the oven. I swear, what is it with you women and chick flicks?”
“I love When Harry Met Sally,” Jolie said, peering over the assortment of pastries and grabbing an apple fritter. “Milk?” she asked both of us, going to the fridge.
Anthony and I both nodded.
“Oh, jackpot,” I said, finding a whole box of donuts. “I’ve never seen When Harry Met Sally. What’s the big deal?”
“You’ve never seen When Harry Met Sally?” Jolie asked, shocked. “It’s a classic New York love story! I can’t believe that. Well, I know I have it on DVD somewhere, we can watch it tonight, if you want.” Her voice was hesitant. We hadn’t talked much since I hounded her about my mom’s suspicious cards and photo.
“Okay,” I said, picking up my glass of milk and handing the other glass to Anthon
y.
We headed to my room.
“So, this is Emily’s room,” Anthony said, looking around. “Man, you could fit a basketball court in here.” As he glanced around at my things, a smile crept across his face.
“What?” I asked, feeling analyzed.
Anthony pointed. “You have seven unused canvases. Ten unused paintbrushes.” His lips moved silently as he counted. “Twelve Bic gel pens. Twelve? Stacks of books and two of the same iPods. Do you like buy in bulk or something?”
I picked up the iPods. “One is for music, one is for audio-books.” I looked around. “If I like something, I want to have a duplicate. You know, in case something happens to the first one.”
Anthony got a look on his face—his dark eyes kind of crinkled for a second and his eyebrows scrunched together. Then it passed. “What about the canvases—they’re all blank. Are you ever going to paint something?”
“I guess I’m just waiting to see if someday I’ll discover I have my mom’s artistic ability.”
He walked over toward my bookshelves and leaned in to examine my photos. He pointed to the picture of my parents that I took the summer before the accident. In the photo, Mom is on her knees in her tomato garden. She has on a big straw hat and lime green gardening gloves. She’s so engrossed in her tomatoes that she doesn’t see my dad sneaking behind her, about to spray her with a water hose.
“Your parents?”
I nodded and smiled.
“Wow, your mom is really pretty.”
I didn’t correct the tense.
I leaned over his shoulder, taking in Mom’s shoulder-length blond hair and the way her smile lit up her whole face.
Anthony used his thumb to wipe off the thin layer of dust and examined it closely. “You look like her.”
A big lump stuck in my throat and my eyes started to well up. Anthony glanced up at me.
“You know, if your eyebrows weren’t so bushy and your cheeks weren’t all pouchy like you had nuts hidden back there.” He put the frame down and playfully filled his cheeks up with air and messed up his eyebrows. “You’re sort of a squirrel-like version of your mom.”
I slapped him on the shoulder. “God, you’re so annoying.”
“Hey,” he said. “I knew it was about time for you to start freaking out.”
I thought back to that day a few weeks ago and laughed. Imagine: Anthony kissing me. It seemed so ridiculous now. He was like a big brother, warm and comfortable. Then thinking about kissing brought an image of Owen’s soft lips to mind. I blushed.
“Okay,” I said, refocusing and taking out my lab book. “I’m totally ready to conquer this report.”
Unfortunately, I was wrong. After three straight hours of Anthony walking me through the calculations, my head throbbed and I still didn’t know the difference between pressure and volume. And now Anthony was throwing around the word solubility. I massaged my temples.
“Let’s take a break,” Anthony suggested. “If you don’t mind walking a few blocks, I know a place I think you’d like.”
It was overcast and breezy. Anthony shoved his ungloved hands into his coat pockets. We walked briskly down 11th Street to the intersection with Bleecker Street. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, and scattered Halloween decorations popped up in window displays. Anthony stopped in front of a small bookstore. A black awning draped over the green-painted building. In white print it read: Biography Bookshop. Hundreds of books were stacked on a table out front. Anthony opened the door, and I stepped inside. The warm air enveloped my body.
“This place is really cool,” I said, looking at the thousands of books crammed into the wooden shelves.
“I know. It’s awesome,” Anthony said. He held up a book: Chemistry for Dummies.
“Ha Ha,” I snickered.
After browsing around for about thirty minutes, we met up at the cash register. I found two novels. Anthony was holding 101 New Italian Meals.
“It’s my mom’s birthday next week,” he said.
We paid for our books and headed outside. I followed Anthony across the street.
“Okay, I’m probably asking for trouble getting you all hopped up on sugar, but this place is unbelievable.” He opened the white door.
“Magnolia Bakery?” I asked. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Because,” he said. “It’s where all the celebrities go to break their diets.”
“I can’t believe you shop the competition,” I teased.
“It’s the cupcakes,” he said, smiling. “They’re the best.”
We each ordered a vanilla cupcake and then crossed the street to the small park. We sat on a bench. Across from us a white-haired man in a suit had his tassled loafers propped up on a stone table.
Looking at Anthony, with a small blob of frosting below his nose, I felt a certain kind of ease. And even though I had spent more physical time with Andi and Lindsey and more mental time obsessing about Owen, with Anthony, I felt a level of comfort that is typically reserved for early childhood friends—someone who knows your history and requires no explanation.
“Can I ask you something?” I looked up from my cupcake.
Anthony smirked. “Only if my answer will not turn you into a raging lunatic, like it has before.”
“Seriously,” I said.
“Okay, what?”
“Say you were dating someone . . .” I started.
“Now, why do you make that sound so far-fetched?” he interrupted.
“Hush! Let me finish! Okay, say you were in a committed relationship . . .”
Anthony shook his head, laughing.
I continued. “Would there ever be an innocent reason for you to do something with a different girl? Like, could it be just a friends thing?”
“What is it with you girls and your drama?” Anthony leaned back on the wooden bench and took a bite of his cupcake.
There was shouting and we saw a tall man dressed like Tina Turner arguing with another man dressed like Cher. They entered the park.
“Is today Halloween?” I asked, confused. I’d thought it was only October 26th, but considering how disconnected I tended to be lately, it was hard to say. I took one look at Anthony, though, and realized I was wrong.
Anthony laughed at my reaction. “Every day here is an education for you.” He chuckled again. “Jolie said you guys were going to watch When Harry Met Sally tonight, right?”
“What does that have to do with it?” I asked.
“The whole basis of that movie is that guys and girls can’t just be friends.”
“Really?” That sounded intriguing. “Do you believe that?” A breeze blew and a few crinkly leaves landed in my lap.
“I’m here with you, aren’t I? Unless you don’t consider me a friend,” he joked. “Just your chemistry warrior.”
I smirked at him. “I tolerate you the best I can. Now, back to my question: Does, say, touring the Statue of Liberty qualify as a friendship activity, or is it too romantic?”
“Is this about Owen? Because I don’t think he tours the city with Aidan. Especially not at One If by Land, Two If by Sea.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Yes, I know that you guys went out. It’s a small school, Em.”
I swallowed and ran my fingers through my hair.
The two drag queens passed by our bench. “Mmm. Lovers and their cupcakes. Too cute!” the shorter one said, grinning at the other as they left the park.
I blushed and looked back at Anthony. He raised his eyebrows and I giggled. “Actually,” I said. “This is not about Owen.”
He crinkled his forehead with curiosity.
I explained about finding Mom’s cards and photo. “The date on the photo,” I started.
“Were your parents married at the time?” Anthony asked tentatively.
My stomach tightened. I nodded. “But it could have just been a friends kind of thing, right? It doesn’t mean that she . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to finish my own th
oughts.
He rubbed his mouth with his hand. “That’s a little dicey. I don’t know . . .” He paused.
I felt the back of my throat start to burn like I was getting ready to cry. The cold air nipped at the back of my neck.
“I don’t know, Em,” he said again. “Maybe you should give up on the search for answers to your mom’s apology. You’re not really getting anywhere, and you might stumble into some stuff that maybe you don’t want to know.”
I knew that he was trying to protect me, but suddenly I was angry. I swallowed hard and blotted at my eyes. “You were the one that told me you would ransack the house. You told me to Google her name. YOU told me I should stop being afraid!”
The two college-age girls sitting on the bench next to us glanced over.
Anthony smiled a sad smile. “Sorry, Em. Sometimes my advice is all wrong.”
I couldn’t look at him for a minute. I just stared down at the little heart that was carved into the wood of the bench, pressing into it with my chapped finger. I was so angry. Look for answers, don’t be afraid. Don’t look for answers, they might hurt you. I felt like I was trying to rock a vending machine to free a jammed bag of candy. Back and forth. The harder I pushed, the more the candy got wrapped around the wire coil.
Anthony’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, sighed, and put his phone away.
I tossed a napkin across the bench at him. “Wipe your mouth,” I said. I got up from the bench. Birds cawed through the cool gray October sky. “And go call your mom back,” I added. “I’m sure she’s wondering where you are.”
I walked away, toward the park gate, and rested my hand on the cold railing, staring at the people bustling by in their fall jackets and scarves. I wondered how many of them were hurrying home to their mothers.
chapter seventeen
ANTHONY WAS UNUSUALLY QUIET as we walked back to the apartment.
“Sorry,” I said finally. “Sorry I snapped.”
Lipstick Apology Page 13