Sweet Nothing(19)

—Dad? Are you… okay?

—No, Elliot. I’m not. We’re not. We’d sat in silence after that for too long. How long, I don’t know. Minutes, hours, years… the waiting was torture.

—Do you remember hearing about that couple’s death on the news last week?

—Of course, dad. But what does that have to do with anything? And then he’d said the words that had started and ended everything.

—It’s… my fault. And it’s over, baby. It’s all over.



I jump when my phone rings again.

“Aria, I told you I would work something out, but you’ve got to give me time, okay?”

“Elle? Hello? It’s Luke. Poulos. You okay?”

“Oh. Hey.” Just hearing the kindness in his voice makes my eyes sting. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Well, good.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “I was just calling to see if you were coming tonight. To the opening?”

“Oh. Right.” I can’t possibly go when my life, my family, are crashing down around me. And yet, the only thing I want to do is forget about everything that’s happened today. While I’m wishing, I’ll wish the past six months never happened.

“It’s gonna be awesome,” he promises. “Basically just a showing for all the kids who took summer school this year, and there are some seriously talented kids in this crew. Like, better than the last exhibit I saw at MOCA. Plus, I’m serving mini quiches.”

“That’s amazing. You should have opened with the mini quiches.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. As much as I want to believe I’m a good enough liar to pull off Easy Breezy Elle, I know Luke can tell that something’s wrong. The tears I’ve been fighting so hard to ignore trace salty, winding paths down my cheeks. It’s just money. Aria will be okay. I feel stupid; shallow for getting this upset. People have money problems every day. People survive them.

“Okay. Listen.” Luke’s voice is soft. “Sounds like you’ve had a really tough day. Correct?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, my own voice thick with emotion.

“Then as your faculty mentor, it’s my job to make things better. Correct?”

“I don’t think you can fix this, Luke.”

“Obviously, you underestimate the power of the mini quiche.”

I can’t help it: I laugh. “My mistake.” I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand.

“Rookie mistake. Okay. Here’s the plan. It’s 4:30 now. You have just over an hour to get ready. Dress is artsy-whatever-the-hell-you-want. I’ll pick you up at 5:45 and bring you to the reception where you will have mandated fun and forget whatever’s bothering you.”

Under normal circumstances, it would be hot, having him take charge like this. But tonight, I’m not sure that I can put on a party face.

“But Luke, I—”

“MANDATED FUN!” he practically yells.

I take a long, shuddery breath. “Okay.” It’s worth a shot, trying to distract myself from the disaster that is my life. I’ll deal with everything tomorrow. But tonight, I want to pretend that everything is okay.

Tonight, I want Luke to help me forget.





chapter eight



Elle,



I’m sorry about yesterday. You have your own problems down there and I didn’t mean to dump our shit on you, too. I think it’s awesome that you’re doing everything on your own. I wish I could be more like you that way.



I was thinking… what if I took some time off after this year? Came down to Miami to hang with you?



Love you for infinity,



A





“What a cool space,” I breathe, stepping through a high, arched doorway. Luke nudges me over the threshold, his fingertips grazing the back of my peach silk maxi-dress. Heat from his touch pulses through me. I pinch the hot pink piping around my waist. “Feels almost like a church.”

“It used to be.” He pulls the heavy wooden door closed behind us. “A chapel, really. It was abandoned for a long time. I’m surprised somebody didn’t snap it up sooner; knock it down. South Beach is just a few blocks away.”

“It’s the perfect place for an art show.” I step into an open space with vaulted ceilings and pristine white stucco walls. The floors are a worn hard wood covered in colorful, patterned area rugs. There’s a sitting area with a retro yellow couch and two leather armchairs, plus a long, reclaimed wood dining table surrounded by mismatched chairs. A rickety white staircase leads to a lofted area. “How’d you get the owner to let you use the place?”

“It’s… mine, actually. I’ve been renovating it for the last few years.”