Loud Awake and Lost (13 page)

“Don't lose me again, Kai. Please?”

In answer, he kissed me. Maybe it was because it was so dark, but I was immediately lost in him, in his touch and the scent of him, all mixed up with the onion-bread garlic smell of the restaurant. Kai immersed me completely. Anesthetized me. Nothing else mattered more than this moment.

“Hey, I've got an idea. Let's do something,” I whispered. “Something planned. Something just us two.”

“Sure.” He nodded. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

“I'm up for anything.”

“Anything? Cost and time being no object?” Kai had shifted to a casual tone—did that mean he wasn't serious about this? “Maybe we could go out to Burning Man, in the Black Rock Desert. It's supposed to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Or we jump on a plane to England, hit the Glastonbury music festival. I've always wanted to check that out. And Barcelona, and Florence. But I guess first I'll need to get a passport.”

“Okay, okay, very funny; I know you're joking,” I said. “But I'm serious.”

“And there's always ice fishing in the tundra,” he continued, as if I hadn't spoken. “Which is about the same temperature as in here. Damn. Makes me sleepy.” He turned from me to cover a yawn, and I could see his silhouette, the delicate notch of his neck and the joint where his jaw met his ear. He'd presented these destinations as jokes, but I had a feeling that his mind had lingered over each and every one of them. He was frustrated with it—the lack of money and time. He wanted so much.

“Let's go everywhere,” I said. “I'm on for all of it. Nothing you've said sounds completely out of reach to me.”

“I really do need to start hanging out with you.”

“Exactly.” I was perfect for him. He'd never find a better fit. I could dream any dream with him.

But my mind was also shutting down a bit, too. The dark freeze of this industrial-chrome storage room had cast a sleep spell.

“But for now, I wouldn't mind starting small.” My voice was hardly a whisper into silence. “I'm more of a burger-and-a-movie girl. A walk-in-the-park girl. We don't have to go anywhere.”

When Kai spoke, his tone was clipped. “Look, Ember. It sounds awesome now, but girls don't stick to me. I've hardly got anything to offer. No time, no money, nothing.”

“So you've said. So what? I'll do anything, even if it's nothing. I just want to see you. I don't care what we do—it makes no difference to me.” I couldn't remember any other time when I'd been so serious, or so truthful. I also knew that I was on a tightrope, and that the breath of Kai's rejection might blow me right over.

“Coney Island,” Kai said suddenly.

That was a bit out of left field. “Coney Island?” I repeated.

“Yeah. Why not? I always wanted to see Luna Park in winter.”

“Then sure. Great!” After all, it was a relatively simple destination. And I'd been to Coney Island once before, a long time ago, with my parents in the dead of August. The afternoon had ended in a massive summer thunderstorm. I'd listened to the ghostly sound of the wind whipping down the boardwalk, and I'd inhaled a corn dog from under a kiosk umbrella as we'd watched the storm sweep through, rain sluicing our legs and turning the cornmeal batter damp, which made it taste even better. It was one of those detachedly pleasurable memories of childhood, and it tumbled into my lap as true as if it had happened yesterday.

I could take the car. Flatbush, then cut across to Ocean Parkway. The possibility of this day was something to fight for. That scent of it, like Kai, was exactly what I craved.

The icy air of the cold-storage room was its own insistent counterforce. We had to get out of here soon. I yawned as I tucked my numb fingertips into my armpits. “Is this real, then? Coney Island? With me?”

“Ember, I don't even know how to be more serious.”

Hearing my name gave me confidence. “Okay, cool. I can drive us there,” I offered. I wasn't even sure if it was true—I hadn't driven a car since that night. And yet I had to do it at some point. Despite all my anxieties, I had to put myself behind the wheel and strap myself in and make myself go. Here was my perfect initiation. I'd drive to Coney Island with Kai, and in the process I'd reclaim my driving skills, yet another part of a precious whole I'd lost that night.

But I could get that back, I knew I could. The risk was worth it.

“Want to say Saturday?” he suggested. “Then I'll call you once I'm sure I can get the time off. But I better head upstairs, or I've got no job to get back to.” As he leaned forward to stand, his mouth grazed my ear. Kai was so effortlessly sure that everything he did would be everything I wanted him to do. And he was right.

“How should we handle this?”

“I'll go first. You wait a minute.”

In the shadows he was hard to see. He wasn't kidding about this, was he? “So…if you can get off, then I'll pick you up?”

“Uh-huh, that works. I'm in the dorm residence at the St. George—you know where the St. George is, right?”

“I do.”

“Cool. We'll pick a time.” He gave me another kiss that left my lips either heat- or ice-burned.

And then I was alone in the Arctic.

After a minute or so, surprise. The overhead light flipped on. It wasn't Kai. I covered my eyes against the fluorescent flash. I listened as brisk footsteps approached the walk-in. It opened and something was slid out. Then came the smack of the sealed door shutting. A pause—I held my breath. The stranger left, and I hadn't been caught. Whew. I looked down at my arms in wonderment. My skin was icy as a Popsicle, with a lacy formation of goose bumps making a purplish space-alien pattern on my flesh. I'd been down here a long time.

When I raced back up the stairs, I knew that Isabella, though she kept up her same waltzing pace, was also circumspectly watching me. So was the busboy. Not in the nicest of ways. Definitely with intensity.

“Your check is paid,” he told me formally as he served me a dish of custard that I hadn't ordered. His voice wasn't particularly friendly.

“Oh.” Kai comped my dinner? I hadn't expected that. The general acceptance of my presence here was no small thing. I nodded my thanks to Isabella and tapped my fingertips to my heart in appreciation of her kindness. Then I looked the boy in the eye. “Thank you.”

But I'd seen all I could of Kai; he was probably too busy to come talk to me again, though after I finished my dessert and left, I stayed another minute outside the restaurant. There, I could see Kai only as a swiftly passing shadow.

I stood quietly for a while, anyway. Looking in.

Walking home, I let myself unwind and process it.

I couldn't have told anyone, least of all myself, much about Kai. I didn't know his favorite color or what kind of music he listened to or his religion, if he was a cat or dog person, if he liked sweet or spicy, if he was finicky or mellow. I didn't know if he played sports or if he preferred M&M's or Twizzlers at the movies.

And yet the connection was so firm and so true. I also knew that no matter how many details I ultimately coaxed from Kai, his favorite breakfast cereal or if he played basketball or soccer or liked to swim or fish or whatever, none of these things would add up to the extraordinary whole of what I liked about him, and why he was mine.

Because he was. More than Holden, more than Rachel, more than anyone else I'd ever met, I knew that this guy, in his essence, belonged to me.

It was as simple, it was as insane, as that.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Travolo,

There are no words to express the pain of your loss, and I am writing to you with a heavy heart.

To the parents of Anthony Travolo:

I have been trying to write to you for many weeks now, but every time I sit down and attempt to communicate everything that is in my heart, I realize just how limited language can be.

For Anthony's family,

I'm not even sure if you want to hear from me, but the longer I go without writing to you, the more disappointed I am in myself. And so I have vowed that as soon as I finish typing this letter, I am sending it.

I highlighted the next block of text and deleted it. None of this was coming easily. It wasn't coming through for me at all. Maybe I was just deluding myself that I had the skill to create a letter that could capture the core truth of everything that I wanted the Travolos to know. But I was no closer to hitting send. It might be better to check into whether I could get hold of a phone number instead.

Condolences by phone. It seemed worse.

What I really needed to do was to visit them.

It had been one year plus one month since I'd been over to the Wildes' house. But when Thursday arrived, I was dragging my feet. Drew Wilde's engagement party was going to be stiff and uncomfortable. That was a given. The problem was, I'd ended up promising Holden again on the phone, and now here it was Thursday, and my word was my bond. I couldn't go back on it. Especially not to Holden, who lived by those honor codes.

But I'd prepared as best I could. I'd even bought an outfit for it, at a funky little consignment shop on Smith Street that was around the corner from where I did physical therapy. It was a plain black dress with cobwebby sleeves. Even on sale, it was a bit more than I'd wanted to spend, but nothing else in my closet made sense to me, style-wise.

A cobweb dress, check. Black tights, check. Plus the boots. Was me.

Mom couldn't stop all the black, but then again I couldn't have stopped Mom from hitting Floral Heights and returning triumphantly with two giant tiger orchids, which she told me I needed to present as a “hostess gift” for Holden's mother and for Drew's fiancée, Raina.

“This is too awkward,” I'd protested. “I swear to you, Mrs. Wilde doesn't even want these. She's super picky about flowers.” Privately, it also seemed as if showing up with big expensive orchids was kind of like an apology—and for what? For breaking up with her son last year?

Luckily, Rachel swung by to pick me up so that we could walk over together. And she wasn't into presenting an orchid any more than I was.

“Really, Nat?” she asked, deliberately using the nickname my mom disliked.

“And just so you know, I'm telling Mrs. Wilde
you
bought them,” I called to Mom as we walked out the door. “So you'll have to take full blame for currying favor.”

“Don't be so dramatic. This is just good manners,” Mom insisted.

“Okay, executive decision: your orchid is for Drew, and mine is for Aunt Eleanor,” said Rachel. “I'd rather puke on my shoes than give Drew anything. I mean, I had to grow up with that kid; he's also my cousin, unfortunately. He was such a bully to me and Holden back in the day.”

“When I was going out with Holden, I lived in fear that Drew would be at the house,” I remembered aloud. “All he did was tease us about hooking up. He'd shout from wherever he was, ‘Hey, are you kids making out up there? Smoochy-smooch! Kissy-kissy!' And it was like he knew how much I hated that term,
making
out.
” I grimaced.

“Yeah, it's hard to believe he's any better. I say we stay for an hour. Jake wants to meet up at Floyd after. He's playing bocce there with some friends.”

“And God forbid you and Jake go three hours without seeing each other.”

“He makes me laugh.”

“He makes you more than laugh.”

“I know.… ” Smarty smiled to herself. She'd been in a permanent Hollywood-musical mood since Halloween—nothing but smiles and a spring in her step, and it had everything to do with Jake Weinstock. In the halls, they were inseparable. If she wasn't texting him, she was waiting for his text to come in. All conversations seemed to lead down the path to Jake's name, and most after-school or weekend plans included him.

Which was fine by me.

She was intolerable, before. Calling me, texting me every hour to talk about Holden and insisting he and I give it another chance. I was just about ready to kill her.

The thoughts came unbidden and surprised me.

“Sometimes I wish I'd met Jake last year; then maybe I wouldn't have been so, I don't know,
invested
—while you and Hold went through your breakup.” Rachel spoke as if she'd been reading my mind. “When I think about it, I wonder if I just ended up making all your crap worse.”

“No way. You can't take responsibility for that.”

“I know. But anyway, I think it's cool that you're giving it another try.”

Another try? Is that what Holden had told her? This seemed like the perfect time for me to tell Smarty about Kai. To confess everything—our meetings, our connection, El Cielo, the fact that he whipped around in my head on a permanent spin cycle. I wanted to blurt out that I was walking on air today because I had a message from Kai on my phone, a message to pick him up this Saturday outside his dorm, the St. George, which was a few blocks from the Manhattan Bridge—and about a twenty-minute walk from my house.

Since yesterday, I'd walked there twice in the hope I'd accidentally-on-purpose bump into him. So far, no luck. Of course, he was self-admittedly never there, since he was usually in class or working at El Cielo—which was one place where I didn't want to drop by uninvited, no matter how much I wanted to connect with him. Not with his
tía
Isabella's unflinching eyes on me. I'd be pushing my luck.

But the moment of confession looped into another, less intimate one as Rachel and I walked on, our orchids occasionally tangling up with each other. Maybe Kai was still just a me thing. Maybe I just wasn't ready to share.

“This reminds me of that other time, do you remember?” asked Rachel. “Back when Holden hosted his junior class party, and we walked over to the Wildes' together carrying that double-fudge cake your mom had picked up at Betty Bakery, and all the fondant roses on the sides got smushed? Remember?”

“Kind of.”

“And I was in my rebel smoking phase, and I had to hide my Parliaments in somebody's flower box when Aunt Eleanor saw me puffing away from down the road. And oh my God, the actual party, how hilarious it was? All the guys just sweaty and miserable in their outgrown blazers, and Holden kept making fun of Aunt Eleanor because she was obsessed that the mini-burger buns might not be gluten-free since someone—I forget who it was in the class—couldn't eat them, and she was scared of a lawsuit?” Rachel's face was lit up into the past as she called it all back.

“Emily Vaughn,” I said. “It was Emily because she's got celiac disease, and Holden's mom kept announcing it to everyone, and Emily kept saying, ‘No, it's cool; I'm not even hungry,' just to shut her up.”

“Ha-ha, that's right. And then we went into the city to bowl at Chelsea Piers after, remember? Which was awesome.”

“Yeah.” I could see it vaguely. It had been such a nothing night, even the bowling. But Rachel loved Chelsea Piers and double-fudge cake from Betty. Funny how the exact same event could get folded up and put away in some people's memories, while it got shaken out in others', to be worn again and again.

“Hey, listen,” said Rachel as we stood side by side at the Wildes' front door. “If the family isn't feeling too warm and fuzzy around you, I'm right here, okay? Don't let 'em get you down.” Rachel knocked her hip against mine in solidarity, the orchids tangling a last time just as one of the uniformed caterers opened the door.

Lilies, peonies, hyacinths—the front hall was banked in them. Immediately my eyes and nose started to itch. My pollen allergies were not going to be friends with this party. As Rachel and I set down our orchids, I sneezed discreetly into my sleeve. I looked around at the crowd, the open view of an equally formal dining room and what Holden's mother always insisted on calling the “parlor.”

I'd never liked this fussy house, and it set me on edge to be here again. And at Drew's engagement party, no less. It was odd to think of Drew committing to something as selfless as falling in love, since he was always such a prick to everyone. Not a prick like Claude, who targeted his words like a sharpshooter and was always hoping for a reaction. Drew was tone-deaf; he moved through the world in rudeness and oblivion, hardly ever recognizing that his insults and oversights were painful to others.

Across the antiques and coiffed heads in the Wildes' parlor, I spied Holden talking to his grandparents, who'd come in from Summit, New Jersey, for the weekend. Holden's eyes were also red-rimmed with allergic reaction; plus the beard was gone, and I suspected that his clean shave was the result of losing the argument to his mother. It disappointed me slightly that Holden hadn't held his ground on that one.

“Whoa, boy!” I crouched to accept Jolly's waggling, nose-to-tail, full-on doggy-greeting at our unexpected reunion—and nearly fell over backward in the process.

“The ewww factor just doubled,” whispered Rachel on my side as I stood. “Claude's here. At least he's with Lucia. She makes him less awful.”

“How'd he get invited?” I asked as we all exchanged fake-friendly waves across the room.

“Not him; her. Probably Aunt Eleanor heard that Lucia's family's got rocks.”

“You know, even when Holden and I were going out, I always felt like Mrs. Wilde looked down on me,” I admitted. I'd never confessed that before—it had embarrassed me. But now it didn't seem to matter.

“How so?”

“She just kept me at a distance. Like, for example, she never, ever let me call her Eleanor.”

“Oh, because
that's
such a privilege.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “First-name basis with the Wicked Witch of the Heights.” She nicked an endive leaf topped with something cream-cheesy from another passing caterer. “Hey, this reminds me,” she said as she crunched. “You know that every morning for breakfast Jake Weinstock eats a cream cheese and—”

“Girls!” Like a tiny shark, Mrs. Wilde was plunging through the parlor, heading for us.

“Annnd…here we go,” whispered Rachel.

I put on my best game face as Mrs. Wilde pulled up at us with an air-kiss that barely made it within six inches of our heads. Her thin strawberry-blond hair was stiff-sprayed into what Rachel called the “party pumpkin,” and she was wearing a cashmere sweater set paired with a leopard skirt—Holden once had told me his mother thought an animal print cast a wide net of dress-code acceptability for whatever anyone else showed up in.

“Aunt Eleanor, congrats. I can't believe someone's actually going to marry Drew.” Rachel said it in such a way that I knew it was hard for Mrs. Wilde to tell if she was kidding. Which of course she was not. I bit my bottom lip to stop my smile.

“The house looks great, Mrs. Wilde,” I said.

“Ah. Thank you, Ember. And you are looking…wonderful.” Mrs. Wilde was unapologetically checking me out. “Wonderful”—she trilled the word again—“that you're here with us, Ember.”

Here, as in here on earth, as a car accident survivor? Or here, as in ex-girlfriend with a possible second act? Or was Mrs. Wilde just being one hundred percent insincere as usual, and madly wishing that she hadn't allowed Holden to invite me to her oldest son's engagement party after all?

It was so hard to gauge fake people.

“Girls, please don't whisper and giggle with each other all evening, all right? Try to mingle. It'd be such a help to me.” Mrs. Wilde flashed an oversized smile; her Botoxed forehead stayed indifferent. “Ember, my goodness! We must catch up once I finish the rounds.” And with a parting pat on my shoulder, she glided back into the crowd.

“Promise me you will never let me turn into someone who ‘finishes the rounds,' ” whispered Rachel once Mrs. Wilde was out of earshot.

“Now, now. No whispering, no giggling.” I frowned. “Mingle, minion!”

Which cracked us up all over again.

The Wildes had stocked their party with the usual suspects, mostly soft-faced, parent-aged couples in woolly blazers and tortoiseshell glasses. Holden's older brother, Drew, looked fancier in his pinstripes. When I saw him in the back of the dining room, chin up and ready to rumble, an unexpected unease washed through me. I'd never liked Drew, and I really didn't like him now, pumped with pride over his engagement, which he probably just viewed as another milestone in his smug, accomplished life.

As if sensing that eyes were on him, Drew glanced out. The heat in his stare, when he found me, made me want to run.

“Ouch. Did you see that? Drew just threw you some mean shade,” Rachel whispered in my ear. “What's the deal with his deal?”

“You tell me,” I said carefully, distracting myself by kidnapping a crab cake from another passing tray.

Rachel sighed. “Drew probably thinks you're going to dump Holden again.”

I swallowed. “How can I dump Holden again if we're not going out?”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, Drew's a stuck-up conservative jerk, so maybe he's just practicing his standard jerk glare. Isn't it amazing how everyone finds exactly their person?” Rachel wagged her head in wonder. “I mean, Raina is the best fit for Drew. The girl is wearing a freaking Minnie Mouse polka-dot headband and has tiny bows on her shoes.”

I studied Raina, slim and elegant at Drew's side. I knew what Rachel meant, but I didn't completely agree. “Maybe she's dressing that way because she thinks people expect her to dress that way. I think there's a much more fun, twinkly, non-corporate-lawyer version of Raina who is dying to get out and karaoke.”

“She'll be sad to learn Drew Wilde is one hundred percent twinkle-free.”

“Then he can borrow her twinkle on Saturdays.” Was I imagining this, or had Drew just scowled at me again? Of course, he had one of those naturally inverted mouths that made it look like he was annoyed pretty much all the time.

Still, I could feel my face go blotchy with embarrassment.

Seemingly aware of my distress, Holden finally detached from his grandparents to join up with me. He threaded his arm loosely around my shoulders and bent for a quick cheek kiss. “You're awesome to come to this. What can I get you to drink?”

“Ginger ale?”

“Strong stuff.” With a nod to Rachel, he added, “Let's go.” I wondered if other people noticed Holden's arm. In some ways, it was a confidence boost and made me feel like I belonged here. On the other hand, I wasn't sure if I wanted to give Holden such bold arm-to-shoulder rights. On the other, other hand—I was probably giving this too many hands.