The Weight of Rain (36 page)

“I’ve thought the same thing. I don’t plan on telling her that, however.”

King shakes his head, his lips spreading into a smile. “Hell no.”

“I’m glad you followed me.”

“It was one of my better decisions.”

We spend several more minutes in front of the painting King deemed fugly, neither of us acknowledging it as we kiss until we’re both tempted to test Allie’s sewing job.

“We just made that painting a whole hell of a lot more attractive,” King says while gently stroking the pad of his thumb under my lower lip. “Come on.”

We go to the door where special exhibits are set up, a room that has been closed off the last few times that I’ve been here. King opens it, and inside the sizable room, the lights are dimmed, the spotlights turned off completely. Our shoes echo even louder in this space. There’s nothing inside but a small table adorned with several white tiered candles that appear to have been lit for a period of time based upon the wax dripping down their sides, and two plates covered in silver domes that I’ve only ever seen in movies. A single red rose lies in the center, tied with a thin twine to a feather in varying shades of blue.

King pulls out my chair and then gently slides me closer to the table before uncovering the dish.

My eyes widen and my stomach growls. “You remember.”

“When you told me you could eat dessert as a meal, I wanted to think you were referring to me since, you know, we’d finished round two and you were completely relaxed. Your eyes closed as you told me pie was a waste of calories—you preferred cake with extra frosting, and dessert to any meal—but I thought, what the hell.”

The smirk on my face falls away as I inspect my plate. There’s a large slab of chocolate cake nestled between a crepe covered in whipped cream and strawberries, and a chocolate-covered donut that’s sitting beside a dish filled with chocolate mousse. A bar that’s several layers of sin high and a slice of tiramisu both look flawless and almost fake they’re so pretty. Slices of fresh fruit are artfully placed around the plate so that only the rim reveals that it’s a made of white porcelain. I only need a single finger to count the number of times I’ve eaten off fine china, being that it was only once when my mom’s sister invited us over for Christmas. My dad sent me while he and my brother spent the day with Nell and Alan. I’m not sure why or how I became the sacrificial lamb that year, but I recall the heavy plates and the way my aunt’s eyes seemed to zero in every time anyone lifted one to get more food.

I shove the memory aside and look to King. “This is perfect!”

The smile he responds with is flawless. I see the relief, anticipation, and excitement in his eyes, and for the first time in my life, I feel like someone gets me. More importantly, I feel like he wants to.

“H
EY
!” I call, catching a glimpse of Charleigh as she heads to her car.

She stops and turns toward the stairs as I rush down the last few. “Hey, I heard you and King went on your first official date.”

I’m sure my smile is a giveaway, but I still confirm it.

“I’m happy for you, Lo.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate that.” We stare at each other, the last several weeks of not seeing each other causing a wedge of discomfort to fill the space between us. I have no idea what she’s been up to or how school is going. I still haven’t even met her boyfriend yet or heard her accounts of him. “How is everything going with you?”

“Good, really good.”

I nod, unsure of how else to respond. “Allie said you dropped out of the show.”

“Don’t go there, Lo. I don’t want to have this same conversation with you.”

“Go where? I was simply asking.”

“Yeah, and then you’re going to tell me I’m throwing away my future for some guy.”

“Actually, I probably would have told you you’re alienating your best friend
and
throwing away your future for some guy.”

“Isn’t that cheeky. You’re learning to cook for a boy, going to modeling practice every week, painting on the wall of a restaurant for free, and sitting at home waiting all night for your mum to show up, even though she never does. You sit around waiting for everyone to make you into whomever they want or need.”

“I know who I am. I also know that sometimes you do things you don’t want to because someone needs you.”

“You’re too scared to say no. You don’t ever want to make yourself stand out too far. Otherwise, someone might realize how tall you are, how good at art you are, how much time you spend on that damn bus. You’re so afraid to be in the spotlight, you just sit in everyone else’s shadow.”

“And what in the hell are you doing with dropping out of the fashion show?”

“Saying fuck you to everyone and doing exactly what I want to. I’m twenty-two! I want to have fun and make mistakes and have loads of orgasms before I lock myself into a room to try and compete with thousands of other struggling artists that can’t even remember what the bloody sky looks like, or what a good night’s sleep feels like. I deserve to have some time to myself!”

We glare at each other, accusations and hurt making our eyes wide and our lips pursed.

“You need to stop living for everyone else and live for yourself a little. Maybe then you’ll understand.” She stomps to her car and peels out of the entrance lane rather than exit.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to come out here to go to art school?” I mumble. “Of course not, because you have your head shoved so far up your own ass, you don’t care.”

I stalk to the bus stop, my thoughts still on the argument with Charleigh, a thousand more appropriate responses running through my mind. Some of them are witty and would have been so much more rewarding, while others are far calmer, bringing me to regret the anger I allowed to respond to her initial accusation. I’m grateful I only have one class on Mondays. Otherwise, today would royally suck.

T
HOUGH THE
rain is coming down in heavy sheets while the wind howls like two of mother nature’s tools are at war with one another—causing the rain to seemingly come at me from every angle—I smile when I hear King’s ringtone from my coat pocket. I pull my hood up a bit farther and my umbrella a bit lower before I reach for my phone and press it close to my ear so I can hear him over the current losing force.

“Where are you? You aren’t walking in this, are you?”

“Conditioning, remember?”

“It sounds like a fucking hurricane.” With that prompt, the wind howls even louder, folding my umbrella so it’s now collecting water rather than repelling it.

“I’m nearly there. Are you home?”

“Not yet. I’m at Spencer’s. How far out are you? Why don’t you call Summer, see if she’s there?”

“It’s okay. I’ll be there in just a few minutes. This wind is pushing me along, making me go faster. It’s kind of cool.”

I hear a man’s voice in the background asking if he’s talking to his girlfriend, followed by a dozen kissing sounds.

“What are you, twelve? She’s not my girlfriend. Get your label fetished mind out of here, and get back to work.”

I know King’s words would hurt me regardless, but they seem to compound Charleigh’s previous accusations, causing them to burn even deeper.

“Sorry, Spencer’s a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. Alright, well it’s kind of hard to hear you, so I’m going to let you go.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, why would I be upset?”

“You sound upset.”

“It’s just the storm. I’m fine. I’ll see you later.” I hang up before he has the opportunity to reply. Saturday night I was disappointed my dress required Allie’s assistance to remove. If it hadn’t, I have few doubts I would have ended up sleeping with King again. Now, I’m so relieved I could kiss her.

I beat Mercedes home. Knowing her carpool is set to arrive at any minute, I set a pot of milk on the stove to boil for cocoa, confident the marshmallow cream I just found in the pantry will at least make my stomach feel better.

Mercedes arrives with her carpool friends unloading from the minivan, and a yelled promise that they won’t play too late as they head toward the shop. The mother of one of the girls shares a cup of hot chocolate with me, making things awkward when she starts asking too many questions about Kash.

When the weather worsens, the mom compiles the girls, and Mercedes and I spend the afternoon watching shows made for young teenagers that I am ashamed to admit I’ve grown quite fond of, even anticipating watching them with her to see what’s going to happen next. I’m pretty sure this is another sign that I need a best friend, one who was at least born in the same decade as me.

“I’m going to put a load of laundry in really fast,” I say, standing from the couch as Mercedes delays the next show so she can text someone on her phone with no opposition.

“Lo!” Mercedes screams as I push start on the washer.

I take the stairs two at a time to the main level and find her at the top, waiting for me, her arms crossed over her chest and face pale.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you hear that?”

The house lights up, quickly followed by a loud crash of thunder that has Mercedes jumping.

“It’s okay. It’s just the storm.” My voice is too quiet and unsteady to assure either of us, but she doesn’t object.

I reach out and lock the front door as we pass it, and lead her back into the living room, turning on more lights. The rain seems to be actively trying to find a way inside as it pounds against the windows and roof. Rather than wait for Mercedes to consider what we should do, I sit her back on the couch and reach for the remote, flipping through the DVR to the lightest, most comedic and usually obnoxious show that I can find.

Four episodes later, the storm still seems at full force, the thunder and lightning dancing to a terrifying melody that the rain makes every attempt to interrupt.

“Do you think my dad and King are okay?” I hate that she’s bringing to light the same question I’ve been working to avoid all night.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re on their way now.”

“You won’t leave, right?”

“No. Of course not! Storm or no storm, I won’t leave you if they’re not home. Ever.”

Mercedes jumps as another loud clap of thunder sends a slight vibration through the house. “It’s getting worse.” Impossibly, it is.

With all of the cleaning I’ve done in this house, I can’t recall having ever seen storm supplies. I try to hide my concerns and take a deep breath. “Do you guys have flashlights, Mercedes?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just in case the power goes out.”

Her chin juts back as though my words have slapped her. “No.” Her glare is set between anger and refusal. “The power can’t go out! I don’t want to be alone in the dark without my dad.”

“It’s okay. It probably won’t. We’re just going to be ready.”

“Being ready sucks,” she mumbles. Her movements look reluctant as she drags her feet slowly across the wood floor in the direction of the office.

“They’re all in here somewhere,” she says, opening a drawer of the desk.

My lips draw down in a frown. It’s King’s desk of all places we’re going to be digging through. Another roar of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that illuminates the yard, quickly buries my indecision, and I step beside Mercedes and start rifling through a drawer.