28. Amelie
28
AMELIE
I hide in my room for a while like a petty human being.
It wasn’t a conscious choice I made, but I sat down on the end of my bed and simply never moved. Probably half an hour has passed, and honestly, I have no desire to go downstairs. But I can’t leave Henry to his own devices. I may not like him, but I’m not that cruel.
Groaning, I stand from the mattress and unzip my suitcase. I change into a pair of jeans and a shirt with strawberries on it, then prepare myself to brave the stairs. The routine involves a few deep breaths, opening and closing the door twice, then finally forcing myself toward the balcony.
Dad and Henry, unsurprisingly, are seated on the couch watching football. Henry seems as entertained as I would be by the game, but Dad is shouting things like THAT’S NOT WHERE THE TWENTY-YARD LINE IS, YOU MORON and such.
“Whatcha guys doing?” I ask, starting down the stairs.
“Watching football,” Henry says, raising his brows at me.
I laugh as I sit next to him on the couch. He throws an arm over my shoulder, and for some reason, I don’t hesitate to nestle closer. “I can see that. Who’s winning?”
“Kansas City,” Dad mutters. “Of all days.”
“It’s a rerun !” Mom calls from the kitchen.
Dad sighs and lowers the volume. “I haven’t seen it, though, Mel. It’s current enough.”
Henry laughs, and the low sound reverberates through my entire body. It makes me more aware of where I am, how close we are, and I note things that I hadn’t yet paid attention to. He’s playing with my hair, twisting the ends between his fingers. I’m toying with the hem of his shirt, picking at a loose thread that needs to be cut. I put my hand back at my side when I realize, feeling like I’ve been burned.
Mom walks into the living room and sits next to me. I lean away from Henry to lay my head on her shoulder, and she pats my leg. She smells like sugar, and I get the sudden urge to raid the pantry for cookies. They have to be somewhere.
“Have you been baking?” I ask her, but she doesn’t respond. I start to reiterate my question until Margot sits on the loveseat across from us, and I realize what’s happening.
They’re closing in on Henry and I. This is an interrogation.
“I have to pee,” I say, trying to stand, but I fail. Mom grabs the back of my shirt and tugs me back into my seat with a tsk ing noise.
“No,” she says simply. “You can wait.”
Well. Now that I’ve been restrained, I actually do have to pee.
“Fine,” I mutter, leaning back into the cushions. “Go.”
“How’d you guys meet?” Margot looks me dead in the eyes. “Again, I mean. I know you met in high school, but I want this story.”
Only now am I realizing that we didn’t formulate a story. How could that have slipped my mind? I’ve been a little preoccupied, I guess, but I didn’t think my focus was so far gone. Why didn’t I?—
“We met at an art museum,” Henry says, and my jaw threatens to drop to the floor. Surely he isn’t so foolish as to tell the real story. “She was staring at my piece, and I thought, No, that can’t be Amelie. She’d never stare at my work with such disdain. But it was, and I found out she despised it. So I re-introduced myself with as much class as I could.”
“He asked me why I hated his work,” I blurt, trying to add something to the conversation.
Henry laughs, so I decide it was a good enough comment. “I did. She told me that she could paint better, so I asked her to get coffee. I didn’t expect her to say yes.”
He throws a sweet glance in my direction, and I try to look sappy enough for my family to buy it. It works on Mom, no doubt—she’s got her hands clutched to her chest, and her eyes have little hearts in them. My dad is buying it equally.
But Margot isn’t.
“Back up,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’re a working artist, Henry?”
“I am.” Henry nods.
“Oh, I’ve seen your name around!” Mom looks much too enthusiastic for what she’s mentioning. “Glad to know that art school worked out for you.”
“Thank you.”
“ Wow .” Margot’s tone makes my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I know what she’s about to say, and I want to smack her for it, mostly because it isn’t for Henry’s sake. It’s to get a rise out of me . “Henry, do you know?—”
“Yes, Margot,” I say a little too stiffly. “He’s aware.”
Her mouth drops open as she turns to him. “And you don’t care?”
Henry shakes his head. “I don’t. It wouldn’t be fair of me to hold it against her, and if I’m being truthful, I’m quite intrigued by it. Besides, she’d never take something of mine.”
I laugh as if I haven’t done exactly that. “I wouldn’t dare! I’m not a menace. And anyways, if I happened to annoy him, he wouldn’t take me shopping. So that’s a problem.”
Dad gives a deep gut laugh. “Glad to know your shopping problem will never change.”
“It’s therapeutic,” I argue. “In fact, I’m thinking of going to the outlet mall sometime this week. I need a new winter coat.”
“You have six,” Mom reminds.
I frown. “But not a pink one.”
Henry whistles. “Just what have you dragged me into?”
“Nothing you can’t handle,” I say, leaning against him for show. I wrap my hand around his arm and he squeezes my thigh, right above my knee. His hand stays there, and it manages to make time feel slow as molasses. My traitorous skin seems to burn where his fingers are, despite the layer of fabric between us.
Dad starts yelling at the TV again, and Margot keeps staring at me like I’ve caused her personal discomfort, though I’m unsure why. I haven’t done anything since arriving. Maybe that’s why she’s angry at me—because I didn’t come downstairs to see everyone right away.
Suddenly, Henry’s phone starts ringing in his pocket, making me jump. He quickly stands and answers it, looking frustrated at the screen. “Excuse me,” he mutters, right before going to the bathroom.
The second he’s out of earshot, Margot says, “When did this happen?”
“Hm?” I ask, even though I’m fully aware of what she means.
“When did you and Henry start dating again?”
“Oh,” I mumble. “Uh, only a month or so. I’ve lost track of time.”
She raises a brow. “Seriously?”
“Seriously what ?”
“You guys just…picked back up.”
I swallow. “Yeah. Like he said, we really just?—”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You don’t have to believe it.”
“All I’m saying is?—”
“Girls,” Dad says, more so a plea than a warning. “The game is on. Halftime is over. You know I love hearing your voices, but I’d like to watch this game peacefu— LEARN HOW TO MAKE A CALL, REF. ”
Mom sighs. “Marg, Amelie, it’s?—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, entirely over this conversation. I stand and turn toward the kitchen. “I need to ask Henry something anyways.”
Without waiting for a response, I go into the hall and lean against the wall opposite of the bathroom. I chew my lip raw while tapping my foot on the ground, fidgety for reasons I don’t even understand.
Just as I taste blood, Henry opens the door. “What’s wrong?” He asks instantly.
“Nothing,” I say. “Is something wrong with you?”
He steps out and looks down the hall, as if to make sure we’re alone. Thankfully, everyone has their eyes on the TV. “I just…thought my dad caught the guy. It was a false alarm.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What do you mean?”
“There was some suspicious activity at my apartment building, I guess, but the decoy is still there. Nobody got the guy’s name or face.”
“Cameras?”
Henry just shakes his head, so I don’t question him any further.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He gives a very unconvincing shrug. “It’s fine. I’m not worried about it.”
It’s very obvious that he’s worried, and he presumably won’t stop worrying until we find the thing.
“Maybe it’ll be gone soon, and your dad can trace him. I’ll even get Meg and Jen on it when the time comes.”
He tips his head. “Really?”
“Yeah, sure. They need something to do while I’m gone.”
He laughs quietly. By the time I start to join in, Mom rounds the corner. “Oh!” She says, sounding almost startled. It’s got a hint of falsity to it, so I assume she’s trying to act like she hasn’t been spying on us. “Silly me. I just need to switch the laundry over. Ames, did you know our washer stopped working? Your dad had to fix it last night.”
“I did not know that,” I say. “Is that an important detail?”
“Of course. I’ve never seen him so angry in his life.”
“You wouldn’t believe it, Ames,” Dad calls from the living room. “There was water out into the kitchen!”
“That’s terrible and very random, considering we haven’t been here in months.”
“That’s what I said.” He sighs, then swears at whoever threw the ball on TV.
Mom moves past Henry and I and goes to the laundry room, mumbling as she does so. Henry turns toward me, standing not a foot away, and looks directly in my eyes. The lighting in this hallway is enough to make the look on his face strangely intimate, and I suddenly feel the need to run.
Before I can act on that urge, Henry says, “I didn’t realize how much I missed your family.”
I hum. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. They like me a lot more than mine does.”
He forces a laugh after that, like it’s a joke, but I don’t have it in me to join this time. Henry has never spoken highly of his family. He’s never spoken down on them, but when the subject is brought up, it’s never much of a positive. Save for the mentions of Lizzy.
“We can go back,” I say, nodding to the living room. “You can keep acting like you care about football, and I’ll keep enduring Margot’s death glares.”
He wrinkles his brow, looking almost confused. “I don’t understand why she’s so mad at this.”
“She’s not. She’s mad at me,” I say honestly. And I’m not trying to trash talk, either. It’s just the truth.
“She’s got no reason,” he says, crossing his arms, and again, the thing with the biceps. It’s sickening. “But it’s fine. I won’t let it deter me.”
I blink. “From?”
“This,” he says, and I wish that word didn’t make my stomach flip.
“Come on, Arlington,” I say, suddenly feeling a little suffocated in this hallway. “Football time.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he follows me to the living room. I take a seat by Dad, and Henry sits directly to my right. By the time the fourth quarter starts, I’m laying against Henry’s shoulder, trying to ignore the noise in my mind as I drift off.