35. Henry
35
HENRY
Time seems to pass much quicker here than it does back home.
Days are a blur. Arnie and Melinda have us booked with more things than I can even count. Movies, poker games, baking, sledding; anything that pops into their minds. I think the busyness is a way to keep conflict away. It works, at least on a literal level—Amelie and Margot don’t speak once over the entire weekend. Their communication lies solely in the passive-aggressive jabs they can get at each other.
Amelie also hasn’t spoken to me outside of time with her family, and it’s driving me mad. Leisurely conversation hasn’t seemed like an option after our talk about Jensen. Or, whoever that man was on the footage. My dad hasn’t made another mention of it, and I’ve tried not to think about it.
All I know is that I’m on thin ice with Amelie. I’m testing the waters by going to her bedroom, which isn’t the wisest idea I’ve had, but I need to talk to her. I don’t want her going through this day with two things to worry about. Margot’s event is enough of a stressor for her; there’s no need for me to be an add-on to her problems.
I knock on her door frame and wait impatiently in the hallway. I’m shifting uncomfortably on my feet, though I have no reason to be worrying like this. Either we talk and figure things out, or the day gets worse. I can’t control it one way or the other.
The door swings open, and before I even get a sentence out, I have to take a step back.
I don’t know why I’m caught off guard. Amelie is always breathtaking, but sometimes, I forget to brace myself.
She’s wearing a dark blue dress, one that covers her arms and leaves a portion of her back bare. Her face is solemn, pulled into a frown, but there’s still something so bright about her. I don’t even realize I’m staring until she clears her throat, then takes a step backward.
“Hi,” she says coolly. “Come in.”
Hesitantly, I do. I stand with my hands tucked in my coat pockets, trying my hardest not to tap my foot against the floor just for something to do. “How are you?”
Amelie shrugs and drops into the chair in front of her vanity. “Fine. You look…fancy.”
I blink and look at myself in the full-length mirror behind us. My attire is hardly different than normal—I’m wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, covered by the same trench coat I’ve noticed Amelie glare at in the past. I can’t tell if her comment is a positive or negative thing. I don’t know why I care.
“Thank you,” I say. “So do you.”
It’s probably the biggest understatement I’ve ever said aloud.
“Thank you,” she says in return. Her voice is weak, clipped, and it makes my chest tighten. Her eyes are lowered, focused on something that I don’t even see. She’s upset—I know that. But I also know that I can’t fix anything, and it’s making me feel like the most helpless person in the world.
“Do you want to talk about it, Ames?” I ask quietly.
Her head snaps up, and she meets my eyes through the mirror. “I don’t…” She pauses. Picks up her hairbrush, just to drag it through the ends of her hair. “It’s tomorrow, Henry. Our birthday is tomorrow, and we hate each other.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, wishing that it weren’t my only answer.
Nobody has dared to mention the upcoming day. We’re all very aware of what a sore topic it is, though the reasoning is still lost on me.
“It’s stupid.” Amelie sets the brush back down. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have to pretend that I want to see her display, or that I want to spend time with her, or that I want to share a birthday with her. I shouldn’t have to act like this isn’t killing me. I don’t even know why it’s getting at me this way.”
“You don’t have to keep up an act,” I tell her, crossing the room. Her shoulders tense when I get close, but I stand behind her and study her face in the mirror. “I know what you’re feeling, Ames.”
She shakes her head. “No. You don’t get it.”
“I’m not saying I ‘get it’. I’m saying that I understand, and that I want to be there for you today if you’ll let me.”
Amelie exhales and slides a bracelet on her wrist. After a few seconds of flicking at the charms, she removes it, then looks at me over her shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘ If I’ll let you’? ”
“You’re angry with me, so I doubt that?—”
“What?” Her eyes narrow, though ironically not from anger. It’s more a look of confusion. “I’m not angry with you.”
I gape at her. “Are you serious?”
“Why would I be kidding?”
I fight the urge to list off the reasons resting on the forefront of my mind.
Because we haven’t talked in three days outside of fake conversation, and I feel like I’m betraying you by letting my dad look into that footage. I don’t even think it was Jensen, yet I still argued on my dad’s behalf, and now we’re stuck in silence, and ? —
“Is this about the security stuff?” Amelie asks in disbelief. When I don’t respond immediately, her eyes widen, and the corners of her mouth lift into a half smile. “Henry, really?”
“Yes,” I mumble. “We’ve hardly spoken, so I just?—”
“I’m not,” she says, cutting me off. I’m guessing she doesn’t want to hear my explanation, which doesn’t make her argument that believable, but I keep quiet. “I’m okay. I just want out of this house. I’ve been around people for a very long time, and it’s starting to mess with me.”
I move away from her chair, but she stays seated, toying with a necklace clasp in front of her. Her face is downturned again, shoulders slumped forward, and I just want to help. I want to make her smile, though I’m unsure if I’m even capable of that anymore.
But I may have something.
“Give me a second,” I say, stepping toward the door.
Amelie looks at me, confusion in her eyes. “What are you?—”
“I’ll be right back.”
She doesn’t argue as I step out into the hall.
Without a second thought, I go straight to my room and dig to the bottom of my suitcase. The small blue box has been tucked in the corner since I purchased it, exactly twelve hours before Amelie and I left the city. Liz dragged me to the nearest Tiffany’s and practically threw my wallet on the counter, telling me to hurry up and pick something before the store closed.
I go back to Amelie’s room and close the door behind me. She’s still seated at her vanity, so I slowly approach her and set the box in front of her. “Here.”
She stares at it like she’s never seen a box before, keeping her hands clasped together on her lap. “What are you doing?”
“It’s your gift.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
She eyes me warily, like this is a joke. “Okay.”
“Okay. Open it.”
Amelie turns her attention to the box. Wordlessly, she lifts the top off, and she gasps when she sees the necklace inside. I let out a sigh of relief at what seems like a positive reaction.
I had no idea if she’d like it or not; I had to put my trust in Lizzy for this portion of things. She gave me three options to choose from, given that I know little to nothing about jewelry. I picked the only one that caught my eye, which is a pearl necklace with a silver clasp.
“I’m sorry I didn’t wrap it,” I say, fighting a smile at Amelie’s wide eyes. “I didn’t have time. Or wrapping paper.”
“You’re kidding .” She looks up at me, her face flushed. “Henry, this—this is too much.”
“It isn’t.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything at all.”
“I wanted to.”
Slowly, fluidly, she stands from her chair and walks over to me. The box is in her hands, and I note that they’re shaking the slightest bit. “I can’t accept this,” she whispers.
I pocket my hands. “You can.”
“ Henry —”
I cut her off. Hold her gaze as I take the box from her and remove the necklace. She keeps her eyes on mine as I work the clasp undone and loop the piece around her neck, fastening it at the hollow of her throat. Her breath catches as my knuckles drag against her collarbone, and her lashes flutter closed for a moment. She recovers quickly, forcing her expression back to neutral in a split second, but I don’t miss the action.
Suddenly, as if it happened within mere seconds, I’m aware of how close we are. Of how I haven’t been this close to her in ages.
I think back to the night I sketched her, when I outlined and shaded her face solely from memory, and I realize that I did it. I captured every line, every mark of her face, and I did it well. The bow of her lips. The curve of her nose. The beauty mark above her mouth, the one I’ve kissed hundreds of times. This woman is burned so deeply into my mind, I don’t think I’m capable of forgetting her face.
“Henry,” Amelie says again, her voice breathless enough to drag me out of whatever trance I’m in. “You shouldn’t have done this.”
My chest twists uncomfortably. “You won’t convince me of that, Ames. I wanted?—”
She steps forward and throws her arms around my neck, cutting me off by falling fully against me. It’s enough of a shock that I have to remind myself to breathe before even daring to hold her. I pull her into me, resting my head on hers, and her body relaxes. She seems calm, peaceful, while I’m just trying to control the speed of my breathing.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mumbles into my shirt. “But thank you. Thank you so much.”
I laugh. “You’re welcome.”
Amelie looks up at me, a faint smile resting on her lips. She keeps her arms locked around me, not making any move to step away. I’m still trying to breathe normally, but I’m failing, and it doesn’t help that her eyes are lowering from mine.
Her smile suddenly disappears, and I can’t draw my eyes away from her mouth.
No. I shouldn’t.
Under no circumstances should I do this.
But I do.
I move my hand from her waist and hook a finger under her jaw, tilting her face up the slightest bit. She complies, keeping her gaze trained on mine, and I try reminding myself that I can’t do this. This isn’t an option. We specifically decided against this, yet the moment I hesitate, she tips her chin up further.
That’s all it takes.
I slide my hand to the back of her neck as I lower my head. Our lips brush, and she stands up on her toes, but I don’t kiss her. Instead, I drag my nose along her jaw, practically drowning in the feel of her. Amelie inhales sharply when I kiss the side of her neck, when my hands tighten around her waist. She grasps my shirt tighter, pulling me even closer, breathing as unevenly as I am.
Neither of us are unaffected by this. Neither of us are trying to hide it.
“What are you doing?” Amelie rasps, the words all air. “No one is here. This isn’t…”
This isn’t for show, my mind finishes .
Correct. It’s not. And it leaves me with more questions than I’ve had in a long time.
I want to know if she’s thought about it. If she ever dreamed we’d be back here, caught up in each other like this. When I saw her in the museum that first night, I did. I couldn’t help myself. I wondered if there was some sliver of a chance that I’d see her like this again—wanting me. Wanting us.
Never did I expect it to be a reality.
I pull back slightly, enough that I can look her in the eyes. Her lids are heavy, face flushed. “Do you really think I’m pretending?” I whisper.
She swallows hard. Blinks twice. “You’re teasing me, then.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not, Amelie, I’m?—”
Someone raps their knuckles on the closed door, and Amelie gasps.
“You ready, Ames?” Arnie calls from the hallway. “We’re about to leave.”
“I’ll be right down!” Amelie takes a very generous step away from me and straightens her dress. “Just—just trying to find my shoes.”
Arnie says something neither of us catch before leaving down the hall. Amelie wordlessly walks to her suitcase and digs out a pair of white heels. She slips them onto her feet, not sparing me a glance as she fluffs the ends of her hair.
“You know, I think they’re really buying it,” she says, sounding entirely unaffected.
Even though I know what she means, even though I don’t want her answer, I still ask, “Buying what?”
“Us.”
And right then, it’s like I’m shaken awake from a dream.