Chapter 16 #2
Now that he’s getting a better look at the house, it’s a far cry from the cotton spiderweb decor and paper bats that mark the kind of parties he’s been to.
This place looks like Architectural Digest: Spooky Edition, everything done up in black and cream with gold accents.
There are bejeweled pumpkins, black lace draped over mirrors, flickering candles, a couple life-sized skeletons.
The bartender even has a very believable replica of his head in the tip jar next to him.
A muscular Asian girl who looks to be in her early thirties appears in an elaborate vampire costume. “Welcome,” she says, the word slightly muffled by fake plastic fangs. “Phone, please.”
Ramona rolls her eyes. “Betty, this is Nick. Nick, Betty.”
He catches the lift of Betty’s thickly penciled eyebrows at his name, and he wonders how much Ramona has told her about him.
“Nick! Nice to meet you. Thank you for educating our youth.” She flashes him a smile that, despite the fangs, looks genuine. “I’m still going to need your phone.”
“These parties have a strict no-phones rule,” Ramona explains. “It’s the only way most of us can relax.”
Nick surrenders his without protest. Betty skips down the hall presumably to lock it up with everyone else’s devices, and Ramona introduces him to some of the other guests: Betty’s friend-clients from the gym, other celebrity-adjacent people who have all been properly vetted.
A woman famous for YouTube yoga tutorials, a health-food restaurateur, an actress on a Netflix show he watched last year.
“Try not to act too starstruck,” she says into his ear as they grab drinks from the bar. Pomegranate-flavored seltzer with a lime wedge for her, a ginger beer for him.
“I didn’t with you, did I?” he volleys back.
He thought he might feel out of place, but with Ramona next to him on the couch, he finds himself able to relax. As long as he doesn’t look at her legs, or that adorable cluster of freckles right above the hem of her knee sock.
“How was Halloween with your niece?” she asks.
“Great.” He gives his cape a flick to keep it from bunching up behind his back. “I think I told you she’s into cooking, so she went as Alfredo Linguini, from—”
“Ratatouille!” Ramona exclaims. “I love that movie.”
Nick grins. “She had me go as Remy.” And he promises to show her some photos when they get their phones back. He has a feeling she’d love the forced-perspective shots Lexi took, where it looks like Audrey’s holding him in the palm of her hand.
“That’s too cute. I was wondering what this was. Whisker?” she asks, and before he can tell her yes, she licks her thumb and leans closer.
Rubs the wet pad of it against his cheek.
“Thought I washed it all off,” he says, skin flaring red-hot beneath her touch. She’s so close, he can see every one of her lashes.
With utmost concentration, she gives his face a final swipe. “Just a little smudge. You’re good.”
He’s certain he’s never felt further from it.
Clearing his throat, he returns to a safer subject. “She’s had some friend problems at school lately, so it was a relief to see her having fun.”
Ramona’s brow furrows. “What’s been going on?”
He’s almost surprised by her concern. So he explains what happened during the sleepover where Audrey befriended the host’s parents, and how some of the girls still giggle behind her back at school.
“Feeling too old for your skin is a gift and a curse. I had to grow up so fast. Too fast,” Ramona says, a sudden wistfulness in her voice. “I wish I could have slowed down and enjoyed it. I know she probably doesn’t feel like that now, but…”
“I wish she could, too. It goes by too quickly, doesn’t it?” Nick feels a twinge of heartache as she nods, and now he’s thinking not just of Audrey but of his own childhood, and how distant it is now. Ramona’s childhood, and how she probably never had a chance to be a real kid.
“You seem like you’d be a cool uncle. She’s lucky to have you.”
“I hope so. My sister’s a single parent by choice, and she’s been pretty wrapped up in work lately, so I’ve had the chance to help out a bit more. It feels like I’m the lucky one, actually.”
If he didn’t know any better, he’d think there’s something like yearning on Ramona’s face as she gives him a somber nod, presses her lips together.
He can still feel her thumb on his cheek.
“By the way, you don’t have to stay sober on my account,” she says, tapping his fancy plastic glass with hers.
“Really. If you usually drink at parties, feel free. Unless you’re the kind of drunk who takes off their clothes and dances on tables.
” Then she reconsiders. “Actually, I might enjoy that.”
Nick doesn’t tell her that he’s not about to get shit-faced at a party full of people he doesn’t know, even if none of them have their phones with them. “It’s not a big deal. Sometimes I drink socially, sometimes I don’t. Do other people mind it?”
She shrugs, and he gets the feeling the answer is yes.
“Ramona?” A girl dressed as a 1920s flapper is approaching the couch with a sheepish wave. “We met at Betty’s party last year. I’m Allegra.”
“Right. Hey.”
“One of my friends is dying to meet you, if you don’t mind?”
So Ramona flashes what Nick knows isn’t her real smile as she lifts up from the couch, and for a split second, he’s not sure if he should follow her. She didn’t explicitly ask, and it’s not like he’s here as her date. Surely she’d bring him along for this introduction if that were the case.
Instead of sitting alone on the couch, he wanders into the kitchen, almost smacking right into Betty.
“Oh—sorry,” he says. “I was just looking for a napkin.”
Betty passes him a black one dotted with tiny skulls. “So you’re Ramona’s psychology professor.”
He nods, feeling a bit like there’s a too-bright spotlight on him. “Right. And we’re—we’re friends too.”
“Friends,” Betty echoes with an odd emphasis, and in that moment he’s certain Ramona’s told her everything. His cheeks flush with heat. “I hope this doesn’t sound too forward—this is just me being protective,” she continues. “But Ramona doesn’t let a lot of people get close.”
“I’ve gotten that impression.”
“The fact that she brought you here…that means she trusts you.”
He swallows that down, trying to ignore the new warmth glowing in his chest. Does he deserve it, that trust? God, he hopes so. “What about her family? Is she close with any of them?”
“She hasn’t spoken to her parents in months.
They’re kind of parasites. Forced her into doing things she never wanted, didn’t let her take breaks, micromanaged every part of her life.
Her mom was always trying to live out her own dreams of being famous through Ramona.
” Betty grits her fangs. “Really fucked-up.”
Suddenly he fears he’s asked something intrusive, received information that maybe Ramona wouldn’t want him to have yet.
Rage and heartbreak crash through him. He knew Ramona’s parents were her managers, but he had no idea they’d been so vicious. He pictures his sister, the way she’s always encouraged Audrey to explore what she’s interested in but never pushed.
Ramona’s parents failed her in this massive, catastrophic way. And yet here she is, moving on with her life, taking the reins and going back to school. Doing something solely for herself.
All at once, he understands the control she keeps an iron grip on. Why she’s so reluctant to give it up.
“You seem like a good dude,” Betty continues, clapping him on the shoulder more strongly than he’s expecting before he remembers that she’s a personal trainer. “I just don’t want her to regret anything.”
“That’s the last thing I want,” he says, and Betty smiles. Eases up a little.
“I like your costume, by the way.”
When he rejoins Ramona in the living room, he passes her another seltzer he grabbed from the bar, and she grins like this is the kindest thing anyone’s done for her all week.
Suddenly Nick’s not just heartbroken—he’s so goddamn impressed with her, the ability she has to move through the world pretending she doesn’t give a shit.
He’s not sure anything in his life holds a candle to that kind of bravery.
The shield she puts up, and the few times she’s lowered it for him—he’s determined to feel worthy of it.
Even if no one else can know about this, a voice in the back of his head reminds him.
“So I’ve narrowed down a few options for you,” Ramona says between sips, sounding all business.
“There’s Brooke, who was on some Hulu show I didn’t watch but was supposed to be decent—I overheard her complaining about how single she feels.
And Valerie, who owns a gym in Sherman Oaks.
She also just recently got divorced, so you have that in common. ”
It takes Nick a moment to realize what she’s talking about. Right—the other half of their “deal,” where he gets her friendship in exchange for her coaching.
She looks so earnest about this, so hopeful that one of these women might be the perfect match. He’d hate to wreck that by saying he’d much rather sit here with her all night.
“You were scouting them?” he asks.
“Just some light recon.” She gives a fluff of her hair. “What’s your opening line?”
“Hmm. ‘Did we meet in my divorce attorney’s waiting room, or do you just have one of those faces?’ ”
“Why do I feel like you could actually make that charming?”
Nick stirs his drink. If this is what Ramona really wants, then he’s not about to deny her. “If I ask someone to dance,” he says, “will you stop badgering me about it?”
She inches toward the edge of the couch, her eyes wide. Her tie is crooked, and he aches to straighten it for her. “I would love to watch you dance with someone.”
And that feels like a challenge.
He makes a big show of downing the last of his nonalcoholic drink, as though needing the liquid courage. Truthfully, maybe he does. At least if he gets turned down, Ramona will have something to laugh about for weeks.
And he really, really likes hearing her laugh.