Chapter 38
I hated the shoes.
Horrible red flats that Carter said he saw in a window and knew would look great on me.
They were the first pair of designer shoes I’d ever owned, and for some reason, wearing them made me feel like I was a complete imposter.
As if everyone could tell I was wearing shoes that cost a thousand dollars with a sweater from Target.
To me, they were a symbol of how different we were. And to Carter, they were a way for us to be the same.
When I saw them on Alex, something in my heart just knew that’s where they were supposed to go.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder if all of this really isn’t about me at all.
Alex was at the Delaneys’ for New Year’s, and I told her he wasn’t there.
He asked me about her at the gas station, and I suggested he talk to Linden instead.
And time changed. And again when I told him to focus on Linden.
And after I saw her at school, I waited for time to shift course, but it didn’t.
Because I asked her to come meet Carter.
The Festival Showcase is the biggest fundraiser of the year for Suttleton.
Students mixing with alumni who make introductions to some of the most influential people in the arts.
People wait all year for the occasion to dress up, overindulge, and bid on insanely overpriced art by students who show potential.
Everyone hopes to own a piece of the next Rothko’s early work.
While the students spend the day eating and drinking and experiencing all the exhibits, the alumni and donors spend the evening in a beautiful solarium drinking expensive wine and eating rich hors d’oeuvres with select students.
But now, it’s the gala, and we are all required to be here.
Inside, it’s warm and beautiful and green. Vibrant. Vines climb up glass walls and flowers bloom in bright colors despite the stars in the sky, because no one told them they were supposed to be sleeping.
The solarium’s soft lights strung in between the plants make everything look enchanting and inviting, and hanging from the ceiling are thousands of paper birds strung up to look like they’re in flight.
Linden runs her hand across the bodice of her green gown.
It’s a beautiful light sage color, with gold flowers embroidered into the satin that makes her skin look shimmery and slides down her shoulders like a waterfall.
My dress is a green so dark it’s almost black.
An asymmetrical thing. A purple flower is pinned just above my heart, and a green flower high in my hair.
The fundraiser is completely full. A string quartet in the corner plays renditions of famous pop songs that make the room feel both current and ageless, like a place that exists in between spaces in time.
Linden and I make our way from donor to donor, each one smiling and nodding and asking about our family. If our mothers are still painting.
And everyone, without fail, asks when Grandee will be here. She hasn’t been back to the school since before we were born.
We smile, and Linden talks about how she’s focusing on a new concept for dance. Alumni nod and tell her how inspired they are by her. She smiles back with a polite thanks.
Through the crowd, I see Max walking with purpose.
The tuxedo he wears is perfectly tailored to show off his broad shoulders and trim waist. His hair is neat and slicked back, revealing his stylish undercut, and one of his hands is in his pocket.
As if that’s comfortable. He pulls it out as he moves past a server with a tray of champagne and nonalcoholic sparkling wine.
With two glasses in his hands, he disappears into the crowd.
“Nieve Monroe. Are you exhibiting something?”
A tall gentleman, with gray at his temples but a fashionable faded haircut, is speaking to me. He stands next to a beautiful woman in a purple sari.
I smile. “Yes. The collaborative piece is mine.”
“Collaborative?” His eyes light up, and I remember this conversation from before, but those memories have faded to déjà vu. “Not an individual?”
“Individual?”
I can see how excited this makes him. How he leans forward like I’m going to tell him a secret.
“Yes.” I say it confidently, and when Carter’s arm wraps around my waist, I feel proud. Proud of me, and proud to be seen with Carter, who wears a purple boutonniere he says matches my moods.
I look down at my sparkling cider and the small purple flowers that float and move gently with the bubbles. “Not an individual piece. The collaborative work was headed up by a third-year. Max Emerson.”
The man shifts on his feet gently. “Max Emerson.” He says the name, rolling the syllables on his tongue.
“We met him earlier,” the woman in purple says. “He was with the Delaney boy.”
Carter is here. He came. I can’t tell if I’m relieved or worried. My eyes move over to the spot where I last saw Max, but I can’t seem to find him again.
“Would you like to dance?” Benji is standing next to me.
When I smile and nod, excusing myself, he takes my glass and sets it on a table.
The song is slower, and as he turns me around the floor, he whispers in my ear, “You looked like you needed saving. You doing okay?”
“Yeah,” I say back as easily as I can.
Above us, the birds sway and move as if they are taking flight on the wind. A kaleidoscope of colors. Grandee would love that they still use the birds. Her class made them and presented them as a thank-you gift when they graduated.
Another person cuts in, and suddenly, I’m dancing with a woman who I recognize from my mother’s gallery shows. “It’s good to see you again, Nieve.”
She says my name with confidence as if we are old friends, but for the life of me, I can’t remember hers.
“I saw your pieces. They are breathtaking. So much promise. I just wanted to ask you to consider my gallery for their final home.”
Stunned, I open my mouth to explain to her that what she’s said is an overstatement, but she misinterprets my response.
“No, I know you’re probably thinking about sending them to your mother, who is a fine curator, but the amount of traffic we have at the gallery in Florida is incomparable.”
“I … I’m not the only artist on the piece.”
“Yes, yes, of course, but I’m sure you can—”
“Nieve.”
We pull to a stop, and when I look up, Max stands in front of me, his hands clenched at his sides and his eyes locked onto mine. They shift to my dance partner.
“I’m sorry to pull her away.”
The woman’s eyes move down to the lapel of his tuxedo, and I see the moment when she notices the purple flower given to the students who are displaying work here. Her eyes go wide, and there’s a hungry look to them.
“You must be the one who worked with Nieve on the pieces she’s displayed.”
The way she says it makes it sound like Max is my assistant. “Max is actually the one who is in charge of the pieces.”
I wait for him to make a face or say something, but instead, he only smiles and takes my arm. “If you’ll excuse us.”
I frown as he pulls me away. That was exactly the exposure he said that he wanted. The exact people he said he wanted to connect with.
Another song starts up, and Max places a hand at my waist. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I slip my hand into his. My body presses close, and my head rests near the collar of his shirt. I can smell all the things that are Max. An undefinable scent that I’ve come to know as just him.
My eyes close and a hundred memories cling to this.
Max in the studio leaning toward me, a curious look on his face as his hands brush over something I’ve drawn.
Max walking with me to dinner, his steps crossing into mine, causing his shoulder to gently bump me.
Max on Halloween walking ahead of me, leading the way under the moonlight.
Max’s scent on my blanket at Grandee’s, and the way I pressed my face against it, trying to capture him.
Max Max Max.
I don’t know when he started to consume my thoughts, but he’s all I can think about.
“Max.” His name is a whisper on my lips, but he must hear it, because his hand tightens on my fingers.
“Nieve, I need—”
But before he can finish, there’s a gasp as several heads turn toward the doors, and Max and I break apart like shrapnel.
Grandee stands at the open doors, pulling a sheep back from the guests he’s gotten too close to. Her lime-green crushed-velvet dress is worn thin in places, and on her feet are a pair of Blundstone boots.
“Logan!” she yells and pulls him back. “Stay away from that silk skirt, you heathen.”
Suddenly, the entire room realizes who has arrived. People start to whisper, and some of the braver ones start to make their way toward her.
But she doesn’t seem to notice. She sees me standing in the middle of the dance floor, and I watch, in horror, as she begins cutting through people in the crowd toward me, an air of royalty surrounding her as people move out of the way.
“Damn it,” I mutter and move to meet her.
“Nieve. I need to talk to you,” Max says as he stands in my path. There’s an urgency in his voice that I’m still trying to assess when Grandee reaches us instead.
She smiles. “My girl.”
“Grandee.” I kiss both her cheeks. “Why is there a sheep here?”
“Logan wanted to come. He’s very generous like that. I told you he was coming.”
When she had said that even sheep must attend, I thought she was just being her weird self. Even for Grandee, this seems out of the realm of normal. “So you brought Logan?”
“He always makes the right choice.”
I lean toward her. “Are you doing this so they won’t invite you back?”
She scoffs and plucks a canapé off a passing tray, popping it into her mouth. Around her bite, she says, “As if I would ever be that lucky.”
“Grandee.”
“Don’t worry, my love. Everything is going to be fine.” She surveys the room and all the eyes on us. “I’m going to take Logan outside. The smell of ambition is a little too much in here.”
It’s only after she walks out the back doors that I realize Max is still standing next to me.