Chapter 2 #2
“Thursdays?” I dramatically scrunch my eyebrows together and look towards the ceiling, pretending to think over my plans. I was never great at lying, and even worse at acting, but I need to sell this performance. “I’m..” Pause for dramatic effect. “Definitely busy on Thursdays nights. Yeah. Sorry.”
My hands go up and I hope it’s convincing. I know exactly what I’m doing Thursday night, and most weekday nights. Absolutely nothing. After classes, there’s rarely anything for me to do other than procrastinate assignments or waste away watching video essays.
For all they know, though, it’s my busiest day of the week.
“Oh.” Keller glances at his plate for a second before snapping his attention back at me. “Doing what?”
“I’m...” Still trying to figure a way out of this. My father’s rent payments make a job unnecessary, so there’s no work excuse I can make. No random one-off I can use, because this needs to be a long-term out.
Every pair of eyes around the table are on me. Pressure is building up so quickly in my throat, I blurt out the first half-assed excuse I can think of.
“I have a class project to work on. Very important. Worth a lot of my grade.”
I smile, a small one, trying to look apologetic. It’s not a horrible lie, so long as my father doesn’t cross check with my professors. That’s not something he’d be above.
The few seconds of relief deteriorate when he presses.
“And you can’t work on that later? Or before we have dinner together?”
I strain my fake smile bigger.
“Nope. Specifically needs to be on Thursday nights.”
It wasn’t my intention to build tension around the table, but I’m hyperaware of the silence.
“Your brother is finally going to be making his way back to Boston,” my father says.
I draw blood on the inside of my cheek. I’ve been in Boston my whole life, but there were no weekly family dinners for me.
“And you can’t put in the effort to make some time for him, even if it means putting off your silly artwork? ”
My mind is starting to cloud, breaths becoming shallower. Nights like these are expected to be awkward, but never to the extent of Billie and Locke staring down at their plates, Mina throwing back another glass of wine, and Keller’s staring at me in a challenge.
I just wanted my damn classes paid off. I didn’t think subjecting myself to weekly reminders of the family I didn’t have was part of the deal. Hearing him insult my greatest passion wasn’t supposed to be included, either.
Under the table, I grip the side of my thigh and push on. “My life’s work isn’t silly,” I say through gritted teeth. “Regardless, I’m very busy on Thursdays.”
My father leans over his plate, narrowing in on me. Billie and Locke fall deeper into their chairs.
I think he’s trying to intimidate me, but from here, he’s not very menacing. His tie falls into the whipped cream of his plate and the water glass in front of him enlarges his face like a magnifying glass. If I wasn’t trying so hard to sell this lie, I might’ve chuckled at how ridiculous he looks.
“What’s the real reason, Grant?”
“I told you.” I lie again. “I have a very important group project to work on. Thursdays only.” My shoulders shrug. I pull out the one thing my father seems to truly care about, and say, “It’s a shame that’s the day of Locke’s internship. Guess you’ll have to eat as a family, without me.”
Keller starts to open his mouth, maybe to comment on my subtle dig, but a man dressed in a suit walks over and taps him on the shoulder.
I’m thankful for the interruption. To get me out of stumbling through an explanation of this fake assignment, and because it causes Keller to tell everyone dinner must be wrapped up immediately.
I managed to get away scotch free. Tonight is one of the few unpleasant McCarthy experiences I have to deal with, and I won’t be forced to see the rest of them anytime soon.
A bell rings when I step into Caramel my perfectly seated view in front of the window, right where I can see Boston come to life, or turn my chair to observe the shop’s interior. The first time I sat there, I knocked out three drawings in one day. I haven’t found anywhere that inspires me as much.
I keep an eye on my seat until I reach the front of the line.
“What can I get you?” A familiar voice asks, hand already reaching for the medium size I get my drinks in.
I bite back a smile. Almost every employee has memorized my order, but knowing she remembers it, and remembers me, is one of the reasons I keep coming back.
Her short-stature and wavy hair have been ingrained into my thoughts since the day we met. I have good memories of Lily, even if they’re exclusively connected to a group project.
When our professor announced she was my partner for our comms final, I didn’t need to be pointed in her direction.
Lily was a stand-out from the first day, always engrossed with lessons and answering our professor’s questions easily.
Beyond her intelligence, it was hard to ignore a girl as gorgeous as her.
When we were forced to share one fun fact about ourselves and why we decided to take a required class, eyes gravitated towards her and never fully left. Mine included. The start of class is irrelevant most of the time. Going over the synopsis and reminding students attendance is mandatory.
I only remember a few things from that day. Her perfectly sun-kissed skin, despite it being Boston in the fall, was one of them.
Lily still holds her glow now, under the fluorescent café lights.
I smile when I notice she’s halfway through writing my order on the cup. I answer her question to be courteous, not because she needs it.
“One medium iced matcha cloud latte.”
She slides my cup to her coworker and taps the register’s screen. “Anything else?”
Her hazel eyes finally connect with mine and my smile grows. “Just that.”
After paying and scrolling through conspiracy theory forums while other people get their orders, I grab my drink and head to my workspace for the next three or so hours.
I wasn’t totally lying on Thursday—I do have a project for Art History to work on.
The sip of matcha is perfect. Creamy and earthy and sweet. Exactly what I need before taking out my sketchbook and working on a piece that has absolutely nothing to do with my Art History class.
I won’t stress myself on starting now. The due date is the do date, and that’s not until the end of the school year.