Chapter 20
W e’re halfway through the orchestrated version of The Phantom of the Opera when I excuse myself to go to the ladies room.
Hiding between a toilet and a stall door is the closest I’m getting to peace around here. Not that I have anyone to blame because I chose this myself.
There’s nothing professional about how I feel towards you.
I lean my back against the stall.
His touch.
I rest a hand over my hip. It doesn’t feel the same.
Seeing an orchestra has been on my bucket list since I first saw my middle school band perform a terrible version of Adele’s Hello . Yet, it doesn’t feel special—or worth checking off and I don’t know why.
Rhys yawning twice might have been a reason.
Or the way it doesn’t feel right with him.
Would it feel right with Dean?
I can’t help but think it would. If I truly let myself want him, all the small things would feel big.
My phone buzzes .
You are currently on a date. You now have the option to choose to stick with your date or pick a new one. If you and your date choose to stay, you may continue your night. However, if you choose to stay but your date doesn’t, you have to head back to the house.
They really take this show seriously.
I’m not a terrible person, I came here with Rhys and I’m going to end my night with him. It’s only natural for me to do that.
But right when I’m about to head back into the orchestra, I get another message.
Your date has chosen someone else.
Please head back to the house without saying goodbye.
Consider this bucket-list item a complete fail.
And a reminder of all men being liars.
Shutting the room door behind me, my phone beeps.
Rosa
Tell me why I come home after a long week to see you on my TV?
She sends a picture of my first interview. Crap .
Please don’t tell Ate.
Incoming call – Rosa
“Before you get mad, please know that it’s not what you think.”
She scoffs. “Nova, if you don’t explain what’s going on right now I’m assuming the actual worst and telling Nadine and our parents.”
“You’re supposed to be the chill sister.”
“You’re forgetting that I’m also your older sister.” She moves around, presses a button, slumps down. “Just because I’m chill and understanding, doesn’t mean I won’t act like a responsible adult when I have to. Tell me why you’re on a dating show?”
Should I lie or tell her the truth?
“I need the money.”
Leaning back against the headboard, I stare at the camera in the corner.
“Money for what?” She sounds genuinely confused. “You have a good paying job, unless this is some kind of new hobby you’re trying out.”
“No,” I say. Working to find the words, racking my brain, I don’t know. Anything. Nothing makes sense. “Do you remember Ms. Cartwright?”
“Don’t change the topic,” she sternly says.
“Can you wait? This is related.”
“Fine. And yes, I remember her.”
Blowing out a breath, I tell her the truth.
Rosa remains silent. Processing. Thinking.
“With your job, you can easily pay that off.”
Here it comes. “I quit my job.”
“Come again?” There's an odd octave to her voice.
“I’m a florist,” I whisper it. “It’s been a little over two years now.”
“Nova,” she sighs, and it comes out helplessly like she can’t believe I quit editing to arrange flowers. “Just because a couple of our neighbours said you make pretty flowers or are the plant whisperer, doesn’t mean you go and do that.”
“Is that really what you’re stuck on?” She fixates on the wrong parts and then starts lecturing me.
“Kind of have to be when you don’t even have fifteen fucking thousand.”
“Stop swearing. ”
“Christ, do you have a brain, Nova? When we send you out to live on your own, you don’t do stupid shit like quitting your job and dilly-dallying in Toronto.
It’s expensive as fuck and you can’t afford it.
” She keeps going. “This is why I was against you living alone. Hell, you couldn’t even go inside Superstore alone to buy chips.
Should’ve known this was going to happen. ”
My palm turns hot and sweaty. “I told you, so you’d understand.”
“How the hell am I supposed to understand when you’re being stupid?” She exasperates. “This is the real world, Nova. You can’t quit your job because you feel like it or because it’s not fun. You get through it even if you hate it.”
“You’re the one who once told me to follow my dreams,” my voice cracks.
“If those dreams are this then fuck them. Stop finding the easy way out.” Deep breath buzzes through the receiver. “We should’ve stopped babying you and let you take care of yourself like Ma and Dad did to me and Ate . Maybe then you would’ve grown up.”
Her words are a natural disaster that ends my world.
Torn apart. Absolutely abolished .
“I’ve been going through a lot.” I say, teary-eyed. Slow heartbeats drum against my sternum, before slowly, meticulously, almost evilly, they begin picking up their pace.
They crawl against the cages of my rib and tie themselves to my lungs, their ragged teeth morphing into poison that melts into every neighbouring organ.
I’m left clutching my thigh and fisting the material of my silk slip-on.
“Okay and?” She scoffs, “I’m going through a lot too. Doesn’t mean you use that as an excuse.”
I hang up and shove my phone aside, banging on my chest. Finding a reprieve. Looking around, there’s nothing to point out but the hazy images of eyesight stopping me from clearing sinuses.
Drawers pull open left and right, but nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Maybe then you would’ve grown up.
I sigh in relief when I see the blue cover peeking from beneath Hina’s makeup.
Your date didn’t pick you.
The relief dissipates the second I grab the colouring book and markers, only to find every one of the pages coloured in.
Damn it. I shove it to the side.
My phone buzzes.
Rosa
I don’t know what the hell that was, but don’t think you can talk to me like that and hang up the phone. So fucking disrespectful.
All the blood drains from my face.
I thought our relationship was going to get stronger when Ate got married, but it didn’t. If anything, it became more strained. And I was left giving half-assed apologies because Ate tells me to always be the bigger person. And I try, I swear I try. But no matter how much I do, it’s never enough.
Shame morphs into my skin and becomes my new mask.
I’ve been pacing outside for the past hour. My inner demons are shaking hands instead of fighting and that’s what makes me nervous.
My dumbhead thought I’d be okay surviving off of one colouring book this summer.
In my defence, it had over two hundred pages.
I’m currently losing my mind .
Everyone’s out on a date.
Except me.
On top of that, Rosa knows now. Then we had a fight.
She’s going to tell Ate , I know she is.
She never keeps anything to herself. Then Ate is going to be disappointed in me and with her being pregnant, she’ll feel utterly sad and unwell, and it’ll all be because of me.
More than that, she’ll need her space to think, and I don’t want to give her space.
See, this is why I need my colouring books.
A small, fallen tree branch catches my attention.
Screw it. It’s my only option.
I crouch down and start rubbing the end of the stick, using the end of the stick on grass like it’s a colouring pencil.
I rub and rub until the green prickles pull out from their places and scatter around the ground.
Instead of dry soil, wet mud emerges and flings onto me, but I give it no attention.
I’m immersed in scraping the soil until there’s nothing but a small, deep hole.
It's not enough.
In frustration, I drop the stick and stand.
A cold chill traverses through the small yard. Beyond me is a view of iridescent blue light shining down upon the lakes.
“Nova.”
The deep rumble of his voice causes me to stumble over my feet and just as I’m about to greet the ground, his large hand warps around my waist and keeps me upright.
Warmth spreads through my abdomen and across my cheeks.
“Are you okay?” His breath fans against my ear.
Withholding my quivering breaths, I pull away from him. My hands automatically rub up and down my arms.
“Why aren’t you on your date?”
Dean clenches his jaw. “I wasn’t feeling well. ”
“Oh.” That makes sense. “What about Katarina?”
That’s when I notice that Dean’s hair is wet like he ran out of the shower and somehow teleported down here the instant he heard me outside. My skin fizzles with the sudden urge to touch him.
“Irene said she’ll take care of it.”
The moon brightens up a notch, yet it’s Dean’s green eyes that illuminate the dark night.
“You should rest, Dean.” I swallow hard.
He notices the abandoned stick near my foot and the remaining evidence of dirt that now stains my arm.
Internally, I’m smacking my forehead.
“I was gardening,” I say quickly when his gaze bore into the small muddy hole.
Gardening what?
My dignity.
“Your dignity?”
I freeze, shutting my eyes in vain. “I said that out loud.”
“You did,” he confirms with a small nod that my brain signals to me as judgment.
Anger flushes through my system. “Why does it matter whether I plant my dignity or a damn body, Mr. Vuk?”
Embarrassment clacks against my teeth before turning into an involuntary quiver. “I’m sorry,” A puff of air escapes my lips. “I’m a little anxious and I’m taking it on you.”
Dean doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t stop staring. He reads me carefully, trying to figure out whether my commas are where they’re supposed to be or if I’m a fragmented sentence.
When he says, “Wait here” in that deep voice of his, I bet he’s figured out I’m a bunch of gibberish not worth decoding.
Cool air flushes through my system, but it doesn’t make the heat of his presence disappear.
When Dean reappears, he’s holding a large bag.
“That’s mine,” I accuse with a pointed finger.
It has my colouring markers in them.
“I know,” he says without stopping.
“What are you?—”
He grabs my wrist.
“ Hello ?”