Chapter Seventeen #2
Marcee had definitely missed New York (and her parents, to a degree), but she was shocked by how it paled in comparison to how much she missed Remy.
Since the break, his texts had been few and far between, which was fine—he was soaking up time with his family, primarily his mom, aunt and cousins.
Since Remy was an only child—like her—he’d grown up tight-knit with his extended family.
They’d had one call a few days into her trip while she sat outside on her parents’ tiny patio.
She’d wanted more, but between the time difference and her need to play it cool, things had been depressingly quiet.
Maybe it would’ve been different if she had actual friends to catch up with in the city, but the only friend she’d ever had was also her high school sweetheart and the guy she’d ghosted.
Somehow, she didn’t think he’d want to chat.
So sadly, when her parents offered to take her to dinner before her trip ended, she jumped on the chance.
“We’re eating at The Agora?” Marcee asked that night, dumbfounded. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been to the neighborhood treasure. They could never afford it growing up.
“Don’t act so surprised!” her mom admonished, pushing her through the front door. “You act like we never ate in restaurants when you were younger.”
They didn’t, especially the nice places. She tugged on the door handle, carved into the shape of a bundle of grapes. In fact, the one time Marcee ate there was with Eli and his parents. It seemed pointless to bring it up, though.
“Hurry, sunshine.” Her dad urged her forward, through the entryway and into the lobby. Hot air wrapped around them, thawing the chill coating their skin from the walk over. “It’s too cold to linger.”
As a hostess started collecting their coats, she spun around, anxious.
“Let’s go somewhere else. This isn’t exactly a teacher’s salary type place, you know?
” She’d be dipping into her savings to cover them all.
Earthy hints of lamb and rosemary danced from the back of the building, teasing her taste buds and making her mouth water.
Stay, the smell seemed to whisper, indulge yourself.
Dad chuckled as he unwound his navy-blue scarf. “Calm down, Marcee. We have this covered.”
“How?” she asked shrilly, hurrying to catch up as they were led to a table in the main room. The blue sweater dress she never wore because it rode up her legs reminded her why she didn’t wear it. She tugged at the end as she trailed behind, fingernails catching on her tights.
“You’ll see,” her mom answered cryptically, eyebrow raised.
All manner of horrors flashed across her mind: all three of them washing dishes in the back, her parents doing a sly drug deal in the alley with the manager.
She was fairly certain they didn’t do or deal drugs, but really, what else could be going on?
There was no way the “Can’t pay both the electric and water bill in one month” Ackermans could afford a dinner on a Saturday night at The Agora.
“Your waiter will be right with you. Enjoy your meal.” The hostess left menus on their table and floated off, oblivious to Marcee’s ensuing panic. She double-checked that her wallet was in her purse as they sat, emergency credit card tucked inside.
“Marcee,” her mom said conversationally, laying a cloth napkin across her lap. “Look up.”
“Huh? Why?” There were so many people there to inevitably witness their embarrassment when the check came out and they didn’t have the funds to pay.
“Just look, sweetie.”
Begrudgingly, she cast her eyes to the ceiling. It was painted in the style of the High Renaissance, depicting billowing clouds and angels, and women in flowing robes next to scantily clad gods. It was classic and sensual.
“Lovely,” she replied, admiring the skill and endurance it must’ve taken.
“That is how we are eating here,” her dad said proudly before plucking the wine menu from the center of the table. “That was our last commission.”
“You two painted that?” Marcee repeated, at a loss. It wasn’t at all like what they normally do. It was too safe.
“Shocking, I know!” Her mom rolled her eyes, a coy smile on her berry-painted lips. “It’s so conventional. But the price was right, and it’s good to expand your artistic eye, you know? Stretch your limits and see what you’re capable of. It’s how you grow.”
Thoughts warred inside Marcee’s head. On the one hand, she was immensely proud of them.
The work was stunning, by any standard. On the other hand, she thought of all the times she had to shower at school because their water was shut off, or when the only meal she had that day was at school because they forgot to get groceries.
They never compromised their “artistic values” for commercial commissions, even when they had no money. She was the child of starving artists.
Cold water from the crystal glasses arranged on the table washed down her throat, but it didn’t take away the sting of resentment completely.
She took a second to close her eyes and recalibrate.
Twelve more hours and she’d be back home, back home to Remy and Alex—people who understood the concept of taking care of the ones you love.
“It’s great,” she finally answered, opening her eyes and smiling. “Now, let’s order. I, for one, could eat a whole lamb!” Marcee didn’t suppose she could make up for twenty-four years of living without in one night, but she sure as hell was going to try.
In between bites of their pastitsio and tzatziki, they peppered her with questions about her life, coercing her into telling them everything about Remy. She was so off kilter that they were showing any interest in her personal life that she indulged them.
“I knew you were seeing someone. You have a glow about you.” Her mom sipped at her tea, no doubt readying a few intrusive questions about Marcee’s sex life.
Her parents had always been very openly physical with their relationship, so it wasn’t unusual to walk in on them making out in the living room, much to her horror as a teenager.
“Leftover summer tan. Southern summers are brutal,” she joked.
Her dad’s hand found her mom’s next to her plate, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. “Don’t be bashful, sunshine. We’re happy for you.”
Marcee stabbed a piece of lamb with her fork with gusto.
“It’s new. I don’t really want to discuss it in depth.
We’re both in our twenties and trying to keep it fun and casual.
” That was a lie, at least for her. She’d steamrolled past casual and was desperately hoping Remy had, too.
Otherwise, his fun and casual might look a lot like seeing old flames while out of town.
Shit. Why couldn’t she stop thinking of Remy with Lola? She’d never been this insecure.
“And that’s fine!” her mom threw out, nodding encouragingly. “Fun is fine.”
It was ironic, really. The only thing her parents had ever taken seriously and nurtured and cared for obsessively was their marriage.
She was past the point of a full stomach, but she ate another bite anyway, the food too good to waste. Honestly, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk about Remy. She could gush about that man all day, but part of her didn’t want their relationship psychoanalyzed—by her or her parents.
“Oh, my. Is that Eli and his parents?” Her mom leaned to the side, staring in a not-so-subtle way across the restaurant. “It is! He’s coming over. How wonderful, Marcee. I bet it’s been years since you’ve seen each other!”
Every noise in the restaurant became too loud.
The clank of forks on plates, the braying laughter of the man two tables over, the pour of water in glasses.
Her knuckles were pink and white where they gripped the edge of the tablecloth and Marcee was transfixed by the lines and tiny veins running across them.
Eli.
She hadn’t seen him since he was in the hospital after his accident. When the going got tough, she got going. Even though he’d been there for her every day since they met in ninth grade and every day after her heart stopped and she was hospitalized, she left him after just six days.
Like it was slow motion, the memory of the worst night of her life flashed before her eyes.
‘Perfect’ by Ed Sheeran played on the speakers of the ballroom and, normally, Marcee would’ve found the entire affair ridiculously cheesy. Instead, she was wrapped in Eli’s arms, his hands playing with the ends of her hair as they swayed on the dance floor.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
Marcee rolled her eyes. “A few times.”
Eli grinned. “Then I have at least a few more to go.”
She wasn’t sure how she got so lucky with Eli, but she couldn’t imagine her future without him.
Soon, they’d be at college, ruling the soccer field and living together, like they’d always planned.
No more flaky parents, no more side job at Tony’s to pay for things.
She was finally going to have a semi-normal life.
“Marcee?”
She blinked at him, realizing she’d drifted off into her fantasy. “Sorry, what?”
“I need to tell you something.”
Eli’s tone was strange, something she couldn’t place. Her stomach clenched in response.
“What is it?” she asked, bracing her hands on his shoulders as they continued to sway.
“At the end of last school year, I was the one who told the counselor.”
The edges of Marcee’s vision blurred, Ed Sheeran replaced by a high-pitch whistle as the world seemed to tip out of alignment.
He’d sworn he didn’t know who said anything—swore he didn’t know who had been responsible for her spending the entire summer going to an outpatient recovery center for her eating disorder.
Her hands fell from his shoulders as she stepped back, away.
“You?” she gasped.
He looked stricken and in pain, reaching for her. “I had to save you, Marcee. I couldn’t do it any other way. You wouldn’t let me help you and you were fading right in front of me.”