Chapter 1 #3
But I remind myself I’m one of them, too.
We all go to the same school after all. Who cares when or how I got here?
And also Dalton invited me himself. I should at least come in to see him.
So I knock on the door and wait for someone to open it.
But a minute goes by with no answer. Then I check the handle and realize it’s unlocked. I push it open myself and head inside.
There are no shoes in the entryway, which probably means I should leave them on.
I follow the sound down the hall and into the main room, where everyone’s standing around, mingling.
Thankfully, there are a few people I know from class.
Maybe I can go over and say hi at some point.
Then I look around for Dalton. He’s on the other side of the room, talking to someone I don’t recognize.
I don’t want to interrupt his conversation, so I just grab a drink from the table and mill around the room.
His place is really beautiful. The walls are covered with artwork of all sizes, and the carpet reminds me of the rooms at the hotel. Some guy in a cashmere sweater approaches me and says, “A friend of Dalton’s?”
I smile. “We have class together. I’m Evan.”
“You go to Bucknall? I haven’t seen you before. The name’s Julius.”
“Oh, like the juice,” I say.
“I suppose.” He gives me a look. “Where did you say you’re from again?”
“New Brunswick.”
“I see.”
Someone comes to join our conversation. It’s the girl who came to the café with Dalton a few months ago.
Her name is Cornelia, and her family owns a couple art galleries in Hoboken.
I only know this from an article I found on the school’s website.
She tilts her glass at me and says, “I know you . . . Aren’t you the guy who works at the sandwich place? ”
“It’s a café,” I correct her.
Julius looks at me. “You work at a café?”
“Just a few times a week.”
“Is it like a form of punishment or do you just really like coffee?” Cornelia smiles and takes a sip of her drink.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” she says. “Like last summer, my parents made me give swim lessons to my cousin for talking back to them. They thought it would help me build character. All that happened was my cousin almost drowned and now she’s afraid of water.”
“No one’s forcing me.”
“So it’s just for fun or what?”
I can’t tell if she’s trying to embarrass me.
I consider giving an honest answer to see what she has to say about it.
Then I remember something my mom said. She spent most of her life working for wealthy families and learned how to behave around them.
One thing she told me was, “Never tell them how much harder we work. They don’t pity people like us.
They will never see you as an equal. Even if you work your way to the top, they will think you stole it from them.
So always keep it to yourself, because some of them will use it against you. ”
I still don’t truly understand this. But she spent more time in these circles than I have. So I make up an answer. “It’s a management position.”
“For a high school junior?”
“My uncle owns it,” I lie. “He’s showing me how to . . . run a business.”
Cornelia looks at me and says, “Dalton told me your mom used to be a maid at his family’s hotel.”
This catches me off guard. I didn’t realize anyone else knew this. Not that it was meant to be a secret. “She was the housekeeping manager,” I say.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize there was a difference.”
We stare at each other. But I don’t say anything back. I’ve never been ashamed of my mom and what she did to take care of us. Cornelia smiles and turns her attention to Julius. Thankfully, the conversation moves to something else.
I finish my drink, which I use as an opportunity to get another one. I look for Dalton again, but he’s gone. He must have stepped into the kitchen or something. So I join another circle of people and introduce myself.
Most of them have known Dalton since freshman year.
They talk about the places they traveled to over the summer.
I’m expecting stories about dinner with a view of the Eiffel Tower.
But they’re places I haven’t heard of like Sainte-Marie, Lofoten, and somewhere in Italy that starts with a P. I remind myself to look them up later.
Someone mentions how beautiful the masserias are.
It’s like they’re speaking another dialect.
I’m not really sure how to chime in. It’s something I’ve noticed these past few months at Bucknall.
Their conversations feel like microtests to see who shares the same tastes in food and music. Maybe travel is another one of them.
I excuse myself before it’s my turn to go. I spent last summer watching C-dramas with my grandparents in Queens. But I wish I got the chance to travel more. Maybe I’ll look into internships that let me study abroad for a few weeks. Then I’ll have stories to share at these parties.
I think about grabbing another drink. But maybe I should just head out. I told Aunt Hi?n I’d pick up a few things on the way back. As I step into the hallway, someone touches my shoulder.
“Hey.” Dalton stops me. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving already.”
“Hey! No, I was looking for you.”
He smiles. “Sorry, had to grab somebody a charger. Glad you made it. Hope it’s a good time.”
“Yeah, your place is incredible.”
“I’ll tell my parents. It’s a bit dated, if you ask me.” He chuckles a little. “I want to show you something.”
“Okay.”
Dalton leads me down the hall and through a set of double doors. There’s a ten-person dining table that’s illuminated by a chandelier. In front of each chair is a beautiful set of plates and silverware.
“Is this where you have dinner?” I ask.
“We mostly save it for special occasions.” He shuts the doors behind us. “It’s my grandparents’ anniversary tomorrow so Mom’s setting things up early. What do you think of the napkins?”
I glance at the dining table. Each plate setting has a wine-colored napkin that’s folded into a triangle. But there’s one in front of me that’s shaped differently. Is this the thing he wanted to show me? I pick it up and say, “Is this supposed to be a swan?”
Dalton smiles. “Yeah. I actually folded it myself.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.”
“Thanks . . . Your mom taught it to me.”
I look at him. “My mom?”
He nods. “It was a long time ago. She was cleaning one of our rooms and found me playing with one of the towel animals. When I told her how much I liked them, she offered to teach me how to make one.”
I’m not sure what to say. I stare down at the napkin, running my hand over its familiar folds. Mom used to do this for me, too, when I was younger. It was her way of bringing joy into our small apartment.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” Dalton adds. “She was a lovely person.”
I wasn’t sure if he knew about it. It makes sense, though. She had been working at the hotel for almost fifteen years. Everyone knew who she was. I set down the napkin before the memories flood again.
“Thank you. For showing me.” Then I turn back to face him. “And thanks again for the invite.”
“Don’t mention it. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “It’s nice to finally hang outside of school.”
“For sure. As much as I love world history.”
We laugh a little. Dalton steps closer to me.
“And I don’t have to see you in the boring uniform,” he says, taking me in for the first time. He runs his finger over my sweater. “I like this on you. Where’s it from?”
“It’s vintage,” I answer.
“I can tell . . .”
We stare at each other. His blue eyes are shining from the glow of the chandelier.
He’s standing so close, I can feel the warmth of him.
I breathe in the clean scent of his cologne.
As he leans forward, I realize that I am, too.
Then our lips press together, and I feel his hands wrap around me.
I wonder if he planned this. Asking me to follow him into the other room.
My heart is racing in my chest. I can’t believe I’m kissing Dalton Claremont.
Someone calls his name from the hallway. Then we finally pull away from each other. I still feel the warmth from his lips . . .
“We should probably head back,” he says.
“You are the host.”
Dalton smiles at me. Then we return to the living room together. We don’t bring up what happened as we join a group of his friends. I listen to them talk about school and what they did over the break. But all I can think about is our kiss. It’s like our own secret.
I don’t stay for too much longer. There’s some work I have to do for class anyway. I say goodbye and make my way out. My heart is still pounding as I bike all the way back home.
Dalton and I start texting each other more.
He has practice every day, so I don’t see him much outside of school.
I’m also focused on my finals. But we start hanging out more in the summer.
He comes by the café and waits until I get off work.
We grab smoothies across the street and walk around the neighborhood.
He shows me his favorite Italian place, where the waiters all know him and serve us wine without checking IDs.
We visit a few free museums over the weekend.
I show him the park near where I grew up and we kiss under the footbridge.
Of course, Dalton’s family has several trips planned.
He spends a whole month in Europe, sending me photos from Lake Como and a wedding in Mallorca.
Sadly, I’m stuck in Jersey. But I use the time productively.
I work on college applications and complete my volunteer hours for the Honor Society.
I’m also working on an article that’s being published in the school newspaper.
Still, I wish I was able to travel around the world with Dalton. Try different foods and lie on the beach together. But I just count down the days until he returns. At least we have all of senior year to make up for it.