Chapter 7
“AUDREY, DID YOU THROW PARTIES IN VIENNA?” Griff asked.
A few of us were clustered at the bar, all drinking fresh beers.
I’d ditched the karaoke scene as soon as the applause for Ellie died down, not wanting to risk eye contact with her.
The current knot in my chest told me I should’ve asked for her blessing to go out with, let alone flirt with, Henry.
Oops.
“It’s like you have this down to a science,” he added as I took an anxious sip of my fourth or fifth beer. The basement had grown very warm. “Jason had to throw, like, ten before they got good.”
“Try three.” Jason rolled his eyes, then looked at me. He was pretty smashed. “He’s right, though. Parties are”—he made sloppy air quotes—“‘a learning experience.’”
“Not for Audrey.” Griff grinned, and I wondered if he noticed Henry’s arm around me. “Tonight’s been electric.”
“Wow, thank you!” I heard myself gush, both blushing and brightening. “My cousin actually—”
“Hey, what’s that?” Jason blurted, and we turned to see him pointing at a glass sculpture behind the bar. It was one of my few conceptual pieces; most people interpreted it as a wave. I’d blown it after a father-daughter trip to Hawaii last year, and given it to my dad as a birthday gift.
“That’s Audrey’s,” Henry said proudly. “She blew that.”
Jason snickered. “Blew?”
“Made,” I simplified, to discourage middle school humor. “I made that.”
Griff whistled. “You’re ridiculously talented.”
“She is,” Ellie chimed in, popping the tab of a fresh LaCroix. No more hard seltzers for her. “It’s too bad Blue Ridge isn’t going to happen.”
“Huh?” Griff said. I was also confused. I hadn’t told many people about applying to Blue Ridge. Ellie had twisted it out of me a couple of months ago, after catching me smiling at my phone. I’d been rereading my acceptance email for the hundredth time.
But Henry must’ve let the part about my unsupportive parents slip…
I elbowed him in the ribs.
He took that as permission to enlighten everyone.
“Audrey got into this competitive blowing program for next year,” he said. “It’s at Blue Ridge Glass School in North Carolina. But her parents won’t let her go.”
“Holy shit.” Griff looked impressed. “Why not? Haven’t they seen you blow glass?”
“Not as often as you’d think,” I said lightly, then shook my head. “It’s complicated, but basically, they want me to go to college. Most of the program’s tuition is already covered by scholarships and donor funding, but they refused to pay the rest.”
“How much is left?” Mia asked.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
A lot of eyes widened.
“You have to go, Audrey,” Griff said, killing his beer. “This is a huge deal.”
I know, I thought sadly. It might be the hugest deal ever.
“When does the program start?” Kenzie hiccupped. “You can spend this summer working your ass off, right?”
“The fellowship starts in July,” I said, but the light died in Griff’s and his friends’ glazed-over eyes when I mentioned that the tuition was due tomorrow.
“Oh,” Kenzie said weakly. “That’s… well…” I actually saw her gulp. “Soon.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Are you sure you don’t have the money, Audrey?” Mia asked. “Not even a little emergency fund? My mom makes me keep a thousand dollars set aside at all times. You know, just in case.”
Emergency fund.
My mind started to wander, but then Henry caught my eye and imperceptibly shook his head.
Right, I thought. Right, this is not an emergency.
Or was it?
Blowing glass at Blue Ridge was my dream; I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything. And in a couple of hours, my chance would slip through my fingers.
The gnawing in the pit of my stomach told me I would never forgive myself if I let that happen. I tried to ignore the ache by shrugging Henry off so I could hop up from the couch and clap my hands before gesturing at the piano bar. “Who wants to harmonize with me?”
After all, I still hadn’t sung a song.
BY MIDNIGHT, ONLY HENRY AND I WERE LEFT IN the house.
Curfews existed and were apparently followed.
Unbeknownst to me, several people had been sober monitors, so Griff, Kenzie, and anyone else unable to walk in a straight line had DDs.
Ellie was one of them; I’d given her extra Rice Krispies treats to bring home, but I couldn’t remember her thanking me.
She’d just given me this anxious, wary look.
“What a wild night, right?” I asked Henry as he made us late-night grilled cheeses. “Didn’t you have, like, the best time? My dad’s going to be pissed Griff got a bogey on St. Andrews’s tenth hole, but whatever.” I smiled an award-winning grin. “We deserve a Grammy for our performance!”
“I’m glad you think so,” Henry said wryly. “I, however, have to disagree…” He flipped our sandwiches onto two paper towels and handed me one. Who needed plates? “Considering there was no performance.”
“What?” I said through a mouthful of melted cheddar and Gruyère. We Barbours were quite passionate about our cheeses. “We didn’t duet?”
He smirked and shook his head. “You’re so wasted, Hepburn.”
I gave him the middle finger, even though I couldn’t count the number of Griffin Keeler–sponsored drinks I’d had. “What did you think about Ellie’s act?” I asked, because we hadn’t talked about it yet.
Henry chewed with his mouth closed, like a civilized human. “Chase opted to hang out with the rest of the douche canoe club tonight, so it was probably less about us and more about her being pissed over that.” He paused. “Things will be much more telling when he leaves for his internship.”
“Oh my god,” I groaned. “Again, you and long-distance romance…”
“It never works!” he countered.
“Yes, it does!” I disagreed. “It can!”
“Oh yeah? Give me an example.”
“Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, especially during the Eras Tour.”
“Okay, but they’re not real people,” Henry said. “She’s a billionaire with a private jet. Chase can’t move the same mountains she does.”
“He doesn’t need to,” I pointed out. “He’s only going to be an Amtrak ride away, not entire continents.”
Henry opened his mouth, then closed it.
Declaring myself victorious, I grinned and toasted him with my grilled cheese before shoving the last of it in my mouth. “I don’t think their relationship is perfect,” I clarified. “I just don’t think it’ll crumble because of the distance.”
“Touché,” he said begrudgingly, then gestured through the kitchen archway. “Do you want to watch something?”
After sprawling on the family room’s expansive sunken couch, we ended up scrolling through the entirety of Netflix before settling on Anyone but You.
I wanted to watch it for Glen Powell, and Henry acquiesced, tired of me unconvincingly musing “Maybe…” to his suggestions.
“This is a terrible movie,” he said after a while. “Truly.”
“What? You don’t like the plot?” I nodded at the flatscreen, currently seventy inches of Sydney Sweeney poolside.
“She’s not my type,” Henry said evenly, before turning to me. We made eye contact. “You feel comfortable with me, right?”
I laughed. “What kind of question is that?”
“A regular one.”
“Random, though.”
He sighed. “Okay, a random but regular question.”
“You literally watched me gobble up a grilled cheese like a scraggly street urchin,” I said. “Of course I’m comfortable with you. You’re my best friend.”
“Good.” He smiled before his expression shifted to serious. “Then why,” he said, “are you so jumpy when we try to act like something more?”
Mind somehow both spinning and slowing from tonight’s festivities, I didn’t fully comprehend his question at first.
Why are you so jumpy when we try to act like something more?
Oh, I realized at the same time I said aloud, “Oh.”
Henry raised a brow and paused the movie, waiting for me to answer.
“I guess it’s just a little strange,” I admitted. “I know we need to do this, but we’ve been friends for so long… it’s going to take some time to figure out how we fit together as an us.” I shrugged. “I’m used to seeing you with your arm around Ellie, not feeling it around me.”
He nodded, pensive. “It seems wrong somehow.”
“Yes, but also no.” I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Thank you for clarifying,” he deadpanned.
“It doesn’t feel very natural,” I went on. “We’ve only touched in public. It’s not like we’re all close and cozy together when we hang out alone.”
“I suppose that’s fair,” Henry said. “Sixty percent of the time we’re alone, you’re blowing glass and I’m managing Golightly Glass’s affairs.”
“Right,” I agreed, pulse picking up.
Neither of us said anything for a few beats.
“Well…” Henry ventured. “We’re not in the hot shop now.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe we should practice a little.”
“Practice how?”
“Like this.” He moved down the long couch, coming closer and closer until he was right next to me. There was barely an inch between us. “May I?” he asked, gently wrapping one arm around me once I nodded.
My body stiffened. This felt different from the play we put on at the party.
“Yep, you’re doing it,” Henry said. “Your vertebrae have straightened—”
“They have not.”
“—and you’re holding your breath.”
I exhaled. “That’s not fair,” I told him. “You’re pointy!”
“Pointy?” Henry looked at me, bemused. “What does that mean?”
“It means pointy,” I said, residual alcohol preventing me from flipping through my mental thesaurus. “Your sharp bones keep poking me.”
He responded by lightly poking my cheek with his index finger. “You mean like that?”
“Henry.”
Another poke.
“Stop!” I started laughing. “I’m serious.”
To combat the third poke, I launched a tickle attack on his ribs. His mom had once mentioned he’d been incredibly ticklish as a little boy. Was he still?
Affirmative, and I had to admit his squirming was pretty cute—the way he squeezed his eyes shut, turtled his shoulders, and protectively wrapped his arms around himself. I felt his abs tighten under his T-shirt. His breathing grew short, but I only let up when he panted: “I’m—going—to—pass—out.”