Chapter 13
“THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR HAVING ME,” I SAID as Henry poured glasses of water and Tess transferred our sushi and sashimi from their take-out boxes to two large platters.
As it turned out, Henry’s parents knew he and I weren’t actually dating.
“I want to avoid a talk,” Henry had explained the other day, but after telling Charlotte and Tess about our scheme, he got one anyway.
They thought fake dating was incredibly stupid and that Henry needed to respect Ellie’s decision, but they weren’t going to interfere.
Charlotte laughed. “Audrey, this is the fourth or fifth time you’ve had dinner with us since your parents’ plane took off,” she said. “Your gratitude is always appreciated, but not necessary.”
“We love having you!” Tess echoed, and after serving herself some of the Little Tuna’s Endless Summer roll, the topic of conversation switched to summer plans. She and Charlotte eyed Henry, who sighed.
“Relax,” he said. “Dad and I spoke today. I’m moving into the Beach House a week after graduation.”
“Good.” Charlotte nodded. “I’m glad your departure date is settled.”
I tried to swallow the giggle bubbling inside me.
“The Beach House” was Henry’s childhood nickname for his dad’s house, which was literally in Essex Harbor.
It was on the Sound like my house, only a ten-minute drive away—tops.
Henry’s parents had divorced when he was nine.
His dad, a pretty well-known comedian, lived in Manhattan when he wasn’t touring, but he spent June through September in Essex Harbor.
He and Henry were close enough that Henry gave him feedback on his jokes, and his latest Netflix special was titled Stuff My Son Says.
“What about you, Audrey?” Charlotte asked. “Blue Ridge starts in July, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “About a week after the Fourth of July.” The fish in my stomach started to swim. Henry’s parents had been so happy when I told them about my fellowship acceptance; they didn’t know my parents were totally opposed to my dream.
Blue Ridge is on the horizon, the voice in my head encouraged. It’s paid for, and you’re going to make sure it stays that way. Hosting a pair of wholesome potheads is going to pay off!
Tess was looking at me thoughtfully. “What about after your fellowship?” she asked. “What’s the next step?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “It depends on what happens at Blue Ridge.” I shifted in my chair.
“Ideally an instructor will invite me to take courses or work at another hot shop. My Brooklyn teacher says these programs involve a lot of informal networking.” I glanced at Henry, but he didn’t look like he was listening, instead too busy mulling over which piece of sashimi to eat next.
“For example, Gemma Hollister will be teaching a class at Blue Ridge. If she likes me and if I’m good enough, maybe she’ll invite me to assist her in her hot shop sometime.
Antolini Glass is based in Philadelphia. ”
“It sounds like a lot of ‘who you know,’” Tess noted. “With a dash of flying by the seat of your pants.”
I nodded. “My plan is to work really hard and make as many connections as possible so I can pick and choose opportunities.”
Charlotte swallowed a sip of water. “Have you officially deferred Wharton?”
“Not yet…” I snuck another peek at Henry, who still would not make eye contact. He was carefully mixing soy sauce and wasabi together, ensuring the proportions were on point.
“They’re very proud of you,” Henry’s mom said. “I remember running into your mother at Bedtime Stories right after you got your acceptance letter.” She smiled. “I’m sure they’re just as proud about Blue Ridge.”
“The mountains are amazing,” Tess added. “My grandparents had a cabin up there when my brother Josh and I were kids. We spent every August with them.”
We finished our meal, and then Henry and I washed and dried the dishes. “Does anyone want a brownie?” I asked. “Leslie—” I cut myself off, but it was too late.
“Who’s Leslie?” Charlotte asked.
Willing my face not to burst into flames, I fumbled for a lie. “A new neighbor,” I said. “She and her husband just moved here from Rhode Island.” I swallowed as I retrieved the pan from where it was sitting by the crisper. “She brought over brownies this morning.”
“They look delicious!” Tess exclaimed, then sighed. “But it looks like they have walnuts.”
“Shoot,” I said. Tess was allergic to tree nuts. “Charlotte?”
“I’m also going to pass,” she said. “If I have one, there won’t be enough for you and Henry.”
I giggled. Leslie’s square pan easily held brownies for ten people.
Henry nodded upstairs, two forks and some napkins in hand. “Homework?”
“Homework,” I confirmed.
“Enjoy the movie!” his parents chorused as we climbed the stairs.
HENRY’S HOUSE HAD A SMALL UPSTAIRS DEN, but he and I shut ourselves in his room since his bed was way more comfortable than the couch.
Tonight’s feature film was Ocean’s Eleven, which we’d both seen at least twelve times, but it never got old.
“‘I’m gonna get out of the car and I’m gonna drop you like third-period French,’” we simultaneously quoted as George Clooney and Brad Pitt recruited a crew for their heist, laughing like it was the first time we’d heard the line.
Henry paused his MacBook about forty-five minutes into the movie to go to the bathroom, and I unlocked my phone to check Instagram. Holy crap, I thought when I swiped through Bedtime Stories’ newest post, a series of photos. The Fishers’ drive was worth it!
Did someone say a sold-out show? the caption read. We loved seeing Dave Matthews onstage tonight and chatting about his new memoir!
The first picture was pretty iconic: Dave taking a selfie with the overwhelmingly enthusiastic audience, who all wore various DMB concert T-shirts. Bedtime Stories audiences ate up a group shot.
The final photo, to my delight, was of Dave and the Fishers. Brian and Leslie flanked the music icon as he signed their book, the identical expressions on their elated faces reading Don’t pinch me! I’m dreaming!
“They’re definitely going to need their gummies to calm down tonight,” Henry commented when I showed him the post. He smiled and shook his head. “Good for them.”
“Brownies?” I proposed before we resumed the movie. They’d somehow been forgotten in all the excitement over rewatching George, Brad, and friends knock over a triumvirate of Vegas casinos.
“Yes,” Henry agreed. “Where did you put the forks?”
We ate the brownies straight from the pan. “Oh my god…” I said, eyelids fluttering shut in sugary-sweet ecstasy. “These are so good.”
“I know.” Henry sighed. “It’s almost mind-boggling.”
I nodded. The brownies were somehow both fluffy and fudgy, and the walnuts added a satisfying crunch.
“Okay, I need to take a break,” I said after a few minutes, embarrassingly breathless. Half the pan had disappeared. “I don’t want my stomach to totally revolt.”
“Good call.” Henry put down his fork. “We’ll circle back for seconds later.”
I leaned forward and hit his laptop’s space bar, resuming the movie.
Henry settled back against the pillows, and I nestled into his side so I could relax too.
My body buzzed, sugar spinning through my veins, and I sighed happily.
“You of all people should know, Terry,” Julia Roberts said toward the end of the movie, “in your hotel, there’s always someone watching. ”
I giggled.
“What’s so funny?” Henry asked.
“This.” I pointed to the MacBook screen and giggled again. “It’s hilarious.”
Henry’s brow furrowed. “No, it’s not,” he said. “You always say it’s badass and empowering.”
“Oh, and that I love her dress.” Now outright laughing, I leaned forward—closer to Henry’s laptop, which was resting on his thighs. “Look at it shimmer!”
Julia Roberts’s sparkly halter dress almost looked 3D.
Henry abruptly sat up and glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “What’s wrong?” I asked when he started rubbing the back of his neck.
“Nothing,” he answered. “Just that my mom or Tess might come in.”
“And see what?” I waggled my eyebrows at him. “We still have most of our clothes on.”
I watched Henry’s brown eyes scan me—no, I watched his eyes take me in. My heart started singing in my chest. “You only took off your sweater,” he observed.
“I can take off more,” I offered.
It seemed we had officially committed to this bit.
“My mom might come in,” he repeated, this time in a stage whisper.
“She never comes in,” I stage-whispered back.
Henry shook his head, somehow in slow motion. “No, that’s your mom.”
I laughed.
“Shh!” Henry clapped his hand over my mouth.
I licked his palm.
He gasped and grabbed his hand as if I’d bit him. “Holly!”
“I’m seeing La La Land,” I said, looking around his room. “I mean, the room looks like La La Land—like, the end. The in-another-life epilogue. An old-fashioned camera. My vision is a”—I grappled for the technical term—“Super 8 lens.” I grimaced. “Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does.” Henry was wide-eyed and nodding. “I’m seeing you as The Theory of Everything.”
“Oh, I love that movie,” I breathed.
“Do you remember how they filmed it?” he asked. “It looked like there was an Instagram filter over every scene?”
I nodded, then put a hand on his chest. His racing heartbeat made mine quicken, too—as if it wanted to synchronize or harmonize with Henry’s. “You would look so good in a tennis sweater.” My voice was wistful. “And tails, too. You’d be dashing in a pair of tails.”
“Should I get a pair? For prom?”
I gasped. “You want to go to prom together?”
“Of course.” Henry frowned. “You’re my girlfriend.”
You’re my girlfriend.
The three words danced around in my head, spinning and twirling and leaping. They sounded so true. I knew they weren’t, but could they be?
“What about Ellie?” I asked. Because if Henry didn’t see her that way anymore…
“You and I are a couple,” he answered sagely, but goofily. “Not a throuple.”
“No, for real!” I sighed. “You want Ellie to go to prom with Chase?” I remembered eavesdropping on Ellie and her mom at Trader Joe’s. I opened my mouth and the story spilled out. Henry nodded along emphatically, seeming unsurprised.
“Of course she’s stressed,” Henry said after I finished telling him about their conversation.
Deep down, I felt guilty for sharing, but I hadn’t been able to stop myself from speaking.
In fact, I could feel my lips flapping. “When she and Chase first dated…” Henry shook his head, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead.
I wanted to push it back, and take my time doing it.
“He never pressured her or anything, but she felt like she needed to solely focus on him. There was no time for anything or anyone else. If he wanted to do something together, no matter how spontaneous, she always abandoned her plans.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Why did she even go out with him?”
Henry shrugged. “He was popular; he was charming. He has an X factor.”
“No, you have an X factor,” I corrected him as I stretched to finally comb back his hair.
It was thick, soft, and smelled like lemons.
Maybe even Italian lemons, if that was possible.
My mom had brought some back from Italy last year.
“You’re handsome, smart, witty, charismatic, and just…
” My breath caught. “Technicolor. You’re Technicolor, Henry. ”
A shy smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“I would never break up with you,” I added.
“Really?” he asked after glancing at the door again. “Not even for a walking-red-flag ex?”
I vehemently shook my head. “Red’s never been my favorite in the rainbow.”
Henry grinned and fell back against the pillows.
He was flickering and fuzzy at the edges, like Super 8 film, but perfectly framed in the center of my vision.
It made me want to melt. “You’re Technicolor too, Hepburn,” he said.
“You are strong, clever, genuine, funny, and talented and ambitious beyond belief.” He blushed.
“And even though I don’t love your new hair, I think you are beau—”
“You don’t like my hair?” I blurted.
You’ve definitely stepped up your reputation, he’d said. Why had I thought that meant he liked it?
Henry’s cheeks went from pink to red. “Wait, that’s not what I meant,” he word-vomited. “Sorry—I mean, I don’t not like it, but it’s really different.” He took a breath. “I knew you wanted me to compliment it that night, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings…”
“How else was I supposed to take it?” I was quiet for a moment, then said, “You never compliment me, Hank.”
Why am I being so damn dramatic? I wondered.
Because I was actually tearing up.
“That’s not true,” Henry said. “Not true at all. I love your brain, and I bow down to your glassblowing.” He tilted his head. “You are amazing.”
When he moved to pull me into his arms, I let him. There were definitely Italian lemons in his shampoo, straight from the Amalfi Coast. “Remember when I didn’t like touching you?” I asked.
“Vividly,” he said softly. “We were the most middle school couple ever.”
“No, I know,” I said dreamily. “Now we’re an aspirational couple.”
Henry laughed. “High praise.”
I laughed too, and propped myself up on an elbow so that we made eye contact. Henry’s brown irises swirled with liquid gold. “I like being together like this,” I said softly—truthfully. “I wasn’t sure at first, but—”
“Shit, what was that?” Henry bounced up on the mattress when we heard something in the hallway. “Mom… ?”
“Why are you paranoid?” I said when neither his mom nor Tess responded. “You’re never this anxious.”
Henry let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know; I can’t shake this jumping in my chest.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I’m sorry, I’ll relax. I promise.”
“Me too,” I agreed, because my shoulders had now tensed. This whole night had been… an adventure. Besides my Super 8 vision, I almost felt like I was drunk. I mean, I’d just told Henry about feelings I hadn’t yet told myself…
And why was he talking as if I were the bane of his existence and object of all his desires?
Without warning, my stomach grumbled. Henry and I searched for the forks so we could dig into our dessert again. The only thing that would make it better would be a glass of cold milk.
“God,” he said a couple of minutes later. “What is in these brownies?”
At that, my blood went cold, a line from the Fishers’ message racing through my mind:
We brought some gummies and other treats, ha!
Other treats.
OTHER TREATS.
“Henry, stop!” I whisper-screamed. “Stop eating!”
“What?” he asked mid-chew. “Why?”
Unable to speak, I shook my head and grabbed my silenced phone from the nightstand. Among other things, I had three missed calls and a string of texts from Leslie Fisher.
And the most recent one read DON’T EAT THE brOWNIES!