Chapter 22 Now
Now
I’m standing in my closet, steaming my dress for tonight, when David calls.
“Hi,” I say, putting him on speaker so I can keep working on the fabric, which the website described as a chic powder blue linen but arrived as a rumpled square that had been stuffed into a packing envelope, then shoved into my mail slot.
He fake-coughs twice. “I’m sick.”
“Are you bailing on me or quoting Mean Girls?”
“Two things can be true at once?” I don’t acknowledge this with a response. Instead, I try smoothing a particularly stubborn wrinkle by switching to “turbo mode” and steaming the lining from the inside. The dress falls off the hanger in the process. Oh well. I’ll give it another go at the hotel.
“I’m sooo sorry,” David says, the pace of his words picking up.
“But would you totally hate me if I didn’t go?
Basically Henry’s aunt and uncle—the rich ones who have the house in Spring Lake and breed labradoodles?
They have floor seats for Bruce at MSG tonight.
Which, I know. Ridiculous. Only they can’t go anymore, because one of the labradoodles might be going into labor.
And apparently they were going to just eat the price of the tickets, because what’s three grand when you’ve got doodle money?
But they told Henry we could take the tickets for free!
So, yeah. I obviously hate to bail on you but I think I have to? ”
I wrangle the dress back onto the hanger. The steamer is at a rolling boil now and spurting water. I shut it off and pick up the phone.
“David? It’s really okay. No further explanation needed! Let me go, though, so I can see if my mom or dad can come. Mandy let us pay for two heads out of the budget and she’ll be pissed at both of us if she finds out I went alone.”
“What about Maren?”
“She’s on the goodbye circuit. Tonight’s dinner with her grandparents in Montclair.”
There’s a pause, and then David says, “Surfer Boy?”
I drag a hand down my face, because I had a feeling this was where this was going as soon as I answered the phone. My stomach does a little flutter at the suggestion, but I don’t tell David that. Let him feel guilty a little longer for ditching me.
“Goodbye, David,” I say. “Tell the Boss I say hello.”
“Let me know what Sebastian says!”
I end the call and slide down to the floor, my back resting against a shelving unit. I tap into my message thread with Sebastian. Our last exchange was around midnight last night, about a new Apple TV series he’s watching with his mom that he thinks is absurdly bad. I start typing.
Are you still free tonight … and do you have a suit with you? I hit SEND before I can convince myself otherwise.
The dots that indicate he’s typing appear almost instantly, and then his reply comes through.
Yes. And I can get my hands on one.