Chapter Six #2
“It’s your eyes,” he said, staring into them. “They remind me of a shark.” Rose laughed. “No, I’m serious!” Landon pulled out his phone and held up the first image from a Google search for Great White. “Look, they’re just like yours. Such a dark blue they’re almost gray.”
Rose looked closer. She hadn’t realized that sharks had blue eyes, though in all fairness, she hadn’t spent a great deal of time wondering about the eye color of the ocean’s fiercest predator. “You’re kind of weird,” she said.
“You aren’t the first to say it, and you won’t be the last.”
Her gray-blue shark eyes flashed. “Not in a bad way.”
“Oh,” Landon said, his own cheeks reddening now. “Well, good.”
Their waiter returned for their order, saving Rose from saying more than she felt.
Conversation flowed like the river. Landon was funny in a self-deprecating way that made Rose feel safe, like she had the upper hand, and just complimentary enough it didn’t veer into satire.
He told her more about Jess, who he thought Rose would take an instant liking to, and the hell they’d both put their parents through in their early years.
She told him about her football-playing high school boyfriend who’d had four siblings and three dogs and only wanted to marry her so she could write him long, heartfelt letters while he was deployed God-knows-where following what he thought to be a very romantic dream of joining the air force.
They laughed over the variety of ways Landon had upset his teachers in the small, western New York town he’d grown up in with his encyclopedic knowledge of animals, dinosaurs, presidents, and state capitals, and Landon pretended to believe her when she told him the story of the first time she’d seen a ghost in her grandmother’s attic.
Rose didn’t notice how long the food had taken to arrive until it was steaming on the table in front of her.
“So that’s suea rong hai,” she said, looking down at a beautiful plate of thin-cut steak and sticky rice drenched in chili sauce. “Looks great.”
“Try some.” Landon grabbed a large piece of steak between two chopsticks.
“You first.” He popped the whole piece in his mouth and chewed.
Rose stirred her curry with a spoon, the familiar scent comforting as ever.
Landon’s eyes began to noticeably water.
“What’s the verdict?” He held up a finger and closed his eyes while she took a heaping bite of curry.
The spices burned going down and settled easily in her empty stomach.
“Good? Bad? Nothing to write home about?”
Finally, he swallowed. “Oh my God,” Landon breathed. “Whew!” He grabbed a napkin and wiped his tongue. “I should have ordered milk.” He waved to see if he could get the waiter’s attention.
“Well, now I’ve got to try it.” Rose packed her spoon with sticky rice and a small piece of steak. It burned differently than the curry, with a long tail of a bite, but wouldn’t even rank in the top ten spiciest dishes she’d ever had. “It’s really good,” she said, mouth still halfway full.
“Glad you like it,” he choked out, pushing it toward her. “It’s all yours.”
Rose chuckled. “This is why you’re so skinny.”
“My mom says the same thing.”
Rose caught the waiter’s eye and mouthed, Milk, please. He nodded, knowingly. “The good news is, I think you’ll survive this.”
“Well, if I don’t, it has been exceedingly lovely knowing you.”
Rose felt another spark, her fingers running across the same carpet they had the night she and Landon first met.
He’d quieted the voice in her head for an entire evening—drowned it out in his earnest, funny way, and made her feel shiny again.
“Yeah,” she said. “It has.” The waiter placed the milk in front of Landon in a plastic cup with a straw that looked designed for a child.
He drank greedily. “Hey,” Rose said, “assuming my assessment is correct and you do survive this, do you—I mean, do you maybe…” It occurred to Rose that she had never done this before. “Do you want to keep the night going?”
Landon’s eyes lit up. “I feel better already. What are you thinking?”
He made the hard things feel easy, somehow. “Poppy says there’s a party later tonight.”
“There’s always a party,” Landon said, mouth full of frothy milk.
“No, a real party. Like, a secret, underground fraternity party.”
“I thought those parties were so long gone people didn’t even talk about them. Didn’t people, like, die? There were at least a few hospital trips.”
“Poppy would know,” Rose said. “It seems like she knows everything. And everyone. Though she certainly doesn’t like everyone.”
“Mmm, I think I’ll continue to experience that firsthand.”
“You’ll come?” Rose took another bite of the spicy curry, holding it in her mouth until she could taste the sweetness of the coconut milk.
“I thought it was obvious when I jumped into that pond,” Landon said, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made him look significantly older than his eighteen years, “that I’d do almost anything with you.”
Rose knew better than to wear the same black dress from the first weekend, lest Landon think she lacked imagination.
Poppy lent her another showstopper of an outfit—a midnight black silk top and leather skirt that even smelled expensive—and wrinkled her nose at the knowledge that Landon would be joining them.
“Him?” she said. “I swear, taste is such a mystery.”
“Him,” Rose affirmed. It was even better, she thought, that Poppy didn’t see what she saw. Landon’s charm was unorthodox, but at least she wouldn’t have to share.
She checked her phone compulsively three times on the way to Kappa Delta Rho social house, under the bizarre illusion that Landon would text her updates even though she had not given him her number.
The girls heard the party long before the large white house with its dark shutters and many gables came into view.
It seemed about the least secretive place Rose could imagine and not the slightest bit underground.
“This can’t be right,” she said, elbowing Poppy lightly in the ribs.
Poppy rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s right. KDR is literally in capital letters on the front of the house.”
“I just thought, I don’t know, maybe it would be in a basement?”
“College lesson number four hundred and seven: Half the fun is the thrill you might get caught.”
“Four hundred and seven feels a little high.”
“And here I was thinking it felt low.” She pulled Rose into a side hug so tight Rose’s breath caught.
“You’re hopeless.” But the way she said it, and the look she gave Rose, she might as well have said I love you.
In that moment, Rose felt so chosen, so held, she knew that even if this friendship was all she ever got out of college, the lifetime of student loans would be worth it.
By the time the girls made it to the front lawn, a pattern in partygoing attire had become clear. “Why is everyone wearing white?” Rose asked, taking in at least the tenth woman wearing only a white sheath dress on a cold autumn night, and the sixth man in a full tuxedo, tails and all.
“I really didn’t think everyone would be so on theme. It’s tacky.”
Of course there’d been a theme. “What is it?”
“It’s a marriage party. It’s just an excuse to make out.”
Well, that would explain the white. “We’re wearing all black.” And, for the love of God, she’d invited Landon.
“Trust me,” Poppy said, “these people are just horny. Whatever they tell you, the theme is making out. And besides, you can wear black to a wedding. I almost always do.” Rose shook her hands, trying to wring out her nervous energy.
“Hey.” Poppy turned toward her at the open front door and grabbed her hands to stop her shaking.
“Don’t limit yourself, okay? I know you like Lanson, but you’re hot, and your legs look crazy in that skirt.
You could make out with anyone here, and you should. ”
“It’s Landon,” Rose said. “With a d.”
Poppy dropped one hand and tightened her grip on the other to pull Rose into the fray. “I like Lanson better.”
It took less than a minute for Poppy’s theory to be proven halfway wrong.
While everyone was making out, some switching partners so quickly it made Rose’s head spin, the theme encompassed far more than a loose dress code.
A large man dressed as a wedding officiant wearing rose-tinted sunglasses circled the room looking for newcomers to gift with a ring pop—presumably to propose with.
When he tucked it into Rose’s hand, he yelled over the music, “Come find me again if you want another!”
“Another?” she yelled back, ripping into the thin plastic and sliding the pop onto the ring finger of her right hand.
“First marriages don’t always work out!” he said, this time right into her ear. “Though I’m game if you are.” He winked.
Rose gently pushed him away. “I’m good, thanks!” He danced off as though her rebuke meant nothing to him, and it very likely had.