Chapter 31 Opening #2
“Yeah.” She shrugs, taking a small step away from the door. “She was like that, though. I think she gave each of us a part of her. Or maybe—she saw what each of us needed from her. You were always louder than me, and she encouraged that. And with me, I guess, she encouraged the sneaking around.”
I laugh. “Like a good grandma does.”
Maisie doesn’t join in, though. “There’s kind of another reason I wanted you to meet me out here.”
My eyes fly to the door. It’s a clear afternoon, sunny. Days like this used to make me nervous; when you need to escape into a crowd, clear days don’t make it easy.
“Okay,” I say cautiously. “What is it?”
It isn’t that I don’t trust Maisie. I do.
But letting other people surprise me is something I’m working on.
Case in point, why I’m in my hometown, looking for my bag, instead of on the road with Faust. And the second I think about him—and where I’m standing, hours before tonight’s soft opening—my blood goes hot and cold at the same time. Split, right down the middle.
“Maisie,” I whisper. “Are you serious?”
“First.” She holds up her hands. “I had to. He’s my investor. And he only agreed to come after I told him you were okay with it.”
I blink, actually shocked. “But that’s not—”
“True? I don’t know. You tell me.” Maisie’s hands sink to her hips.
There’s a defiant glow in her eyes, her mouth curled ever so slightly at the corner.
She might be shorter, with a hundred more freckles, but when she lets her confidence win, my sister is a giant.
“He’s outside. I can tell him that you changed your mind.
But… I’ve been thinking a lot about your name lately.
About why Grandma called her restaurant Arcadia.
Mom and Dad might’ve named you after her, but I don’t think she named her restaurant after herself. ”
I can only listen as she continues. “Arcadia means ‘perfect place,’ right? And her restaurant was her perfect place. And I know it hurt when it had to close. Like… we lost ourselves, because we lost that place, you know?”
My throat feels thick. I look away so she doesn’t see the gleam in my eyes.
“But that was Arcadia, Cat. That time we had together. It wasn’t because of the restaurant, or the house.
It wasn’t because we had or didn’t have money, or had or didn’t have all our shit together.
Perfect places aren’t perfect because of where they are, or even when they are,” she says.
“They’re perfect because of who’s there with you. ”
Gently, the memories I’ve been holding on to unwind around my aching fingers.
My most painful, hidden pieces—the memories that hurt so desperately when I realized that was all they’d ever be again.
Grandma and I, sitting at the restaurant, arguing over a crossword puzzle.
Dad and me, fighting over the last slice of French silk pie, and how he’d always let me win.
Mom, my fuzziest memories. A hand on my shoulder. A smile. Feeling safe.
Stillness.
“You’re smart, Mouse,” I say, teary-eyed.
“I try,” she says, then hesitates. “And I got you into this mess. Do you want me to…?”
“No. I—I want to see him. He’s outside?”
With a deep breath and a game show arm swing, she sidesteps away from the door. “All yours.”
Mine. I think about that word as I push through the door, already forgetting to keep the bell from jingling.
But that isn’t a bad thing, really. The happy jingle carries on the buzzy air, cutting through the summer cicada hum, making Faust look up.
He’s standing by Maisie’s car, hands in his pockets, but when our eyes meet, I feel like his arms are wrapping around me.
My heart, tugging me to him. And he walks to me, too, until I’m drinking from that quiet well of intensity that is his face, less than a foot from mine.
Perfect, angular, open. I don’t know what he’s wearing. I can’t look down.
There’s a thousand things I have to say. Thank you? I’m so sorry? “Faust. I…”
He hums. It’s a warm sound, quieting me. Saving me from having to speak first. Then, he reaches over to my shoulder, slowly enough that I could push him away, if I wanted to. “Your hair’s red,” he says, curling an orange swoop around one finger.
Impossibly, I feel each touch of his fingertip, though he barely grazes the fabric of my shirt. Every inch of me is hardwired to react to him being this close again, electricity skittering over my skin. “I wanted to be me again.”
“Good. I—sorry.” He starts to move away, my hair unwinding from his finger.
I stop him, sliding my fingers over his. “No, it is good.” I swallow. “I’m sorry. I, I took things out on you I never should’ve. And that day, it was so intense, and I was looking for the worst.”
“No, I made a mistake. I made so many mistakes.” Faust’s chest falls, like he’s been holding his breath since we last spoke. “I shouldn’t have overstepped your boundaries. It won’t happen again.”
“I know why you did, though.”
“I don’t.”
I press my fingers between his, winding them together over my collarbone. “You’re the first person to actually get to know me. There was bound to be confusion.”
Wonderfully, he laughs at that, one of his barely there sighs of a laugh that I’d bottle up if I could. Listen to in case of sadness emergency.