Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
But the high only lasted so long. To my surprise (dismay), there was an actual red carpet set up in front of the building,
complete with professional photographers. My face drained when I saw the slow-cam. A groan slipped from my throat before I
could contain it.
“Your followers are going to love this,” Wells murmured.
“I don’t care what they love,” I shot back. But I obliged.
That became the theme of my evening: I obliged. I recognized most people, knew few names. Natalie positioned herself beside me for the first twenty minutes, then fell into
a conversation with one of the new cameramen. Dola patted my nose with translucent powder, shoved a spare lipstick into my
clutch. “I feel like every time I see you, you’re tweaking my face,” I said.
Her nose crinkled. “You do realize that’s my job, right?”
The only time I felt at all like myself was when my parents arrived. “You look gorgeous, Mom,” I said, and she did. She appeared
well-rested, graceful. Dad was visibly uncomfortable, and I knew he was stuffed in a suit for my sake alone. “You’re not even
wearing your funeral suit,” I said, kissing his cheek. “This must be an occasion.”
Light jumped into his eyes, and his smile was rueful. “You like it? Got it on sale.”
“Macy’s or JC Penney?” I asked. “Let me guess. Hyannis mall?”
“Mom took me all the way to Hingham,” he said. “To Nordstrom.”
“Nordstrom Rack,” my mother mouthed. “We’re just so proud of you.” She hugged me the way only she could, then stepped back.
She clocked Natalie, Wells, then looked at me with a question in her eyes. “Where is—”
“He’s on his way,” I said, hoping I wasn’t lying.
I had coaxed the network into avoiding a long event, a decision I regretted when it was time to head into the interior for
dinner and there was still no sign of him. On our way in, I ducked into the restroom, locked myself in a stall, and cracked
open my clutch.
No new messages. I sent one to Caleb.
you still coming?
. . .
I swiped away from his thread, then checked my social media accounts. Habit. I shook my head. The thing about hiding out in
the bathroom is you only have so much time before people start worrying there was a problem of the embarrassing variety.
I checked again. Not even the three dots.
I waited as long as I could. The pastrami I ate in the car turned in my stomach, and acid clawed the center of my chest. I kept
thinking of that psychic in the park. Of the way Caleb’s face fell when she asked if our soulmates had passed on. I washed
my hands, slipped one of Josef’s favorite Listerine strips in my mouth, and headed to the reception.
The event went off seamlessly, minus Caleb’s no-show status. Tate’s speech was short but kind, I scored the right ratio of laughs to claps with mine. During the round of applause, Samantha lifted a flute of champagne in my direction and mouthed, To the future.
I entertained my parents, Natalie, Wells, and the empty gold chair that was supposed to contain Caleb with a story of a man
I’d interviewed who claimed he was paying his rent by selling off his own biology (sperm, plasma, red blood cells, you name
it), but was really running his own exposé on the medical research industry. He hoped to get an agent and sell the memoir.
The painted gilt on Caleb’s empty chair kept reflecting the candlelight, until Natalie convinced a waiter to remove it under
the guise of having more elbow space.
When it ended, we piled into the limo, Dola sliding into the front seat beside Trent. She wrapped her arms around him and
nudged a kiss onto his cheek, and the second her grin inched over her profile, I knew what I was about to do.
In the back seat, we were tired, stuffed, buzzy. My parents beamed; my best friend sang to every song on the playlist. My
soulmate traced small circles on my ring finger knuckle, the one that used to house the ring he gave me.
I should feel guilty.
When we dropped off my parents, I promised to meet them for dinner the next day. When Natalie got out, I whispered to her
that I was sleeping at Wells’s.
At my place, Wells moved to join me.
“I’m exhausted,” I told him. Which was the truth, but fleetingly, I wondered what it would be like to never see Wells again.
My insides didn’t flinch. The thought was nearly a relief, which made guilt crash into me all over again. In the car earlier,
I’d felt the hope of the promise of a life spent with all these people who loved me. But Caleb’s absence had shattered that
contentment, shown me how precarious it was to rest your hope on the people you loved.
“I’m pretty tired, too,” he said, like he was feeling me out.
“It’s been a long day. I’m just going to crash, okay?”
He bit his lip, relenting. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
I thanked Trent; I blew a kiss to Dola. Wells put a hand on the small of my back, a place he knew I love being touched.
“Olivia,” he said at the door.
I stopped. “Yeah?”
“I know—” He caught my hand. “I know I screwed us up,” he said softly. “I want you to know I meant what I said on the Cape.
I’ll wait for you until you’re ready. I’m betting on us.”
My eyes blurred. I blinked them twice to clear them. “I believe you.”
He crooked my chin, brushed my lips. “We’re you and me. I’m not a patient man, but I’ll become one.”
Our kiss failed to loosen the fishing line tangled in my chest. I stepped back. “Wells,” I said. “You’re not the only one
who’s kept something awful from someone.”
He waited. The flinch that crossed his features made me lift my chin.
“Do you know that my parents have no idea I know that Sabrina didn’t die right away? And I don’t know if they know. Both of those facts are true, but do they even matter? The outcome is the same. She’s still dead. We don’t talk about
it.” I lowered my voice. “Why does no one talk about anything?”
On my way up, I waved to the on-call doorman I hadn’t seen before. In the elevator, guilt squeezed my sacrum, fire below the
spot where Wells had led me to the door.
I will not do this. I will not do this.
Inside my lilac apartment, I stripped off my expensive gown.
I washed my face twice, makeup staining my washcloth with browns and blacks and pinks, then plucked bobby pins from my hair.
Every layer I shed relaxed me one iota, water levels receding after a flood.
I put on a pair of yoga pants and my favorite sweater, spun from impossibly soft yarn, the one I like to cry in.
I will not do this.
But I did.