A moment of silence went by. I heard Celeste breathing in
the backseat. Suddenly, something clicked. The reason I was so
convinced he wouldn’t be able to have a relationship, the reason I
was so scared. It was more than just worrying he’d be like the
other guys.
“Maybe you don’t have room to care about anyone else,” I
blurted out. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t wanted a real
girlfriend. You spend so much energy on Celeste and your
parents, which I love, I love that you’re so good to your family.
But maybe . . . maybe you don’t want anyone else. Maybe you’ll
realize that once you’re with me.”
I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
To my surprise, David started laughing.
“What?” I said. “What’s so funny?”
“That’s exactly what my shrink used to say. About expending
all my emotional energy taking care of my family. Not saving any
for friends or girlfriends.”
I smiled. “Really?” I said. “Wow. I’m good.” I glanced away
from the road for a minute and our eyes met.
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He put a hand on my knee. “I don’t think you have to worry
about it, though,” he said. “I’m feeling pretty energized. Plenty of
energy. No problem there.”
My palms felt sticky on the wheel. “Really?” I said.
“Really. Also . . .”
“What?”
“Not that I wouldn’t, if you needed me, but you don’t seem
like you need anyone to take care of you. You’re pretty good at
doing it yourself.”
I didn’t say anything, but I loved that he thought that.
Sometimes I felt like it was the furthest thing from the truth.
“So . . .” I said.
“So?”
He was now stroking my leg with his thumb. A smile took
over my body. Oh, God—every single one of my cells was smiling.
I put a vision of Cubby’s disapproving eyes out of my mind.
“So maybe I could, I don’t know, suspend my moratorium,” I
said. “On a trial basis, of course.”
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Chapter 20
“ WASN’T THE EXORCIST FILMED HERE-” Celeste said
when I pulled up in front of Viv’s family’s house in Brooklyn. It’s a
four-story limestone town house, right across the street from
Prospect Park, with a bowed front, Gothic carvings, and an
imposing archway over the double door.
I would have laughed, but I was too stressed about the fact
we were more than an hour and a half later than I’d originally said
we’d be. I’d called Viv a few times and had tried to get them to go
do something without us. But she’d insisted they were happy to
wait.
A blond girl about our age answered the doorbell. “Come in,
come in. They’re upstairs,” she said, hustling us into the marble
foyer and pointing at the staircase ahead. From her accent, I
figured she was the Swedish student who helped with housework
and cooking in exchange for a room. She looked at Celeste’s cast.
“Maybe you want the elevator?” she said. “Yah? Cool. You come
this way.”
David and I carried our bags up the three flights,
“accidentally” bumping into each other a number of times. We
found Viv, Abby, and Cameron sitting in the Parker-Whites’ less-
formal living room, watching one of the Spider-Man movies.
“Hey.” Viv unwound her limbs from Cameron’s and came
over to give me a hug. “Long drive, huh?”
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“Sorry,” David said. “My fault. I suggested an alternate route
that turned out to suck.”
That wasn’t really why we were late, of course—it had been
my fault for oversleeping. He was taking the bullet for me,
probably because it had been so obvious in the car that I was
worried they were going to be mad. I had a sudden urge to hug
him. As if sensing this, he placed a hand on the small of my back.
“I wish you guys hadn’t waited for us,” I said.
“Viv’s idea,” Abby said, not looking away from the TV, even
though a commercial was on.
Celeste appeared in the doorway. David took his hand off me
to move a bag that was in her way.
“I hope you guys are hungry,” Viv said. “We stocked up at
the farmers’ market this morning. I got those dilly beans you love,
Leen, and good bread and cheese. A ton of stuff.”
“Actually,” I said, feeling a spike of guilt, “we kind of ate in
the car.”
“Oh, okay,” she said. I could hear her disappointment. “Well,
it’s a gorgeous day. What does everyone want to do? Abby, Cam,
turn off the TV, losers.”
It turned out that none of us had really thought about what
we wanted to do in New York, except Abby, and everything she
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suggested involved tons of walking. I kept having to point out that
Celeste was on crutches.
“Okay,” she finally said to me, “how about we sit on our
asses and do nothing? Does that work for you?”
“No, I—”
“How about we split up?” David said. “You guys go do what
you want. Celeste and I will be more mellow.”
People exchanged looks. “Sounds good,” Abby said.
So now I had to pick whether to spend the day with David or
with my friends? This wasn’t part of the plan.
“You’re coming with us, Leena, right?” Abby said.
“Umm . . . I . . .”
Viv cut in. “Wait a minute. I’ve got an idea.”
Viv conferred with Miss Sweden for a minute, then the two
of them wrangled some sort of metal contraption out of the hall
closet. It turned out to be a collapsible wheelchair that belonged
to Viv’s grandfather.
Celeste stared at it. “You want me to ride around in that? In
Manhattan?”
“It might be kind of annoying,” Abby said. “The sidewalks are
so crowded.”
“Try it,” Viv said.
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Celeste sat down and wheeled herself slowly forward. “It’s
hard to maneuver.”
“We’ll push you,” I said. “We’ll take turns.”
“Promise you won’t push me down any stairs?” she said.
“Promise,” I said.
“At least not on purpose,” Abby added. Then she looked
around at all of our horrified expressions. “Just kidding! Jeez.”
Who knew a wheelchair in New York could be so much fun?
We didn’t only take turns pushing, we took turns riding.
Much to their mothers’ annoyance, we used small children and
strollers in the Central Park Zoo as a moving-obstacle course. We
had time trials down the park’s corridor of massive elm trees.
At one point, David pushed Abby in a tight little circle until
she was laughing and screaming and begging him to stop. When
he did stop, she caught her breath and gathered her hair back in
its clip. Our eyes met and she smiled. The first real smile I’d
gotten from her in a long time.
Even Celeste seemed like she was relaxed and having fun. A
whole group of Japanese tourists must have mistaken her for a
movie star because they asked if they could have their picture
taken with her. Of course, she obliged, taking off her coat so her
fabulous outfit would be visible.
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We ended up at a matchbox-size Indian restaurant in the
East Village for dinner. The ceiling and walls were decorated with
so many flickering, multicolored Christmas lights it was like being
inside a kaleidoscope. Along with the frenetic Bollywood music,
the table full of curries, and everyone talking, it was sensory
overload of the best kind. At the end of the meal when the bill
came, David took out a credit card and handed it to the waiter.
“How much do we owe you?” Viv called over the blaring
strains of the sitar.
“I’m taking care of it,” he said.
“What?” I said. “No way. That bill must be huge.”
“Yeah, man,” Cameron said. “I wouldn’t feel right.”
“Look,” David said. “It’s not a big deal—this place isn’t
expensive. Just saying thanks for the weekend.”
When the waiter brought the receipt back for David to sign, I
said, “Are you sure? Let me give you some cash, at least.”
“Leena,” he said quietly, folding up the yellow copy and
placing it in his wallet. “I’m trying to impress you here. You’re not
making it very easy.”
“Oh.” I stared down at the tablecloth, a stupid grin on my
face.
The temperature outside had dropped. None of us were
dressed for it, and I shivered in my thin coat as we stood on the
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sidewalk, debating what next. Without a word, David draped his
hoodie over my shoulders. I moved closer so I was leaning slightly
against him, and rested like that until a minivan cab big enough
for all of us came down the street, and we decided to head back
to Viv’s house for the time being. During the ride, Celeste
suggested we go to a bar in a remote, waterfront neighborhood in
Brooklyn that she’d been to over the summer with Band Boy. She
promised they wouldn’t card us, and if they did, I was the only
one without a fake ID.
“Will there be guys?” Abby asked. “Cute guys?”
“Actually,” Celeste said, “there’s a sign on the door that says
Ugly Guys Only. Is that a problem?”
“At least Cameron and David will be able to come in,” Viv
said.
Everyone laughed. I settled back against the comfy seat and
closed my eyes. We’d made it through the day and no one was
fighting.
David was sitting next to me. I felt his hand, warm on my
knee. He squeezed it and I squeezed his hand and I thought,
Maybe we should just die right now, in a car accident. Because it
didn’t get better than this.
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Chapter 21
DESPITE CELESTE’S ASSURANCE we wouldn’t be carded, I
wasn’t taking any chances. Back at the Parker-Whites’, I put on
my nicest jeans and a black turtleneck sweater that made me look
older and more sophisticated, and pulled my hair into a twist at
the nape of my neck.
“You look like a librarian,” Celeste said from the bed she’d
claimed.
We were sharing a room here, too, with twin beds, framed
photos of Japanese temples on the walls, and a massive golden
Buddha statue watching from the corner.
Insisting I could do better, she had me try on one of the
many dresses she’d brought—a red-and-black-pattern vintage
Diane von Furstenburg. The silk stretched over me, cool and
slinky, and seemed to fit. Then I looked in the mirror.
“No way,” I said immediately, taken aback by how exposed I
felt. This sort of dress—tight, low-cut, curve-enhancing—was
obviously designed for someone with a different sort of build. Or,
rather, a different sort of personality. And definitely someone
with different footwear, I thought, looking across the room at my
selection: scuffy, brown, lace-up boots or Chucks.
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A knock came at the door. Celeste said, “Come in,” at the
same time I said, “One minute.” Her voice must have been louder
because the door opened. David stood there.
“Wow,” he said.
I crossed my arms in front of my boobs. “I was just trying it
on,” I explained. “I’m not wearing it.”
“Really? Why not?” He turned to Celeste. “It’s yours, right?
You should give it to Leena for good. To wear on a daily basis.” I
blushed as he grinned at me.
“It was Mom’s,” Celeste said. “I’m not giving it to anyone.
What did you want, anyway?”
David’s smile faded. “I actually need to talk to you.”
“I have to use the bathroom,” I said, picking up on his serious
tone of voice. “You guys can talk in here.”
I decided to wear my hair down, and just a little mascara and
lip gloss, so I didn’t actually have that much to do in the bathroom
to waste time. I ended up posing in front of the mirror, trying to
appreciate David’s opinion of my new look. I liked that he’d been
so enthusiastic, but wearing something so sexy and sophisticated
still felt strange: as much of a lie as my friends’ fake IDs. Not to
mention, it seemed more than a little weird to be trying to look
good for a guy in his mother’s dress.
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Before going back to the bedroom, I glanced in the medicine
cabinet to see if anything had been abandoned there. While my
doctor prescribed me antianxiety pills for emergencies, I
occasionally snagged a few other types from my and my friends’
parents—only when it was obvious they weren’t actively taking it.
Nothing here, though.
Eventually, I figured I’d given Celeste and David long enough.
Celeste stood in her black lace underwear, surveying the
remaining clothes in the closet.
“What do you think?” She held up a fifties aqua-blue diner
waitress dress and a black top that looked like it was made of
ribbons.
I pointed to the aqua blue.
“Eh. I think the black,” she said.
Celeste rehung the blue dress and hopped toward the bed.
Her eyes were bloodshot.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She sat down and began wriggling the top over her head. I
noticed that there were a couple of bruises on her torso, too. Like
the ones on her thighs. Were they really from Whip? I’d thought
she was just saying that to annoy David, but maybe they were. I
couldn’t imagine how else they might have happened. What did
people do to each other in bed that would make bruises? Did it
feel good at the time?
215
“Celeste, you okay?” I said again.
She pulled the top down. “Yup,” she said. “That David. He
always likes to make sure I’m in a cheery mood when we’re going
out.” She shook out her hair. “You know, you don’t have to wear
that just because he said you should. I can tell you’re
uncomfortable in it.”
“I think I will,” I said, running a hand over the smooth fabric.
“It’s fun to wear something different for a change.”
“Hmm.” She stood up to admire herself in the mirror and I
realized that the black ribbon top was actually a dress. Sort of. It
barely reached below her underwear. “You might be right, you
know,” she said.
“About?”
“David. Your hesitation.”
“What do you mean?”
