Inevitable and Only(49)

“Gracias.” Mom managed to slather that one word with sarcasm, letting me know that I hadn’t won any ground.

Dad called and said he was going to work late tonight, and we should have dinner without him. So Mom went and picked up Thai food.

I ate in a hurry and then went upstairs to get dressed. I’d picked out three options the night before, but now none of them seemed right. Finally I settled on an olive-green sweater-dress with a wide brown belt and rust-colored cable-knit tights, since it was chilly at night now.

“Do you mind if I come in?” Elizabeth asked, poking her head in the door as I was brushing my hair in front of the vanity.

“Of course not, it’s your room, too.” The words came out sounding abrupt and rude.

“Um,” she said, hesitating in the doorway, as if she might need to make a quick escape, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s, um, it’s about Farhan.”

“I said, shoot.”

“He asked if I wanted to go see a movie next weekend.”

“Great.” I brushed faster.

“So—you’re okay with that?”

I slammed the brush down on the vanity table harder than I meant to. “Yes, I told you I’m fine with you going out with Farhan. You don’t have to ask permission.”

“Okay, I just thought—never mind.” She disappeared and closed the door behind her.

Farhan was an idiot. I no longer liked him. I’d relinquished any claim on him. So why did my stomach twist when I thought about them, Elizabeth and Farhan, going to the movies together? Holding hands, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. His warm lips near her ear, whispering to her the way he’d whispered to me at the dance …

The doorbell rang, and I flew down the stairs. “I’ll get it!”

I opened the door, and Zephyr was on my doorstep, in his usual brown leather jacket and jeans.

“Hey,” I said, trying to catch my breath, “I’m so sorry, but my mom wants you to come in for a minute before we leave. She’s nervous about letting me drive somewhere with someone she doesn’t know.”

“Your mom’s Head Laredo-Levy, right?”

“Yeah. Just—would you mind coming in?”

“No, of course not.” He stepped in, swept his gaze over the living room. I took in what he was seeing: the upright piano against one wall, its keys coated in a fine layer of dust. The saggy red couch and threadbare ottoman. The exposed brick wall that Mom’s friends always get so excited about: “Oh, Melissa, you have exposed brick! I love exposed brick!”

Mom came bustling down the stairs.

Zephyr adjusted his jacket and rubbed his chin. “Hi, Head Laredo-Levy.”

“Hello, Zephyr. Thank you so much for picking up Cadie.” Mom was using her honey-sweet voice, reserved for people we didn’t know very well. But she had a real smile on her face, not the pasted-on one. Maybe she really was glad that I was going to the play without Dad. Why do you have to make everything be about the war between Mom and Dad?

Because everything is, I answered myself. And was Dad really working late? Or had he just stayed at the bookshop so he wouldn’t think about missing opening night at Center Stage? A twinge of guilt tightened the twist in my stomach, but I forced myself not to pay attention to it.

Mom asked Zephyr a few questions—how long he’d had his license, where we were planning to park—and I thanked him a million times in my head for answering patiently. Finally she nodded and said, “Well, have a good time,” and I zipped out the door before she could change her mind.

Zephyr followed me, slid into the driver’s seat of his orange Volkswagen Beetle, and twisted the key in the ignition. The car coughed to life as I climbed in. Raven would flip when I told her about it—owning a Beetle was one of her life goals.

“Thank you so, so, so much for doing that,” I said.

He laughed. “No problem. Kind of fun to see another side of Dr. Double-Hockey-Sticks.”

I blinked. I knew kids called her that, but no one ever said it in front of me. I decided I liked how Zephyr didn’t treat me like The Head of School’s Daughter.

“So,” I said, “is your mom that overprotective?”

“Uh, no. I don’t have a mom, actually.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t explain further, and I searched for a new topic. “So, nice car!”

“Thanks, a buddy of mine works at an auto shop and cut me a sweet deal on it.”

He had buddies who worked at auto shops? Who cut sweet deals? So this was what it was like to go out with a senior. Or maybe be friends with a senior. Zephyr wasn’t acting like this was a date. He hadn’t opened the car door for me, or tried to hold my hand, or anything like that. Of course, I could open a car door perfectly well myself, and it wouldn’t be safe for him to hold my hand while he was driving.

I tried to make a little conversation about play rehearsals, but it was a quick drive, and before long we were at Center Stage. He only had to circle the block once to find a parking spot. Dad always parked in the garage.

I felt older walking into the theater with someone other than Dad. It was a rush, like I’d been cut free from a tether. Like anything could happen.

Our seats weren’t great—in the first row of the balcony at stage left, so we had a skewed view of the stage. But at least we didn’t have to worry about seeing over anyone’s heads. And Zephyr didn’t seem to mind. “These are great seats!” he said.