A Cosmic Kind of Love(18)

Aunt Richelle studied my face in confusion and concern.

Reaching for her hand, I placed mine over it. “I’m okay. We ended it as friends. She’s being friendly. Now I’m going to eat my waffles.”

Aunt Richelle was unconvinced as I dove into the food. “You’re not going, are you? After what she did.”

Swallowing a bite of the best waffles on the East Coast (I was not biased, my aunt could cook), I opened my mouth to answer in the negative, when the vision of a pink-haired Hallie appeared in my mind. Frowning, I considered my answer and then asked, “Do the people who plan these things attend the event?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the event-planner people . . . do they actually attend the event?” My parents had thrown business dinners and parties while I was growing up, but I’d never paid attention to how they came together.

“Sometimes. Usually for big events like this one, yeah. They need to make sure everything runs smoothly. Why? What a weird question.” She made a face as she slipped onto the stool beside me.

And since I told Aunt Richelle most things, I turned to her and replied, “Well . . . something weird happened.”





SEVEN





Hallie


    I like the lack of bullshit up here, Darce. We have our routine, our tasks, and we have to be mindful of each other. This place is bigger than people think, but even so, we’re stuck up here together for months. If you let the things that annoy you go unspoken, it just builds. It’s not like back on Earth, where you let things go because you can get some distance from each other. . . . Up here we speak our minds. We deal with the problem and we move on. No bullshit. It got me thinking, Why can’t it always be like that? I like to think I’m an honest guy, up front about things, but if I think about it, that’s not entirely true. There are so many different reasons to hide our true feelings: to protect other people’s feelings, to protect our own, because we don’t think the situation is worth a fallout . . . because we’re afraid. How much easier things would be if we could all agree to be honest with one another on the proviso that the honesty comes with the best of intentions? But there’s the rub . . . not everyone’s intentions are good. Some people use honesty as a weapon.

Sorry I’m rambling to you today. It was just something I was thinking about. I’m honest with most people . . . but something holds me back with others. But with you . . . Darce, I promise not to hold back with you if you promise not to hold back with me. Never lie to please me, okay. I always want your truth.


—CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER ORTIZ, VIDEO DIARY #8



My knee was currently doing an involuntary bouncing thing. If you’ve ever had a doctor hit a tiny hammer against your knee, then you’ll understand what was happening with mine.

Except there was no tiny doctor hammer.

Just my dad meeting me for lunch, wherein I had to have a difficult conversation with him.

Nervousness had taken over my limb.

I glanced toward the restaurant door, hoping he’d be on time. Because of work, I had only a brief window to eat lunch these days. The butterflies in my stomach roared to life again at the sight of my dad pushing into the restaurant. That stupid knee tried to bounce, but I stood up on shaky legs. This was so weird, I thought morosely, being anxious about having lunch with him.

As he caught sight of me, his face broke into a handsome grin, and I was taken aback again by how much he’d changed in the last year. He’d started running again, like he used to when I was a kid, and started eating a little healthier. It was no lie to say that those changes had taken ten years off him. And Miranda seemed to have influenced his wardrobe choices. No more baggy nineties suits for my dad. They were fitted and stylish. His gray hair was now cut and styled, and I realized as he walked toward me that Dad looked distinguished.

More than that, he looked happy.

Fuck.

I wanted my dad to be happy. I did. He’d been put through the wringer. But I also didn’t want him being taken for a fool either.

“Cupcake.” He greeted me with a warm embrace.

Relieved he didn’t seem mad at me, I accepted the embrace, relishing the rarity of his attention. When we settled down at the table, his blue eyes glittered under the restaurant lights. “You really do look like a cupcake now with that hair.”

I fingered my pale pink waves that I’d just had redone, so the color was pinker than ever. “I like it,” I replied, a little defensively. Mom already gave me shit about my hair every time I saw her. I didn’t need it from Dad too.

He raised his palms. “No, no, I like it. It suits you.”

I relaxed a little. “Thanks. And thanks for coming into the city.”

“No problem. It was nice to be invited.”

I tried not to take that as a pointed comment that I didn’t invite him enough into my life, but since he said it in such a pointed tone, it was difficult not to. Not wanting to argue with him that it went both ways, I shook it off.

The waiter arrived to take our order, and as soon as he was gone, I launched into my apology. “I’m sorry for not returning your calls about, well, the Mom thing. I have a lot going on at work. And on that note, while I wish I could help Miranda plan a sixteenth-birthday party for Alison, Dad, I am drowning in work. I just . . . I’m sorry, I just don’t have time. And honestly, it really would put me in the middle of things with Mom.”