Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(84)
He kisses my temple. “Not that kind of surprise.”
I deflate and slump in his arms. “Do the Solises and Reagan know?”
“Yes, they’re waiting for you—your roommate not at all graciously, I might add.”
“Don’t worry about Reagan. She’s just protective. She’ll come around.” I kiss his scar, and watch every turn Benson makes. We seem to be going toward Portland State University.
At last, the Rover stops smoothly in front of—I cannot believe it—the Portland Art Museum! On the curb is a white sign:
ELISA’S GRADUATION PARTY
THE ENGLISH SILVER GALLERY
BELLUSCHI BUILDING
My hand flies to my mouth as though to stop my jaw from zipping out of the window and landing next to Monet’s Waterlilies.
“You rented the whole museum?” I whisper through my fingers, half-horrified, half-awed. From my peripheral vision, I register Benson getting out of the car.
“No, not all of it. Just one gallery, which as we know, is an improvement for me.”
I meet his calm eyes. What’s the point of arguing with dreams? “Yes, it is,” I say. “And beautiful. And hideously expens—”
He presses his index finger to my lips, shaking his head. “Please don’t make this a money issue. I want it to be everything you want.”
His voice is so soft that it lingers on my skin much like his touch. But how can this party be everything I want when everything I want is here in this car with me and will not come inside?
“Won’t you come?” The words burst from my mouth.
He straightens immediately and drops his hand from my lips, all tenderness gone from his eyes. “Not this again.”
“But what if we just sit in the corner and make out the whole time? No one will dare come near us.”
He shakes his head, not finding my joke funny. “No.”
He holds my eyes with the forceful glare I have come to know well. I cannot argue with him. And if I do, he will become convinced that he is depriving me of major life moments and try to leave again.
I nod, forcing a smile on my face. “Right, safety first. I understand, Lieutenant.” I try to execute a Marine salute but my hand just plops to the side.
He watches me for a long moment and then his glare relents. “Good. Now, do you have all your presents for your family?”
“Yes, all wrapped in turquoise and ready to go.”
He smiles. “Turquoise? Interesting choice.”
Unable to resist his smile, I grin too. “My new favorite color. Do you want to see your present?” My voice cracks a little when I think of what I’m about to do.
“My present?” He frowns as though he does not think he deserves a present.
“Yes. And before you argue, you’ve been giving me a new Margolis outfit every day. Now it’s my turn.”
The dimple puckers in his weekend stubble. “Yes, ma’am.”
I dig inside my purse for the purple-and-turquoise box. When I find it, I hold it one last time, my fingers clutching it tightly.
“Here,” I say, giving it to him with both hands. It has a dried Aeternum taped on top. The rest of the roses are in the cooler in the chemistry building undergoing geraniol extraction.
He takes the box with a boyish grin.
“I’m not sure when was the last time I got a present,” he says. “Actually, I do know. January eighth, at 1:34 p.m. A bottle of Balvenie from Benson.”
I laugh, the sound quivering with emotion. “Belated Christmas present?”
“Yes. Even though I’ve told him twenty-four times not to get me anything.”
He tucks the Aeternum in the breast pocket of his shirt, and starts unwrapping the paper. But when he takes out the double frame, the box drops from his hand and his mouth pops open.
I follow his gaze even though I know what he is seeing. On one side is a photo of his home and on the other, my one-way ticket to America the day he bought his house. I would have never parted with this ticket but ever since I met him, it seems I came here for him alone.
He looks at me with a strong emotion on his face, the one without name that I saw at his Alone Place.
“Is this the real ticket?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod, swallowing so that tears don’t rise to my eyes.
He looks at it again even though I know he has memorized it. His Adam’s apple rolls once in his lovely throat. “Why are you giving it to me?”
In a way, giving Aiden anything that belongs in a frame is silly. But this is not a picture—it’s a connection.
“Because this whole journey was worth it just to meet you. Even if it is only now.”
He leans in and kisses my temple. “Thank you.” His voice is new, humbled.
I smile. “You’re welcome. And now, you have a frame!”
He chuckles. “So I do. I think I’ll put it on my desk in the library. It will shock the hell out of Cora and Benson.”
I almost float like a helium balloon. I love you, I love you, I love you. I snap a picture of the moment lest the words break through my locked teeth.
He rests the frame on his knee and strokes my cheek. “You didn’t get a single present for yourself, Elisa.”
I shrug. “They didn’t have what I wanted.”
The V breaks between his eyebrows and his jaw flexes, probably plotting the demise of all Portland retailers who failed me in such a manner. “What did you want?”