The Accidentals(55)

He leans back in his chair. “I sneak into the practice rooms in the music department at the college.”

“They just let you in for free?” Aurora asks.

“Well.” He chuckles. “I’m an alum. But also, the graduate student in charge of assigning practice rooms is a fan.”

“I see.” Aurora smirks.

“I get a lot of work done there,” Frederick says. “Like a monk in my little cell. I’m still hoping to buy a house, but there aren’t many on the market.”

“You only need it for one year?” Aurora asks. “Why not rent?”

“I might rent,” he admits. “But Rachel wants to go to Claiborne College, so it really isn’t just one year.”

“But I might not get in,” I say quickly. Let’s not jinx me.

“Of course you will.” Frederick shrugs. As if getting into an Ivy League school was as easy as convincing this restaurant to take our last-minute reservation. “You can check the legacy box on your application. And I can make a strategic donation.”

Or maybe it’s the same as getting reservations after all.

“What will you do if you don’t find a house?” Aurora asks.

I’ve been wondering the same thing for weeks. I keep expecting him to say, “Well, it’s been fun. But I’d better head back to L.A. For good, now.”

“There’s this one house—an old one that’s been on the market a while. I’d have to renovate it, because it’s butt ugly.” He digs his wallet out of his jacket and takes out a folded piece of paper. He smooths it out on the table. “It’s the right size, but the windows are too small, see? And the kitchen is forty years old. I wasn’t looking for a project, but if nothing else comes up…”

I find the paper fascinating—but not because of the house. In one corner of the sheet there’s a picture of the listing agent. She’s an attractive woman with dark brown hair. And I’ve seen her before—in the window of Mary’s restaurant. Norah Peters, it reads. Vice president, residential sales.

My father is dating his real estate agent.

I tap the picture. “Is this your broker?”

He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Nice girl.” Then he drains his beer.





Chapter Eighteen





On the evening of December first, it snows.

I sit on our window seat, watching it fall. Exams are looming, and I’m supposed to be reading a thick play by Chekhov. But I can’t tear my eyes off the scene outside, where fat flakes fall past the courtyard lamps.

One of the first things my mother said after I received my scholarship to Claiborne was, “I want a picture of you in the snow.” I can see her in my mind, too thin in her bathrobe, hands clasped together.

I could take a photo now, but who would I send it to?

Not Haze. I wonder if we’ll ever speak again.

The next morning it’s still snowing, and Aurora and I walk so slowly to brunch, kicking through the fluffy whiteness, that our hands are frozen by the time we arrive.

“Morning, ladies,” Jake says when we set down our trays. He has a map spread out on the table in front of him. “Who wants to ski? I’m going right after brunch.”

Aurora’s face breaks into a smile. “Yay! We will teach Rachel.”

I see Jake’s eyes flick up from the map to meet mine. But they dive again just as quickly. He’s been avoiding me since The Worst Weekend Ever. “The bus leaves from the Green every half hour,” he says. On the matter of teaching me to ski, he says nothing.

“I will have to rent skis.” Aurora actually gets up and moves around the table to sit next to Jake. “How many trails are open?” she asks, a hand on his sleeve.

“Let’s check,” he says, pulling out his phone. “If they’re a hundred percent open, I’ll bring my board. If the base isn’t that deep yet, I’ll ski.”

“You can do both?” I ask, biting into my bagel.

He answers with a shrug, and without making eye contact. “I’m from Massachusetts.”

“That’s not very nerdy,” I tease, trying again.

“When we were little, my dad used to let my brother and I blow off school on powder days,” Jake says. “I once heard him tell the principal’s office that we’d be out that day because we’d be performing an independent study of gravity. It is possible to be nerdy about anything.” He finishes his coffee.

Aurora grabs his phone out of his hand. “Look, every trail is open. They got twelve inches. This is going to be great.” She bounces in her seat next to Jake. “Rachel, you have to come.”

I look across the table at the two of them. “I don’t think so,” I say slowly. “I have too much to do.” Plus, I’m beginning to feel like the third wheel. If Jake and Aurora end up together, I’ll just have to find a way to be okay with it.





When my phone rings that afternoon, it’s Frederick. “We have to go for a walk in the snow now,” he says.

“But I’m studying for finals.”

“You can study after. Have you looked outside? Dress warm, and meet me by the statue of what’s-his-name.”