Loud Awake and Lost (20 page)

Holden hadn't been in touch since our bumbling, semi-mistake hookup at Drew's engagement, and I'd waited a few days to call him. I had to see him again, to make things better, even if I couldn't make them all the way perfect. I was finding myself in this situation a lot, it seemed.

Another offshoot of last night was that after I'd gone to bed, my parents had contacted Linda Applebaum themselves. When it seemed they couldn't get to her through me, they just went around another way. They couldn't resist.

So far, she'd left two messages on my cell phone plus one in my in-box. So much for “my own steam.”

I needed Holden. I needed his reliability. But apparently he was needing me, too.

“Listen, I'm glad you called. I've got a favor to ask,” he began. Less than two minutes into our call, and he'd jumped into it. “We're doing this family dinner at the River Café tonight for Nana's eightieth birthday. I know it's short notice, but can you come? Just as my bud? It'd sure as hell take the edge off.”

“Oh.” This was not what I'd wanted.

“Please? Eight sharp but we'll make it quick; Nana gets tired.”

“Um…well, sure. Who am I to blow off your eighty-year-old grandmother?” Stilted events never seemed to stop being part of the deal with Holden. His family was so ceremonial. In the years I'd known him, there'd been a cousin's christening, a couple of high school graduations, the ballet, a Broadway revival, and once, even, a painfully boring family trip to the opera for Mr. and Mrs. Wilde's anniversary.

I'd also sneezed my way through Mrs. Wilde's fund-raising event at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, and I'd walked through at least a half dozen fussy furnished town houses when she'd chaired the Brooklyn Historical Society's private homes tour. In these situations, Holden had always reached for me, as if the best option was for us to endure it together.

I'd seen old Mrs. Boughton—or “Nana,” as all the Wildes called her—briefly at Drew's engagement party, and had kept out of her sight. She was the twenty-five-years-older original version of her daughter, bright and false and practically humming with judgment.

That evening at a quarter past eight, her hard eyes followed me as I walked across the restaurant in the same black dress I'd worn to Drew's engagement party.

Another thing I was reminded of, when it came to being part of Holden's life: I was often required to wear a party dress.

“Hello, everyone.”

“Ember,” said Mrs. Boughton, in her trademark withering tone. “You're late. We've ordered drinks without you.”

“That's fine,” I said, knowing that she didn't like that answer, because it sounded friendly but semi-implied that it was fine that I was late. I'd always enjoyed needling Mrs. Boughton, who wasn't as claws-out mean as her daughter—mainly because she was always so shocked anyone would dare be rude to her.

Next I presented her with my birthday present—an overpriced lavender candle, specially gift wrapped at the store. “Here you go. I'm afraid it's not very useful,” I said. “But I remembered how much you liked lavender. So, happy birthday.”

She inclined her head to acknowledge the gift, though Mrs. Boughton was the type of person who would almost rather be irritated to receive a rose or vanilla candle than accept that someone had attempted to be considerate. Meantime, all of the Wilde men had stood formally as the waiter pulled out my chair. I remembered how that always used to unnerve me. Still did.

I sat. They sat.

Mrs. Boughton pushed the gift to the side as if hoping someone would take it away. She raised a haughty finger at me. “Why did you cut off all of your hair?” she demanded. “And those bangs! Why, I can hardly see your face.”

It seemed that nobody was going to step forward into explaining anything about my surgery. This was when Holden's natural quietness kind of got on my nerves. Anyway, I wasn't about to give old Mrs. Boughton the whole spiel. “Yep, I changed my style. I like it, so I guess that's what counts.” I tucked a few strands behind my ear—and then snapped my napkin into my lap.

It was going to be a long night.

Holden's dad rolled his eyes amicably at me. Deep into his cocktails. It was clear he'd decided to let this night, like so many others, just float past him in a dream.

“Good to see you again, Ember,” said Raina, and then she and Drew resumed talking about whatever lovey-dovey thing they'd been discussing so privately that their foreheads nearly touched.

Under the table next to me, Holden gave my knee an appreciative squeeze. His eyes were already red from the fresh-cut roses on the table, which of course nobody had any intention of displacing. It was always kind of astounding how alone Holden was in his own family. As much as the Wildes could annoy me, and as cautious and unassuming a wingman as Holden was, he really did need me.

Within minutes, I was glad I'd shown up for the food, too, which started to interest me right from the lobster panna cotta. Followed by goat-cheese ravioli, and then pecan-crusted bass on a bed of sweet-potato puree. The panna cotta was a teeny bit jellyfishy, the ravioli was on the bland side but I finished it, and the fish had been sitting under the hot lamps a few minutes too long. But the sweet potato was fluffy as a cloud, and made with cinnamon—yum.

This was my first fancy dinner in forever, and I tasted everything excitedly, with interest and respect, like a chef. Like the chef I once told Lissa I'd planned to become. And I knew my newly-woken-up curiosity was really because of El Cielo. I'd put in another shift yesterday, and it had ended with my sampling more of Isabella's best dishes. It wasn't Parisian cooking, nothing as fancy as that, but it had its own complications, its unique difficulties to master. And in its own way, it was every bit as exotic.

“You have a real appetite,” Isabella had told me. “And I see how you want to try new things, too. You remind me of my nephew.”

It was her first reference to Kai. Her words had turned my blood to ice, and I hadn't mustered an answer, but afterward when I was putting on my jacket to go, she'd looked up and said simply, “Come back,” and I knew she meant it. In spite of Kai, I could come back.

And of course I would. She knew I would.

The unfortunate penalty of tonight's dinner, wonderful as it was to taste, was that I had to listen to the Wildes. Had they always been this boastful? Between Mrs. Wilde's fairly creepy self-praise of her decorating decisions, Drew's reference to his promotion, and Mr. Wilde's telling anyone at random that nobody could beat his backhand, there was enough hot air at the table to power up a balloon.

But never any bragging from Holden. He asked the questions the others wanted him to ask, and he didn't look too bothered when Drew undermined everything, from how he looked (“Dude, how are you surviving that haircut?”) to his college (“NYU sucks, it's a rip-off; plus it's overcrowded with wannabe hipsters”).

A couple of times, I bumped Holden's knee under the table in solidarity, while above the table, I pretended to think Drew was not being a massive blowhard jerk but merely a young man of persuasive opinions.

Afterward, the town cars were waiting for us.

“Come over, hang out for a while?” Holden's arm on my shoulder was strong. “No pressure…just, y'know.” He cleared his throat. “As friends.”

“Sure, why not?” Doors were being opened and the others were climbing in—Mrs. Boughton had her own car-plus-driver to whisk her back to her apartment in the city. And I had nothing else to do. I'd called Kai's number a couple of times today and listened to the preprogrammed machine message. We hadn't made plans for a next time. Of course.

“That was too much, right?” Holden murmured in my ear, so low that Raina, on his other side, couldn't hear. “I lean on you too hard.”

“I'm used to your family; they don't scare me,” I whispered back. “And more importantly, you know I'm here for you.” It felt great to say. Maybe because it had been such a long time since I'd been the one to offer strength—to be, finally, the someone who got leaned on.

Time tonight with Holden was restoring the balance, too, after what had happened last Thursday. What I hadn't counted on was a late-night dose of Drew. Who, at the last minute, decided he didn't want to head into Park Slope with Raina—since she had to wake up early for a 7 a.m. business breakfast.

“We'll watch the fight on pay-per-view,” he said, pummeling Holden in the ribs.

“Not sure that's what Ember signed on for,” said Holden in half protest.

Drew's answering silence made me feel as though I were the evening's interloper. And once Mr. and Mrs. Wilde had padded off to bed with their whiskey nightcaps, leaving me alone with Holden and Drew, I began to wish that I hadn't come along after all. There was something needling Drew, and it had to do with me. He was showing me all the same behavior that he'd put me through at the engagement party. He was pent-up annoyed by my presence—I could tell by the way he avoided looking at me, his eyes shifting off hard when I made a single comment, and by the way he charged past me in the den to grab the remote control, then fixed way too much attention on the boxing. It was all so unnerving, well past the point of unkindness.

When Holden went upstairs to get waters, I braced for it. Here was Drew's opportunity to pounce.

I was right. With his eyes beady and determined on the television screen, he cut right to it. “So does this mean we'll be seeing more of you, Ember? Family dinners are usually pretty inner-circle.” By the flicker of the television light, it struck me that Drew did share some resemblance to Holden, only fattened up and with a melty chin. I'd never thought so before.

“Last I checked, it wasn't a crime to hang out with your ex,” I answered lightly, resisting my urge to leave the room altogether. But part of me wanted to hear what Drew had to say.

A split-second glance at me, and then Drew focused back on the screen. “Nothing personal, my dear. I wouldn't mind at all, except for the inconvenient fact that my brother's still in love with you—and you're not in love with him.” His voice was indisputably bitter. “You know that I saw you both?” he continued. “Last January. You and that punk street kid. I was coming into the city in a cab, and you two were walking the footpath over the bridge, in the opposite direction. We passed head-on. You saw me, too.”

“What? Drew, what are you talking about?”

“Like you don't know. You can't fool me, Ember. You're the walking wounded, broken up with the street kid—or maybe he broke it off with you—and you're rebounding with my little brother. Giving it another shot because you know he'll do anything for you. How much plainer can I make it?”

“I'm not—” The Brooklyn Bridge, a shred of clouds, a bitter breeze, the weak winter sun on my face—it was kaleidoscopic. Yes, I had seen Drew that day—his face tight, shadowed through the taxicab window. I'd felt him staring at me, and I'd turned. And I'd been stricken with guilt as he'd held my eye, even though Holden and I had been over for months. It all came back to me in an electric pop.

“Holden might be your runner-up, but what really gets me is that you've always been his first choice.” Drew reached for me so quick I didn't expect the grip of his fingers around my wrist. “So if you had any heart about this, you'd do the right thing and go home.”

“Hey, come on. Enough.” I shook off his damp hand. There was an acrid taste in the back of my throat. The sound of my boots, the view of the skyline—I was in it again, that beautiful day.…

But Drew wasn't done. His face was a sneer, and I'd never disliked him so much as in this moment. “Just one more thing.” He paused for effect. “Do you ever think about her?”

“Who?”

“Cassandra. The girl who's losing her chance with Holden because you've decided to keep him on your back burner. He likes her. A brother knows these things. And I know you're sabotaging it for both of them.”

“I'm not! I haven't done anything like that.”

“You are—you know you are—by being too weak to cut ties.”

It was beyond hurtful. But was it true? “I probably should thank you for being so blunt,” I said, recovering my speech a little as I stood up to go, “but let's just agree that you don't need that particular compliment.”

Leaving the room, I nearly collided with Holden in the doorway.

“Hey—what's wrong?” When I didn't answer, Holden put down the water bottles and followed me as I skimmed up the stairs. “Seriously? You're going? It's Drew, isn't it? What did he say? Some cheap-ass shot, right? But you can't go because of him, he's always—”

“No, no, this time he's right—and it's not his fault.” I spoke over my shoulder; I couldn't stop moving, but at the front door Holden sidestepped in front of me, blocking my way. “Please stay. Please, Ember.” He moved closer, taking up my hand. “This is bigger than Drew. I really want to give us another shot. Last week, maybe we pushed things too quick. And I'm not trying to rush or force anything with us, really. I want us to come back together naturally. I'm betting hard that we can.”

Drew, Rachel, my parents, Holden himself—everyone thought we had a chance, because I hadn't been strong enough to make a decision. Drew was right. This wasn't fair to Holden. I had to take responsibility.

“Holden, you know that you're one of my very favorite people who has ever come into my life.” It was getting harder to breathe, my words felt so clumsy and misshapen to this moment. “But honestly? I think that the best that you and I can be is friends. That's how we make the most sense. That's who we should be for each other.”

“Wait—are you for real, Ember?” Though he released my hand. “I know how much of a strain you've been under, trying to get back on track…but I guess I thought I was one of the beneficial side effects.”