The Design (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Amount
saved for Paris
: $2103 (minus $5.32 I used to buy bubblewrap so that I could protect the Eiffel Tower paperweight en route to Paris).

Items I have
: updated Passport and picture. Goodbye thirteen-year-old brace-face portrait.

Items I need
: a Paris Metro map so I can start to learn my way around the arrondissements.

French phrases that I know
: P
as de l'enfer. Je ne veux pas un colocataire…which translates to “Hell no. I don’t want a roommate.” It seemed like necessary knowledge, considering Hannah and I spoke the same language but still mixed like oil and water.

The next morning I woke up early to work on my designs for the competition before going in to work. I was nearing the final stages, but the entries were due by next Monday. I knew Brooklyn and Grayson would probably keep me occupied over the weekend, which meant I really only had three more days to get it done.

Thankfully, Hannah wasn’t awake when I padded into our kitchen to make my first cup of coffee for the day. I stood in the quiet space, waiting for our Keurig to boot up and reminiscing about the night before. It’d definitely been one of the best birthdays I’d ever had, all thanks to Grayson.

Once I had my coffee in hand, I locked myself back in my room and surveyed my progress. My park designs were scattered across my desk in piles that I swore I could differentiate, though your guess was probably as good as mine. I cleared a small space so I could set down my coffee and then booted up my laptop and sat down. The crystal Eiffel Tower paperweight caught my attention on the windowsill. It was beautiful in the early morning light, and seeing it there reminded me again of the night before. I smiled and took a sip of coffee and then paused, alarm bells ringing. Grayson’s post-it note was missing. I’d stuck it next to the paperweight and had meant to put the address in my phone since my desk was currently a war zone, but I hadn’t had time to do it the day before.

Immediately I stood and started to rifle through the papers on my desk, organizing them as I went. I glanced beneath every single one, even making sure the post-it note hadn’t stuck to the back of any of them. I checked behind my desk and on the carpet beneath it. Nothing. It was nowhere to be found.

In the end, I had a very neat desk and no post-it note. I checked my purse and the rest of my room, but I didn’t find it anywhere. I cursed myself for not putting it in my phone earlier. Losing something within forty-eight hours was a new low, even for me.

I sighed and made a mental note to ask Grayson for the address again.
Was that embarrassing to have to ask him for it twice?
Oh well, I didn’t have a choice.

I spent the rest of the morning working on my designs and trying to come up with a casual way to ask Grayson about his address again.

It seemed silly to want his address so badly. Eventually he’d take me to his apartment and then I’d know it by default. But what if he didn’t take me and I left for Paris without his address? How could I send him postcards or letters?

In a way, it felt like one more way that I was slowly losing Grayson at the same time I was really starting to find him.

…

Saturday morning, my whore of a big sister had to leave for Montana (
before we even got the chance to have a going away dinner for her
) and I was crying at the airport like a sad sack. I knew she had to work on her album with Jason. I knew that bad weather in Montana meant that they needed to fly out earlier, and yet I couldn’t pull it together.

“I will be back in a few weeks! What’s wrong? Are you sad that you don’t get to see Cowboy Derek?”

I sniffed and wiped the snot dripping from my nose like a faucet.

“No! God! I’m not crying because of Cowboy Derek!”

Cowboy Derek was a ranch hand who worked for Jason up in Montana.

“So then you’re this sad that I’m leaving for a few weeks?” she asked, clearly confused.

The waterworks kicked up another notch.

I could handle being away from Brooklyn for a few weeks, but she didn’t realize that it was actually the last time we’d see each other in who knows how long. I’d be in Paris by the time she arrived back in LA.

“I’m… I’m…” I couldn’t get a word out without crumbling into a blubbering mess once again.

Jason exchanged a wary glance with Brooklyn, one that hinted at the fact that they both thought I was going a little insane. I had to pull my shit together. I was a twenty-three year old adult woman.
Lion hear me roar, right?
I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes, and nodded.

“Okay. You can go. I’ll be okay,” I said, feeling very confident and wise.

Brooklyn smiled, her twinkling blue eyes meeting mine. “Okay, well I need you to let go of my suitcase then.”

I glanced down. My hands were still clutching her suitcase for dear life.
Whoops
.

“Oh. Yeah, right.”

I reluctantly loosened my grip on the bag and she pulled it to her side.

“And I need my wallet,” she said, holding her palm out flat.

“Your what?” I pointed to Brooklyn and met Jason’s gaze with one of those “
get a load of this girl
” glances.

“Cammie…”

“Fine!”

I pulled her dumb designer wallet out of my back pocket and gave it to her.

Jason shook his head and glanced down at his watch. I knew I was making them late, but they were flying privately and besides, I didn’t care. I’d miss them so much that even this exchange, while embarrassing, was better than letting them go.

“Do you have anything else?” Brooklyn asked.

I thought about lying and telling her no, but the inevitable would happen anyway. Jason and Brooklyn were leaving and stuffing my pockets full of their crap wouldn’t make them stay. Although, it seemed to always work in the movies, so maybe I was doing it wrong.

With a sigh, I unloaded Jason’s cell phone from my back pocket, Brooklyn’s laptop charger from my purse, her I.D. from my bra, and then I pointed to Jason’s luggage.

“There’s a toy gun in your front pocket,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Cammie!” they both exclaimed like scolding parents.
Yeah, whatever
. I’d rather have Jason detained than have them fly across the country to Montana.

“I’m sorry!”

Jason unzipped his front pocket and a little blue water gun rolled out.

He laughed. “You even filled it up.”             

I shrugged. “I didn't want the tabloids reporting that Jason Monroe is shooting blanks.”

He walked toward me and wrapped me up in a bear hug. I gripped his shirt and closed my eyes. In the past few weeks Jason had become a big brother to me. He put up with my shenanigans and treated my sister like a princess. I couldn’t have asked for a better man for her.

“I’ll take care of your sister and you can always come visit us in a few weeks,” he whispered to me before stepping back and placing the toy gun in my hand.

“Later, J-money,” I said with a sad smile.

“Adios, C-stacks.”

That only left my sister. I knew she could tell something was off. She stood a few feet away from me, frowning and trying to read between the lines. We’d done this same goodbye not two months earlier and I hadn’t shed a single tear. I’m sure I was adding undue guilt onto her conscience with my waterworks. She needed to work on her music and I needed to stand on my own two feet. This was
not
that big of a deal. I smiled and held my arms open like a mom greeting her child after school.

“Get over here, you monster,” I said with as much jokiness as I could muster.

She smiled and bent down to give me hug.

“I love you so much, my little pop star princess,” I said.

She laughed against my shoulder and squeezed me even tighter.

“I love you too.”

We hugged until I thought I was going to breakdown again, and then I stepped back and held her at arm’s length. She told me she’d call me as soon as she landed and then I watched her and Jason walk into the private airport together. I stayed where I was until their plane took off thirty minutes later. Then, instead of calling a cab, I started to walk back to my apartment. I had no clue how long the walk would take; maybe I’d call a cab when my feet got tired, but it felt cathartic to walk through the city. It gave me a sense of purpose that I would lose the moment I got back to my apartment and realized that Brooklyn was really gone and I was one step closer to my own departure.

It wasn’t until I got home some hours later—after stopping for a latte and people-watching at the cafe—that I realized I still had Brooklyn’s guitar pic. I’d slipped it into my back pocket earlier, fully intending to give it back to her along with the rest of her things, but now I was selfishly glad I’d forgotten about it. The apartment was quiet with no signs of Hannah, so I went to my room, lay down, and stared at that guitar pic like it would come alive and tell me whether or not I was making the right decision to leave for Paris.

A while later, my phone buzzed next to me on the bed and I reached for it, assuming it was Brooklyn telling me she’d arrived safely in Montana.

“Hello,” I answered, hating the way my voice cracked midway through the word. Brooklyn would know I was still crying.

“Heart?” Grayson’s deep voice spoke into the phone. “What’s wrong?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Grayson knocked on my door twenty minutes later.

I’d done everything I could to assure him that I was fine on the phone, but he insisted on stopping by. Hannah still wasn’t home and I figured if we just stayed in my room and I put some music on, she’d be none the wiser.

I pulled open my apartment door to see Grayson standing on my doorstep in jeans and an old MIT t-shirt. I knew from stalking him that he’d gone there for his master’s degree before starting up his own architecture firm. His arms were piled high with various items. Just on the surface I could see two bottles of wine, a bag of Snickers, and a DVD case with Will Farrell’s face on it.

“I’ve come with reinforcements,” he said, stepping into my apartment as I pulled the door open wide for him.

“10-4. Quick, take it all back to my room. I’ll grab some spoons and wine glasses.”

Five minutes later, we were sitting on the floor of my room with a Pandora playlist turned up to max volume. Grayson was opening the wine and I was shoveling ice cream into my mouth like there was no tomorrow.

“So Brooklyn left today, huh?” he asked, peering up at me as he worked the cork out of the wine bottle.

I smiled, despite my shitty day. “Yes, Brooklyn left today and that’s why my eyes are puffy.”

He frowned.

“But I’m glad you’re here now,” I added, leaning up onto my knees to give him a kiss.

“You could have called me earlier y’know, when you were sad about her leaving.”

“Grayson Cole, therapist?” I joked, because I was awkward during sentimental moments like this.

He shrugged, a red tinge dotting his tanned cheeks for the first time that I could ever recall. Grayson was being earnest and I was falling deeper into something that I wouldn’t for the life of me call love.

“I have a plan,” I said, trying to shake myself back into safe, neutral territory. “Let’s get drunk on wine, eat this tub of ice cream, and then make prank phone calls.”

His brow dropped in confusion. “Prank calls?”

I grinned. “Yes. Like we did in high school.”

He shook his head. “I never did that in high school.”

I feigned shock just as his cell phone started ringing in his back pocket.

“Were you too busy going to dweeb conventions?” I asked with a wink.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot me a smile. “Actually, yes. I was in math club and part of a robotics team. We went to state my senior year.”

“Oh my gosh, you
were
a nerd!” I laughed, playfully nudging his arm.

“Hold on, I need to take this really quickly,” he said, swiping his finger across his phone to answer the call.

I reached over to turn down the music and then listened by the door to see if Hannah had come home. All was quiet still.

“Yeah, I’ll look at it right now—ok—yeah, I’ll email you back in a second.”

I turned back to see Grayson glancing around my room until his eyes landed on my desk—which happened to be newly cleaned. If he’d come over a day earlier, the desk would have been piled high with designs for a competition I was hiding from him. Luckily, all of the information was tucked away in a manila envelope, ready to ship to the design committee’s address first thing on Monday morning.

“Do you mind if I check a design on your computer really quick? Mitch said he just shot over an Adobe file and I can’t look at it on my phone.”

I shrugged. “Go right ahead, but if it’s cool, then I get to look at it too.”

He laughed as I booted up my computer for him. Maybe other people would have minded that their boyfriends were working on the weekends, but I understood his love for his job. He had a hundred people counting on him and if he needed to check an email for a second, I’d manage just fine with ice cream and wine.

“It’s for that residential project you helped me with. Do you remember that house a few weeks ago?” he asked.

“Yes! I loved that house.”

He logged onto his email, pulled up the design, and walked me through the changes Mitch had sent over.

Sitting on his lap as he worked at my computer ended up being the most fun date I’d had in a while. (I guess I couldn’t make fun of him for being a nerd. Talk about pot calling the kettle black.)

When he was done sending Mitch a reply, I handed him his glass of wine and pulled out my cell phone.

“Now, it’s my turn to teach you something,” I said as he swiveled in my desk chair to face me.

He quirked a brow in interest and pulled me down to sit on his lap.

“What are you going to teach me?” he asked, kissing my shoulder.

“The art of a prank call.”