Rome rolled his eyes and punched Brody in the arm. “Not all of us can decide to make booze and end up being brilliant at it. Some of us actually have to work at figuring out what we want to do with our lives.”
Before the two of them could start their usual back-and-forth banter, Keli returned. She was smiling and looked more relaxed than she had when she left, which I took to be a good sign.
“Hi.” She beamed at everyone. “What are we talking about?”
“School,” Brody said with that easy smile of his. “Rome is set to graduate this spring with an MBA.”
“Where do you go to school?” Keli asked.
“UCLA.” Rome’s eyes slid over to me and then back to Keli. “What are you studying?”
“Art history.”
“Are you hoping to become a teacher?” Brody asked. “I mean, what can you really do with an art history degree? Though I guess it’s easy to change your major, especially if you’ve just started. Are you a freshman, then?”
“Shut it,clot-heid,” I snapped at him. I hadn’t even thought to ask Keli how old she was, and the last thing I needed was my family to realize it. Shewasa freshman, which meant she was at least eighteen – or so I hoped. I’d need to find out soon, though.
Fuck.
“It’s all right,” Keli said, putting her hand on my arm. “Actually, I’m an artist myself. Art history gives me the opportunity to mingle with people in the art world, to make the sort of connections artists need to get their name out there.”
“What kind of artist are you?” My sister, Maggie, joined the conversation. She’d twisted her honey-blonde hair up into something that made her look older than seventeen. “I’m a musician.”
“That’s great.” Keli smiled. “I’m a painter. Sometimes I do landscapes, sometimes portraits. Depends on what mood I’m in. My versatility makes me quite the commodity. When someone realizes that I can paint whatever it is they want me to paint, I hope they’ll commission all sorts of work.”
I hadn’t really heard Keli talk much about her future plans, only that she liked to paint and enjoyed her art history classes. Those conversations had come out of my having seen the books in her dorm room and not wanting the silence to stretch out between bouts of sex.
“That’s what I want to do,” Maggie said. “Well, with music, not paint, but you get the idea.”
The pair started talking to each other, their shared passion making them both animated and clearly enjoying themselves.
“Is it just me, or does your girl – sorry, yourfriend– sound and look more like a teenager daydreaming rather than a college student working toward a career?” Rome’s voice was pitched low, so only Austin, Brody, and I could hear him.
I didn’t respond. The uneasy feeling in my stomach made me move asking her age to the top of my priority list. We weren’t even close to serious, but I needed to make sure I hadn’t done something immensely foolish.
Five
“We could have stayedat your parents’ house if you wanted to,” Keli said as our driver took us back to the hotel. “I hope you didn’t feel like you had to get a room just because I’m with you.”
I shook my head. “I was glad to have a reason to stay at a hotel. I love my family, but I sleep much better knowing my brothers won’t be sneaking into my room in the middle of the night to dump cold water on me or steal my clothes.”
She laughed. “Which brothers? I mean, seriously, you havesomany of them.”
“Usually Brody and Rome, but they’ve passed the mantles of mischief makers to Sean and Xander, the younger twins.” I paused, then asked, “You know, Maggie will be eighteen in February. How close is that to your birthday?”
If Keli suspected that I really wanted to find out how old she was, she didn’t show it. “I actually turned nineteen a few days before you and I met.”
Relief went through me. Keli wasn’t a barely eighteen co-ed. Aye, there was still a five-year age difference, but it wasn’t as if either of us was doing anything more than having fun. My family had simply overthought the meaning behind me bringing Keli tonight. I’d enjoyed the time we’d spent together, and I had felt for her, being away from home during a holiday.
“What about you? When’s your birthday?”
“July twentieth.” I didn’t tell her how old I was, and she didn’t ask.
If she didn’t care, that was fine with me.
“What time is our flight leaving tomorrow?” she asked.
“I told the pilot I want to be wheels up by eight o’clock at the latest since he’s flying Fury and Cory to Stanford in the afternoon. No one else has to be back by a specific time.”
