"Because he's going out withher." Gene scoffed,
“With who? Jesus, would you all stop beating around the bush and speak!" Fabian groaned,
"Why doesn't she tell you for herself, Armani?" She suggested, glancing in my direction,
"What, me?" I wondered in confusion, "I have no clue what you're talking about."
"He says that you guys are partners for this photography assignment and that you're going out later this afternoon. Stop playing dumb it's not a good look on you." She spat, and I nearly had the wind knocked out of my chest. I glanced over at River, and his beautiful blue eyes met mine.You, me, tonight, he mouthed silently, parting his full rose-tinted lips.
The thought crossed my mind for a second, to deny him and ask that he asked me as a normal person would. But when have things ever been normal with River Kennedy? I wanted to march over to his table and tell him that I'm just a girl and not a psychic and that I can't always read his fucking mind like he wants me to. But again, I was just a girl, and he was an ocean-eyed god dawning down on me.
So instead, I nodded and flashed him a smile, and he smiled back at me, not the way he had smiled at Geneviève , it was different, like he meant it, and all my envy melted away.
I sat at my desk, finishing up the last of my math homework, well, trying to. Math problems were way more challenging when they were in French. Believe it or not, it was the only subject I wasn't particularly good at. When I looked at numbers, they didn’t make sense like words and pictures did. I sighed in frustration and shut my textbook. I would finish it later. Just then, my cell phone began to ring, I picked it up, and I sighed in relief at the name that popped up, Mama. I hadn't talked to her in a while, and by a while, I meant two days. She made it her absolute mission to track my every move, even when I was oceans away. I slid the flashing green icon and answered the phone.
"Armani, my love, my light, have you been avoiding me?" Mama asked, her voice was sad.
"Of course not, mama. I've just been busy with schoolwork. It was only two days." I defended calmly,
"Do you have any idea what could happen to you in two days?" She scolded, "Your father and I have been watching those crime channel documentaries, and we fear for you out there. You could've at least sent me a text message, your father and I worry about you all alone in a foreign country."
“Mama, what did I tell you guys about watching scary documentaries?” I scolded.
I understood where mama was coming from, but I was eighteen, I was of age, and it sucked that she still treated me like I was a stubborn teenager. I didn't want to anger her or my father by asking them for some space, knowing all that they'd done for me to be able to go to an expensive school like this. But some part of my heart still longed for freedom and for them to treat me like an adult.
"I understand. I'm sorry." I apologized instead, overwhelmed by guilt.
"Your brother Jaadi misses you. You never bother to call and check on him." Mama scoffed, and I swallowed the lump in my throat,
"That's not true, mama. I call on papa's phone all the time to talk to him." I protested,
"I've heard of no such thing, don't talk back to your mother." She told me, and as if by instinct, I stayed silent.
"Never mind that, how are your classes going? I hope you're staying focused as usual?"
"They're going fine, and of course, I am," I assured her trying not to break down and cry.
My relationship with mama had always been complicated, but I managed because I knew what she expected from me. And I'd learned to never give her and papa anything less than perfection. To never let them see the cracks in my shiny porcelain figure, the dents in the corners of my mind— all of it was to remain hidden.
"Great, papa and I were thinking of going to visit your grandmother this weekend. She hasn't been well." Mama told me, and my heart dropped,
"Wait, what's going on? Is she okay?" I asked, my heart racing,
"Bibi has always had a bad heart, since she was a girl, you know this?"
"I know. I just didn't think it would get worse," I admitted drifting off and gazing out the window at the sunset, with rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, and crimsons. My heart hurt, and I wanted more than anything to be able to visit bibi along with them.
"You are a smart girl Armani, and I know you would wish to be with her, but your place is in Paris. I know this." She said, her voice softer. Tears began to roll down my cheeks uncontrollably, I wiped them away, but more fell in their place.
"How?" I asked, feeling my heart wrench in my chest,
"You are my daughter, and a mother knows these things." She simply responded, and I sighed, grabbing a tissue from my dresser and dabbling it beneath my eyes.
"I have a lot of work to do, mama. I'll talk to you soon, goodnight." I promised softly,
"Goodnight, my love." She said and hung up the phone.
Conversations with my mother were unusually formal; I always felt like they followed a strict script. I wasn’t allowed to venture outside the lines of what was considered proper for me to say, and so I always said nothing. Just then, Keomi walked in with a few shopping bags in hand, cheery as always. And I never realized before how much I truly envied how she was always smiling and always found joy in the littlest things. I don't think I’d ever seen her angry or weary in all the time I'd known Keomi Nakamura.
