“I mean, of course I had to be here. I didn’t want to miss any of this,” Lewis says to his brother and holds out his hand to him. “Congrats.”
After what feels like a million moments too many, Ben finally takes Lewis’s hand. “Thank you.”
Once the band wraps up and a DJ takes over, the party quickly picks up speed, a skittering beat replacing the classy jazz. John and Ada get roped into a conversation by another couple, and after many attempts at stimulating some conversation between the brothers, they are finally chatting about the trip to Europe Ben is planning for later this summer. Lewis tells Ben about his favorite places to visit in and around London, and as someone stops by to congratulate Ben, Lewis squeezes my hand and finds my gaze.
“Hey, why don’t you ask Alice if she wants to dance?” he suggests, nodding over at his niece. Alice sits cross-legged against one of the windowed walls, face pulled into a bored pout. Behind her, the setting sun bruises the sky.
“Are you sure?” I check, remembering how he wanted me as a buffer around his family.
“Yeah, I’m good here.” Lewis gives me a brief smile just as Ben turns back around.
I crouch down in front of Alice. “Will you dance with me?” I ask her, to which she nods enthusiastically. After a quick lookat Ada, who signals that she’ll find us upstairs shortly, we make our way to the dance floor on the second deck. It only takes me half a song to understand that Alice and I have decidedly different energy levels. My heart thunders in my chest as I try to keep up with her jerking dance moves, pulling her back when she jumps out of our safe perimeter and into a circle of Ben’s classmates. Ada and John join us after a few songs, and we take turns bopping with Alice and recharging with cold drinks. I’m having so much fun dancing with them and spotting all the similarities with Lewis that I almost forget that I’m not here as his real girlfriend.
At some point, the boat’s horn vibrates to signal the yacht turning back toward Manhattan. Lewis remains out of sight, and I picture him finally talking to his brother. I know they won’t make up for a lifetime of distance in one evening, but perhaps they can lay a foundation to patch up their communication. But then I spot Ben’s tall frame weaving through the crowd and stepping up to the bar on his own. The way he drops his head into his hands while he waits for his drink tells me I’ve made a mistake. Even though Lewis asked me to, I shouldn’t have left him alone.
I hurry down the stairs to the lower deck. Outside, the sky has darkened, and the windows reflect the interior of the lounge. Orbs hang at different lengths from the ceiling, basking the room in a soft glow and creating enough light for me to finally spot Lewis, his father by his side and, with her back to me, a woman with dark, shoulder-length hair. I let out a breath when I see how casually they’re conversing. Mr. North laughs at some point, so surely things can’t be going too badly.
Except then I get closer and see how rigid Lewis is holding himself, how his hand is clenched into a fist at his side, knuckles white and thumbnail pressing into the side of hisfinger. And then I catch his father’s words, “… It’s not ideal, but I’m sure you picked upsometransferable skills in your studies.”
Yikes.
I make a move to step into their circle, but Lewis catches my gaze before I can close the distance. I lift my eyebrows and nudge my head to the side, hoping he’ll read what I’m trying to communicate:Do you need me?
He gives his head the barest of shakes, like he’s got it—like he wants to give his parents another chance on his own. “I’m here for Ben, not for you,” he then says, surprisingly calmly. “You don’t need to mine my résumé for any transferable skills, but thank you forsucha generous offer.”
I’m proud of him for standing up to his parents when—from the little I know—it’s probably one of the few times he’s done so, but that doesn’t mean he should feel alone. Deciding to stay by his side while respecting the space he asked for, I perch on an empty stool close enough to let me listen in on the conversation and come to his rescue whenever he needs.
“Richard, dear, let him be.” The woman—Mrs. North—puts a hand on her husband’s arm.
“But how much time does he need for this phase to be over?” he asks her. “Ben and Ada were able to grow up…”
Mrs. North leans closer to his ear and says something that I can’t catch, but it seems to appease her husband as he pats her hand and smiles down at her. “You’re absolutely right,” he hums in agreement.
“A phase?” Lewis spits out. His voice sounds a million degrees colder than when we fight about measuring neural replay, and more than a few curious glances snap his way. “My research isn’t a phase to build character until I’m ready to be your perfect son again.”
But they keep talking about him as if he’s a somewhatdifficult twelve-year-old rather than a fully grown and independent man with a PhD and a career in neuroscience.
“How’s your German?” his dad asks when he finally turns back to his oldest son. He hovers his hand in the air as if he’s about to give him one of those painful-looking finance-bro slaps on the pec. “The office in Europe isn’t doing so well these days, so perhaps…”
“That’s a great idea,” Mrs. North agrees with an enthusiastic nod.
“Jesus, do you ever listen to anyone but yourselves?” Lewis exclaims.
Uh-oh. The group closest to us turns their heads at the raised voice, but Lewis doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care. “I’m not going to dick around in some sleek boardroom, and push money from rich people to other rich people. Not here, not anywhere. Besides, you have Ben for that now.”
“Don’t make a scene, Theodore,” his mother shushes him, throwing a glance over her shoulder, and it’s then that Lewis’s mask slips. Just for a second, his withdrawn look becomes one of exhaustion and the lines around his eyes turn deep and tired and resigned, like he knows and has always known that he’s on his own. That there’s nobody on his side to stand up for him. And when he stands up for himself, the people who should care the most don’t even listen.
It makes my heartache.
Before I know it, I’m walking toward him. Not to help his family save face, because I couldn’t care less about the gossip-hungry people around us, craning their necks and snickering in mock embarrassment. Not to satisfy his mother, who gasps indignantly as I move past her and slide up to him. Not to convince his father, who thinks his son isn’t good enough.
I just want to get Lewis out of there.
“Hi,” I say brightly, and force myself into their circle. “Mr.and Mrs. North? It’ssonice to finally meet you. Lewis has told me all about you and, you know, how you helped him build his character so he’s become one of the most promising scientists Germany has to offer. He’s humble about it, so I’m not sure he’s told you.” I lean closer and say, “But only last year he was awarded a prize by the German Academy of Sciences to honor the groundbreaking research he produces, and honestly, they were right to. He’s absolutely brilliant at what he does. I’ve watched his career for four years now and he’s not only meticulous and ambitious, but he looks out for others, too—shares his data, helps where he can. And all thanks to you and how generously you let him pursue his passion.”
I finally pause to catch a breath and look at Lewis, whose gaze is sharp as it tracks over my face. Lips parted slightly, his eyes burn up my cheek until they meet mine. “Hey, you.” At his rasp, a charge flicks in the pit of my belly. I see a flash of us between the library shelves, his touch at the pulse of my throat, fingers curled against the underside of my jaw. When he looks at me like that, like I’m the question he’s most eager to investigate, I almost get the feeling he could want me, too.
Too?
