Luke studies me. He looks at the cafeteria noise, at the exhausted residents, and then at me.
“A tuxedo?” he asks.
“I’ll buy you one. Or we can rent. I don't care. Just… come with me. Publicly.”
It’s a big step. The Gala is the shark tank. It’s not just family; it’s the Board, the donors, the press.
Luke reaches across the table. He takes my hand, right there next to the salad dressing.
“I have a tux,” he says. “From prom. It might be a little tight in the shoulders.”
“Tight is good,” I say, my mouth going dry. “Tight is very good.”
“Then I’m in,” Luke says. “But if there’s green foam, I’m ordering pizza.”
“Deal.”
I squeeze his hand.
The fruit basket was just the beginning. The Gala? That’s going to be the main event. And for the first time, I’m not dreading it.
I’m actually looking forward to the show.
Chapter 13
The Abomination
PRESTON
Three Days Before the Gala
“Show me.”
I am standing in the centre of Luke’s bedroom in Queens. I am wearing sunglasses indoors because the morning light is aggressive, and I am holding a latte from the Breville machine I so graciously donated to this household.
Luke is standing in front of his closet, guarding the door like it contains state secrets.
“Preston, it’s fine,” Luke says, crossing his arms. “It’s a tuxedo. It has pants. It has a jacket. It covers my body. That meets the dress code.”
“The dress code is ‘Black Tie,’” I remind him. “That implies a certain aesthetic standard. If you show up looking like a waiter from a mid-tier cruise ship, my mother will eat you alive. She feeds on polyester, Luke. It strengthens her.”
Luke sighs. He looks pained.
“It’s not… modern,” he admits. “I bought it for senior prom. My mom said it was ‘dashing.’”
“Your mother is a saint who clearly loves you too much to tell you the truth. Now, move.”
I nudge him aside with my hip. I reach for the garment bag hanging in the back. It is plastic. It is dusty.
I unzip it.
I scream.
It is a short, sharp sound of pure aesthetic terror.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, recoiling. “Luke. Lucas. What is that?”
Luke rubs the back of his neck, looking at the floor. “It was 2014. Styles were different.”
