Thalia:I did
Javier:Thanks
Thalia:For the record I think the fact that you didn’t start throwing things at him makes you extremely reasonable
Bastien:Agreed
“Javier,” my mom calls up the stairs. Footsteps, and then the floor outside my door creaks. “Can we talk?”
CHAPTER NINE
MADELINE
Paloma’s househas the exact same doorbell as my dad’s and the sameDING-dongwhen I ring it. The same awning over the front porch too—that striped aluminum that looks like my childhood and makes me think of carports and wood-paneled dens in cozy postwar houses. She’s got a wind chime hanging from the end of the awning, one of those shiny ones with a hummingbird cutout in the middle. I focus very hard on that so that I don’t think about whether Javier is here right now or not.
Probably not, right? If he’s only in town for a week or so, he’s probably out seeing old friends or going to the beach or?—
The inner door swings open so hard it rattles the screen door in its frame, and then Javier’s standing there. His face goes from glowering to surprised in a split second, and I take a quick step back.
“Oh,” he says. “Hi.”
“Hi. Sorry. Is this a bad time?” Great, I’m already flustered. I hold up the jacket in my hand as explanation. “Your brother left his jacket at my dad’s house the other night, and I told your mom I’d bring it by after work? So here I am. With the jacket. If you want I can just?—”
But he’s already shaking his head and holding the screen door open, so I stop making my offer to leave the jacket on the porch and run away, or whatever I was about to say. I’m not even sure at this point.
“I thought you were going to be someone else,” he says as I step past him, his arm still extended as he holds the door. “My mom didn’t mention you were coming.”
“Just a quick errand,” I say, and then we’re standing together in the entryway.
“Right,” he says, and he seems off-balance somehow. There’s a flush on his high cheekbones, a certain set to his mouth, and his hair’s held back with a pencil stabbed through a messy bun, strands sticking out everywhere. “I think she’s in the living room. Let me take you?—”
“Is that Madeline?” Paloma calls and bustles through the doorway. She’s got the same color in her cheeks and the same look on her face and doesn’t even glance at Javier. He goes stiff and silent beside me.
I amdefinitelyreturning a jacket in the middle of a fight.
“Bastien left this,” I explain again, holding up the jacket like it’ll ward off awkwardness. “My dad figured you’d see him again before we did, probably, and you’re more or less on my way home from work.”
“Thank yousomuch,” she says, and takes it. “Actually, while you’re here, did you want to take a look at that lamp? Your father said you liked this sort of thing, and it was a gift from my former sister-in-law…”
My self-preservation instincts are telling me to throw the jacket and run, but they’re overruled by my politeness instincts. I go with Paloma, throwing one last glance at Javier as I follow her into the dining room. He’s making a face like a thunderstorm on the horizon.
Then I briefly forget about whatever their problem is because the lamp isgreat. It’s clearly old, the shade long-lost, and it’s ugly and spectacular all at once. The pedestal is faded and carved like a wave, out of which emerges a topless mermaid, arms raised, long hair tastefully covering her nipples. I fall in love immediately, which makes Paloma offer me several more household items. I decline, not being in the market for decorative plates.
When I finally leave, Paloma sees me to the door with a hug, then tells me to drive safe. The whole time she studiously ignores the fact that Javier’s loading a suitcase into the trunk of a car that’s parked on the street right in front of mine. It’s easily one of the top ten most awkward interactions I’ve ever had, and while I’ve seen Paloma and Bastien bicker and I’ve heard her complain about her daughter, I didn’t know she could deploy this level of cold shoulder.
Javier looks up when I get close, one hand on the lip of the raised trunk. He’s wearing a white V-neck undershirt, shorts, and flip-flops, and with his arm in the air I can see a strip of skin above his waistband. I grip the lamp a little harder, and he slams the trunk down.
Then the trunk pops back open, and Javier swears and slams it down again, a little harder, and gives it a tug that makes the whole car bounce on its suspension.
“Sorry,” he says. “Sometimes you really gotta force it.”
“Trunks are weird,” I agree, nodding, even though that’s not at all what he said. Close enough. My heart’s beating a little too fast, and with the heat and humidity and being dressed for an office, I’m already sweating. “Hey, sorry if I interrupted…anything. I texted your mom earlier today, but I think she forgot.”
He scrubs both hands over his face, fingers drifting into his hair, and it makes even more short pieces fluff out until he lookslike he just ran through the woods or something. Unfortunately, it looks good on him.
“It’s not your fault,” he says, then turns and leans against his car, propping both hands on the edge of the trunk. “I should have known better than to think I could stay here a whole week.”
“You’re leaving?”
