I almost smile. “That’s it? No threats about not breaking his heart, making sure I treat him like he deserves?”
“I don’t think I need to threaten that, do I?” The look she gives me is penetrating, like she’s seeing straight to the thing I’ve been trying not to name.
I swallow hard. “No, you don’t need to do that.”
She holds my gaze for one more second, then nods once.
“Good.”
She turns toward the sound of Archie clattering down the hall from the bathroom, and her voice shifts into something warm and bright. “Archibald, darling, I’m off. I’ll see you next time I’m in town.”
“Hope you have a great flight,” Archie says.
I stand in the hallway for a moment after she’s hugged him goodbye, her words echoing in my ears.
You look after our boy.
Ourboy.
Not my godson. Not Archibald. Our boy. Like she’s already folded me into the small circle of people who get to claim him.
I don’t quite know how to feel about that.
The front door clicks shut behind her, leaving behind just Archie, me, and whatever this thing between us has become.
We have a party at three.
This one’s a space theme, which means my costume situation has escalated from terrestrial humiliation to intergalactic humiliation.
It’s a full astronaut suit. But it’s not one of those sleek, modern-looking ones. Instead, it’s the bulky, puffy white kind that makes whoever wears it look like the Michelin Man’s cousin who got lost on the way to a costume party.
The helmet has stars painted on it. In glitter.
“I’m Commander Giggles,” Archie informs me. “You’re my copilot Sergeant Twinkle.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sergeant Twinkle is a crowd favorite, and you will treat his legacy with respect.”
Our eyes lock. His are dancing with barely contained glee.
I take the costume and go change.
By the time I emerge, Archie has perched himself on a stool, crutches propped beside him, and is arranging glow sticks and inflatable planets.
As I watch him test the portable speaker—“Ground control, can you hear me? Sergeant Twinkle, confirm audio status.”—I think about what he told me about Vaughn at the National Gallery.
He just stopped liking me.
Archie’s voice had been so quiet when he’d said it. Not angry or bitter, just bewildered. Like he still can’t understand how someone who’d loved him had decided to stop.
What could I say?Don’t worry, Archie, Vaughn is an asshole who doesn’t deserve your affection.
Except it’s not that simple, is it? Elizabeth painted a more complicated picture of Vaughn as a golden child slowly eclipsed by his younger brother, getting lost in the shadows when their parents’ attention pivoted to Archie. It doesn’t excuse what he did and said to Archie, but it does make it harder to slot him neatly into a villain category.
But it appears Archie absorbed that rejection and turned it inward.
The thought makes something burn in my chest.
