Shrugging, I say, “Dane and Nico can’t handle losing.”
That makes her laugh, and she turns up the Christmas music on the radio as we cruise along the highway, heading toward the museum.
Nico, Dane, and I have been having meetings about her. It’s Dane’s doing, the methodical approach, but I don’t mind it. Lucy is, understandably, a little depressed about the fact that this will be her first round of holidays not seeing her family or being home.
When the topic of the dating competition arose, I could tell from the look on Dane’s face that it would be about more than a chance to show Nico up. It would be an opportunity to shower Lucy with attention, to distract her with trips, shopping, fun.
So, I’d decided to participate. Not because I have anything to prove, but because I’d do anything to make her feel better. Most of the time, she seems fine, but in the quiet, in-between moments, I catch the sadness on her face, evident even to me.
And I can’t stand the fact that I’m at least partially responsible for her feeling that way.
“The MOMA,” Lucy muses, as we pull up to the valet and I toss them the keys to my car. Nothing as flashy as what Nico likes—all those sports cars—but a solid, comfortable luxury SUV. Plenty of room and amenities, without being as opulent. That’s one of the differences between Nico, Dane, and me—they grew up with money. I did not, so it’s still weird to indulge in things that feel frivolous, like ultra-expensive cars.
Admittedly, I got inspiration from Dane for this date. He’d mentioned, before, about Lucy hiring an MFA consultant to help her with applications. I just acted on that plan for the date.
We walk into the Museum of Modern Art and find it completely vacant. Lucy’s shoes click and echo on the floor, and she darts me a dubious look, whispering, “Are they even open?”
At that moment, a woman bursts through a massive set of double-glass doors, smiling and hurrying toward us, her cardigan trailing behind her. “Cole Davenport! And you must be Lucy!”
“Yolanda,” I say, shaking her hand again. “Hope you’re doing well.”
“I am.” She turns to Lucy. “And so excited to meet you! Cole has said wonderful things!”
Lucy darts a glance at me, raising her eyebrow, but Yolanda makes it clear what the purpose of the visit is, “We’ll start with the tour, then I’ll take a look at your current portfolio. Cole already forwarded your statement of purpose; I’ll email my comments to you when we’re done.”
“Oh, that sounds great,” Lucy’s breathless now, the snark gone from her face. It’s so often she wears this expression, like she can’t believe good things are happening to her.
“I’ll take your coat,” I offer, and when she shrugs off the red duster, it reveals a wool skirt, turtleneck, and plaid sweater vest. The image of a girl on a museum tour.
Art has never really been my thing. I follow behind the women, watching as Lucy takes in the works, lingers and drinks in the paintings and sculptures and modern presentations like she can take a piece of them for herself.
Lucy enjoys the museum, and I enjoy Lucy.
It’s the best date I’ve ever been on.
“I want Yolanda to be my best friend,” Lucy squeals, hugging her materials to her chest as we pull away from the MOMA.
“Pretty sure she would take you up on that offer,” I laugh, steering the car in the direction of the airfield.
“Where are we going now?” Lucy asks, tapping my forearm. “Fancy dinner on a rooftop?”
I tilt my head at her, “I imagine Dane did that, right? And Nico surely cooked for you.”
Lucy’s smile is my answer. “So what’s for dinner? I’m dying to know.”
“If it’s okay with you,” I say, flipping on the turn signal, “I thought we could eat when we get to our next destination.”
She raises an eyebrow, “Next destination?”
Everything is supposed to be a surprise, but I can let her know this much, “Germany.”
“Germany,” she mutters, brow wrinkling cutely. Darting a look back at me, she asks, “What’s after that?”
I like this game, and I wonder if she can guess at the answer. “Paris, London, Venice?—”
“Art museums,” she breathes, turning to me, her eyes wide. Apparently, she’s connected the trip to the MOMA with the remaining locations on our itinerary. “The National Gallery? Gamadegalerie? TheLouvre?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise…”
