Page 83
She heard Ulla come home and smelled the thick aroma of Domino’s pizza. Analise tugged her ring off and placed it in its hiding spot, inside the toe of her high heels from Homecoming. Her phone rang. She scrambled to answer it. It was only ten minutes past seven. “Hey,” she spoke softly when answering.
His intoxicated voice sent her stomach reeling. “She’s here. I know who my dad is cheating on my mom with.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This chick he brought over to the house once and said they were friends.”
“Tay—”
“Fucking arrogant asshole, shoving it in our faces.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“That’s why I’m calling you. Come take me home before I kick the shit out of him.”
In her head, Analise mapped the bus route to the Walker Art Museum where the reception was being held.
He spoke her name again.
She cussed to herself in Swedish, and somewhat to him. “Please don’t drink anymore?”
“There’s like a thousand glasses of leftover champagne that I’m not about to let go to waste.”
“Stop joking!”
“Isa. Relax. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, okay? I’ll wait for you on the steps by the sculpture garden.”
“It’s freezing, don’t do that. It’s gonna take me an hour. Is your Jeep there?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m leaving.” She hung up and went for the bedroom door.
Except Ulla was there. Analise leaped from her skin. “You scared me!”
“Who was that?” Ulla asked. Her face was a thin layer of ice.
“It—it was someone from cross country. She’s at a party drunk and was hoping I could come and drive her home.”
“Take Tina.”
“My—my friend—has her own car. If I take the bus, I can drive it.”
“How will you get home?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
Ulla remained.
I love him, Mamma. Analise felt the words gathering at the base of her throat. I have to go to him, but before she could, Ulla moved, walking away with a dismissive, “Fine. Go.”
Analise hurriedly got into her coat and boots, and, once outside, realized she forgot her hat but couldn’t risk the potential of Ulla changing her mind. Risk an argument that would end God-knows-when or how.
There was only one transfer on the way to the art museum. She texted him multiple times on the ride, but there was no response. Not even when she called. C’mon Taylor, answer.
Upon dashing off the bus and into the freeze, she ran past the outdoor garden sculptures, the iconic Cherry in the Spoon, remembering her childhood marveling of it on a school field trip. At this time of night, there might be security guarding the wedding reception. Or she’d have to turn in circles, up and down flights of stairs, hunting for Taylor who still wasn’t answering.
Her footsteps echoed off the dim corridors where exhibits were closed and found a sign for the wedding party: 2nd Floor CITYVIEW ROOM.
