Starry Night (23 page)

“Hi!” And then I leaned into him again and whispered, “Nolan is here! He's somewhere in this house!”

We pulled away. Charlie didn't look as happy as he had a second before.

“I hate when you don't have a phone, Wren. I feel like you disappeared.” We moved over to the side of the hallway so our parents could say hello to each other and my father could take the serving dishes full of food that Winston had brought for the feast.

“I know, I did kind of disappear. I got in so much trouble for leaving that night.”

“Well, that was,” he whispered, “
really messed up
, Wren.”

“I know. I totally know. I got grounded and my parents made me do my Internet homework in the kitchen.”

“I was worried about you.” He sounded kind of pissed.

“I'm sorry!” I squeezed his hand.

“You don't even know that I got into the Bard Ornithology program.”

“You did?”

“Yes, and I get to go to
Bard College
this summer and do intensive bird-watching. It's pre-college.”

“That is so great, Charlie. Vati told me you were worried about getting in.”

“Well, it's very competitive, especially for a sophomore.” I nodded and gave him a fist bump. He looked more like himself again and not so disgruntled at me for being the spaz who left the party without telling him. “What about France? Have you sent in the application?”

“It's not due until December 15.”

“Well that's soon. Are you done?”

“No. But I'm getting there. When I was grounded I drew the bike and my sneaker. I've done everything but the essay and self-portrait. Did you hear me that Nolan is
here
?”

“Yeah. Why?”
Why?
Was he
jealous
of Nolan? How could that be? None of us had ever felt that Charlie “liked” us. He had never had a crush on a girl as far as I knew—well, Kate Middleton, but I thought that was because she was a princess.

“Well,” I said. Now I was getting a big vibe that I just should have shut up about Nolan altogether, but maybe if Charlie felt sorry for him … “Because he was supposed to go to his dad's who he only sees once a month,” I paused for dramatic effect. “But, his step-grandmother died.” I looked at Charlie for a reaction. Nothing. “And I guess his mom is in Vermont, so. He came here this morning.”

“Why
here
? Because of Oliver? I didn't think they really even knew each other.”

“Well, first of all, Oliver and Nolan do know each other, but really, I suppose it's because…” I felt like I had to be brave to say this. “I'm here. We are sort of a”—his face was so blank it looked mean—“couple.”

“I'm going to take off my coat, get a drink or something.” He looked around me, like he didn't care at all that I had basically just told him I had a boyfriend.

“Oh, okay, yeah.”

“Happy Thanksgiving!”
Vati came rushing down the stairs from the living room where most of the guests were around the fire. “Charlie! Come upstairs! Are your parents here? Did you guys bring that shrimp?” She gave Charlie a hug. “Come on, Wren! Nolan was asking where you were.”

Charlie took his coat off and hung it on the coatrack.

“I'm just going to help my parents for a second.” He made his way to the kitchen where his parents were instructing Dinah and my mother on what to do with the shrimp hors d'oeuvres that really are the best thing you will ever put in your mouth.

“What's up with him?” said Vati, whose face was flushed from either the fire or from being near Oliver.

“I don't know. I think he's still mad at me that I left my phone with him that night at the museum.”

“How can you blame him? Remember, you were MIA, for real,” she said.

“I know, I guess,” I said, unsure.

“What do you mean, he's
not
mad about the phone?” she said.

“Do you think he's mad about Nolan? He was annoyed that Nolan was here.” Vati's eyes widened.

“Is Charlie in love with
you
?” She took a big breath in like suddenly it all made sense.

“No!” I whispered, and looked up the stairs to see if Nolan was coming, and then I quickly peeked into the kitchen at Charlie who was carefully arranging the shrimp on a tray with Dinah. “No, Charlie is like my brother.”

“But he could have been secretly in love with you all these years.” She clutched her hands to her chest. I love Vati, but any whiff of potential romance for anyone, even movie stars she doesn't know, sends her into a tizzy. Her pupils turn into hearts.

“No! Vati, stop.” I pulled her closer to the front door so we would be farther away from all the action in the kitchen. “I don't know who Charlie loves, but it's not me.”

“He never talks about girls, all he does is hang out with us here, and
you
live here!”

“Just because
you
hung out here, totally in love with Oliver month after month after month, does not mean that we all are in love! Charlie is our friend. He's my friend.” I could feel my heart get heavy, and at the same time I could feel the neurons in my brain leaping around trying desperately to make all the connections they had to make to deal with this day. “I think Charlie just doesn't like Nolan. He got a terrible look on his face when I said he was here, like he had had a sip of bad milk.” Vati's face fell.

“Well, he will like him when he spends time with him today. It's Thanksgiving.” She linked her arm in mine and that felt as good as someone putting a blanket on me in the middle of the night. “Come on, let's get some of those shrimp and go upstairs.”

It was a Thanksgiving like I had never had. Nolan held my hand under the table while my father said grace. On our walk to the park to play touch football, Mom wrapped her arm around me and told me it was “good” that Nolan was there with us, and not in some airport waiting to fly to Vermont. Vati and Oliver were openly being lovey-dovey all day, like they were not aware of anyone else in the room, and it was charming, even if it was unfamiliar. Charlie turned it around with Nolan over washing dishes when they discovered Nolan knew Charlie's guitar teacher. But the part that made that Thanksgiving feel the most remarkable was, before everyone left, Nolan took out his guitar and played “Edelweiss,” that beautiful song Christopher Plummer sings in
The Sound of Music.
It was a perfect song for that day because it's sweet and old-fashioned, and Nolan singing it made me swoon in my own living room. But it's a sad song too, in the way lullabies can make you wistful. Lullabies can make you long for something. I think maybe, even if you are a kid, they make you long for your childhood.

 

39

First period, the Monday morning
after Thanksgiving, I was in Studio Art, in one of the deepest seven-mile stares I had ever had. It was like I would never have to blink again, and it felt so totally good. I was
feel-thinking
about Nolan. Feel-thinking is more than just thinking. You
think
about lunch. You
think
about what's going to happen on the next episode of some TV show, you
think
about what to wear—you
feel-think
about boys. Right then I was feel-thinking about Nolan. Nolan at the table talking smack with my father about the touch football game. Nolan plotting with Dinah about what cookies to make for the Christmas episode. (Nolan is nuts about Linzer tarts, but Dinah argued quite rightly that they are way too difficult for a half-hour TV show. She would make them with him another time.) Nolan's forearms, his fist bumping with Oliver's. His eyes … I was feeling him, in a thinking way. And the steady, romantic snowfall out the paned glass window wasn't helping matters.

“Wren,
Wr-E-Nnnn,
where on
earth
a-rrrr-e yoooou?” Mrs. Rousseau sang, waving her hand in front of my face.

“Sorry! Ugh, sorry, Mrs. Rousseau. I…” I took my chalk that had almost melted in my hand and randomly started shading on my still life.

“I thought you were going to bring a self-portrait for me to look at. It's the beginning of December, and I don't think I have to tell you that December 15 is right around the corner.”

“Oh, I know. I will, I mean, I totally will. I just, well…”

“You haven't done it?”

“No.”

“Woe is me, my dear. What is keeping you?” She clutched her hands together in the middle of her bosoms and looked at me over her reading glasses.

“I don't know. I'm having a hard time.”

“Stop.”

Huh?

“I won't have it, Wren. I will not have you whining at me about not being able to
do it.
” She imitated me whining. “Do you think you get more than one shot, Wren?” I didn't know what to say. “Do you think that this talent of yours will keep moving forward, will keep progressing by itself? Do you think you are above putting in the work you need to
get this done
?”

I shook my head back and forth.

“No! I
know
you know better than that. I won't have it. I have taught you that. You have been doing
so well.
” She grabbed my cheeks with her hand. I could feel the edges of her fingernails digging into my jaw. “What has happened to you?” She shook my face back and forth just the tiniest bit. “What has come over you? You are out to lunch!”

“I'm so sorry,” I said, while she had my face in a death grip. “I thought I was doing okay, I'm almost finished with this, see?” I lifted my chalk up to indicate my crazy medieval town still life.

“This?” She let go. “Wren, this is like playing hopscotch for you. And it's
not
the assignment for Saint-Rémy.” She lost her fire and suddenly didn't sound angry anymore, just disappointed. “I don't understand. I thought we had a plan.”

“We do, Mrs. Rousseau, I swear. I will do it.”

“Good.”

And then just when it could have been over, I felt an overpowering need to confess. “Something is happening, sort of,” I ventured, not really sure it was the right thing to do. “I met a boy and he's changing things.” I should have stopped there, but it was too late. “He's … altering the way I feel.”

“About art?”

“Well, no.” I thought about it and changed my mind. “Yes. About art and other things. I feel differently about everything.” She squinted at me and took in a breath for a good thirty seconds.

“All of that may very well be true, dear heart, but you are running out of time. Don't let your life become too dramatic.”

 

40

Life
was
getting sort of dramatic.
After class I saw Farah and Reagan in the hall on our way to Life Science elective, the one class we were in together. The one where we were studying the hummingbirds.

“Hey!” we all said, and awkwardly hugged each other, not really wanting to.

“How was London?” I said to Farah in an overly formal tone.

“Fine, lovely. It was good to see Daddy. Ronica was all about the triplets and I didn't really deal with her. I think it was part of the plan that Daddy take me to so much theater and to museums and meals out, it would somehow escape me that they have fully started a new family.”

“Oh, did you get to have turkey? I mean, I know they don't have Thanksgiving over there, but…”

“No, it was on the menu at Claridge's of course, for Americans, but I didn't order it.”

“I didn't have turkey either,” said Reagan, and then the two of them looked at each other in some sort of unpatriotic solidarity.

“Oh.” If it's lame that I felt insecure about having turkey on the day most of the country has turkey, I get it, but I did. I felt lame about having a real Thanksgiving.

“Where were you, Reag? With your mom?” asked Farah.

“Yeah, we bailed on the whole big meal thing and spun.”

“Like at a spinning class?” said Farah.

“Yeah, the place my mom goes does three-hour classes on Thanksgiving—turkey burns.”

“Genius,” Farah said, sounding fake. “So, tell me about Nolan!” she said, sounding normal. “Vati texted me the whole story, but it was so long and rambling I stopped reading it. I totally want to hear, so spill it,
s'il vous plaît
.”

“Ohhh, it's kind of wild. He's, he's, wonderful.” We exploded in giggles, which was the biggest relief. I had my friends back. Turtles. Farah even raised her eyebrows really high and did a little excited dance.

“Yeah, it's really, really wonderful. I thought that time I was being punished was going to be horrendous, but it wasn't. We talked on the phone, the real phone, for hours. And he picked me up from school … did I tell you that?”

“I actually heard that from, like, six people,” Farah said.

“You did?”

She nodded. “Um, yes, you were the only ninny who didn't have her phone.”

“Oh yeah, I got all of your texts on Thanksgiving—and he actually came to Thanksgiving!” I said.

“Wow,” Reagan said in sort of a weird way. Did she know that Padmavati was there too? Did she know that Oliver and Padmavati were a couple? Did she care? Reagan is so hard to read. She's socially awkward; people never think she likes them.

“It's out of nowhere, right? Sort of?” I said, and Farah shrugged.

“But I feel close to him. He's, well, he's my boyfriend,” I said, like I was still trying out the term.

“He said he was really into you,” Reagan said.

“Yeah, he did—I think you
totally
have a boyfriend,” said Farah.

“When did he say that to you guys?” I asked, bracing myself with excitement.