The Impossibility of Tomorrow Page 20

  His head jerks up. He looks around, then sees me. I press my hand against the glass. He rises to his feet, his expression unreadable, then nods toward the door, inviting me in.

  The greenhouse is flickering with fire. Noah has lit a couple of the candles, and their light dances off the glass walls, the antique mirrors, reflecting over and over into infinity. The heat amplifies the scent of flowers that spill out of their pots: jasmine and roses and lilies.

  Noah’s eyes are red, wary. He’s wearing jeans that sag around his narrow hips, a gray T-shirt with a hole near the neck. It’s fitted, revealing the line of his body. His defined arms are sinuous in the candlelight.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. He shouldn’t be in a glass house in this kind of weather.

  “I could ask you the same question.” There’s a sharp, bitter edge to his voice.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say, shivering. Water drips from my hair, my sodden nightgown. “Please?”

  “Come on in,” he says, but it doesn’t feel welcoming.

  I walk uncertainly to the couch he was on. His stony expression tells me I haven’t earned the right to sit next to him, so I huddle in a nearby armchair. I can’t stop shivering. I wrap my arms around myself, but it does no good. I let my chin drop toward my chest, and am surprised when I feel Noah gently placing his blanket around my shoulders.

  “Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely. He just nods and returns to the couch.

  I notice that he’s barefoot; and for some reason this fills me with tenderness. We sit in silence for a while. I struggle to find the right words, not sure how to begin. “What do you want?” he asks finally.

  I look up toward the glass roof. Rain streams across it in sheets. It’s like being inside a waterfall.

  “I made a mistake,” I manage to whisper. “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m so sorry.”

  “You destroyed me, Kailey. You ripped my heart out, over and over.” He stands and begins to pace through the greenhouse, orange light illuminating his shoulder bones, jutting against his T-shirt. “Why should I let you hurt me again?”

  I stand up too. I approach him, reaching my hand out to his shoulder. The heat from his skin sears me, sends an electrical jolt through my body.

  “Don’t touch me!” he says roughly, throwing my hand off. I sink to my knees, praying to stay strong. A sob erupts from my throat. I was just trying to keep him safe. I never thought I’d actually lose him.

  For the first time, the cold hard truth comes into gut-wrenching focus. He may never forgive me. He doesn’t have to forgive me. Our relationship wasn’t ironclad, wasn’t immune. It could crumble into dust.

  I wrap my arms around myself and cry. I don’t care how stupid I look, how foolish, how desperate.

  “I love you, Noah,” I sob, my voice ragged. “I messed up. But I refuse to believe we end here. We were supposed to be forever.”

  The couch’s springs creak as he sits. “Forever, huh? I’m not sure I know what that means.”

  “I do.”

  I stand. I walk toward him again, to where he sits on the couch, his face in his hands. All I have to give is my heart, my scarred heart. My ancient soul.

  The air is charged. It’s a battery to power a thousand cities, a thousand lives. I reach across the space between us toward his face. He needs a shave. I tentatively stroke his rough cheek.

  “You don’t have to believe me.” My voice is stronger now. “But Noah Vander, I love you. And my love lasts a long time.” My voice cracks, my heart cracks wide open. “Good-bye,” I say. He’s trembling, too. I kiss his forehead and turn to leave.

  I go to the door. Behind me, I hear a sound.

  “Wait.”

  One word. One little word. I turn around.

  “Do you mean it? Please don’t lie to me.”

  “I mean it,” I whisper.

  We collide in the center of the greenhouse. Our souls collide. Outside, wind destroys the grapevines. Water courses down walls of leaded glass. Inside, it is safe, it is warm, it is orange. We are a chemical reaction. Our souls are quicksilver, water, entangling, magnetic. I reach my hand to his face again, I plunge it into his crow-black hair. I pull his lips to mine. His hands are around my waist.

  I need him like oxygen, like sunlight. We stumble over to the faded blue couch. He tugs off his T-shirt and it’s him everywhere, his skin, his arms around me.

  “I love you,” he murmurs. I answer him with a kiss.

  And for the first time in forever, I forget about forever. I am just here. He is just here. Our breath becomes one thing, a shuddering, hungry gust of wind. My compass heart stops spinning. This is the direction it wants me to take.

  “Look,” he says, putting a finger to my lips. I follow his gaze upward to the glass roof. “The rain stopped.”

  It did. Though the room is bright with candles, I can make out stars through the glass. Noah gets up, moves about the greenhouse blowing out candles. With each one he extinguishes, the stars grow brighter. I think of the stars in Echo’s mural, the stars in Kailey’s room.

  “Wait,” I tell him. “Leave one lit.” He doesn’t ask why, and I don’t offer. I want to do something for Taryn. To give her small flame in the world after her own has gone out.

  Noah returns to me in the dark. We lie on our sides, facing each other. “This feels like a dream,” he murmurs. “I wanted this to happen for so long. I’d better not be sleeping. It had better be real.”

  “It’s real,” I answer.

  “Don’t ever hide yourself from me,” he says softly. “I love you. I love the parts I know and the parts I don’t.”

  I snuggle close to him, burying my face in his warm chest. His words mean more to me than he can know. I want to tell him everything. About who I am, where I come from.

  But instead my lips find his jaw, kissing his rough skin. “So . . . I hear there’s a dance this week,” I murmur.

  “Right, that hippie solstice party at the Claremont hotel.” He grins.

  “That’s the one.”

  He reaches down, finds my hand. “Will you go with me?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  His arms wrap around me, our limbs entangled as we sink deeper into the couch. I feel his body everywhere, his pounding heart, his muscled shoulders, the warmth of his skin. At some point, we fall asleep. I wake, hours later, but I don’t move. How could I? I never want to leave this moment. I’m tucked away with the boy I love in a glass house full of flowers, with silver starlight falling on our hair.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Oh. My. God.” Leyla triumphantly yanks the dress from the rack and holds it against her body. “This is the most amazing dress I have ever seen.”

  Chantal pales. “It’s grotesque.”

  Leyla hugs the dress. “I know,” she says happily.

  Nicole claps. “Bravo, Leyla. You managed to find the weirdest dress possible in downtown San Francisco.”

  “I think I just won shopping. Like, if it were a sport. I’m so glad I let you guys talk me into coming here. Oh, god, I hope it fits.” She holds it up again, nervously inspecting herself in a full-length mirror.

  The dress has a fitted, boned bodice and a sweetheart neckline. Its full skirt suggests a 1950s prom gown. But it’s the printed pattern that delights Leyla and grosses everyone else out.

  It’s covered in bacon, tiny red-and-white slices on a light brown background.

  “Bryan will love it,” I say.

  Rebecca wrinkles her nose. “Maybe he could bring you a little sausage. For a corsage.”

  “Or a sausage,” Echo declares, making the word rhyme with corsage.

  Madison smiles wickedly. “I don’t think Bryan would appreciate his sausage being described as little.”

  “Ew!” I yell, clapping my hands over my ears. “Don’t ever talk about Bryan’s sausage to me again.”

  “I’m going to try it on,” Leyla says. “Anyone want to come with me?”

  Nicole and Chantal
, carrying armfuls of dresses, follow her to the dressing room.

  I haven’t found anything yet, but I’m not bothered. Now that I know I’ll be going to the dance with Noah, I could be wearing a bathrobe for all I care. Noah. Just the thought of his name makes me smile. I’ve been engulfed in a joyful fog ever since I woke up in his arms on Tuesday morning in the greenhouse, dawn’s rosy light lighting his face. The storm from the night before proved brief, mere bluster with no staying power. And today, Wednesday, I floated through our first day back at school on a ray of happiness.

  My girlfriends were unanimously delighted to hear that Noah and I were back together. Even Nicole winked as she shook her head in mock sadness. “Another one off the market,” she sighed. “But I’m happy for you two. Seriously. Of course, I don’t have a date. I guess that means I’ll get to dance with tons of boys while you’re stuck with the same one all night!” I laughed at this. Nicole has always been good at the chase.

  Only Madison’s words of encouragement felt hollow somehow, like she didn’t quite approve. She’s probably jealous, but at least she has the manners not to say anything mean.

  Echo fingers a floor-length dress in pale lavender, its empire waist encircled with a sunset-yellow ribbon that ties in the back. “What do you think?” she asks us.

  “I like it,” I say. It suits her boho style.

  Rebecca cocks her head and turns to the rack. “Pretty, but I think you should try something like this,” she says, handing Echo a short, off-the-shoulder dress in a glittery dark blue.

  Echo regards the hemline with suspicion. “It’s a bit . . . short, isn’t it?”

  Rebecca laughs. “That’s the idea. You’ve got those crazy long legs. You should show them off.”

  “I don’t know,” Echo murmurs. “I do like the fabric.” So do I—it reminds me of her mural.

  “Reed’ll like it. Trust me, I’m his sister.” Rebecca grins as a flush appears on Echo’s cheeks.

  I’m confused. “Reed? What does he have to do with it?”

  “Reed’s taking Echo to the dance,” Rebecca says.

  I whip my head toward Echo. She nods. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, Kailey,” she says shyly.

  I give her a hug. “That’s great,” I say. Her smile is radiant. “When did he ask you?”

  “Yesterday,” Echo says. “As soon as you came back from Sonoma. But we were texting the whole time he was there.”

  “The whole time?” I repeat. I think of Reed at the winery, the way he kept pulling his phone from his pocket, the way he wouldn’t let me borrow it.

  “Look,” Echo says, tapping on her phone’s screen and handing it to me. I quickly scroll through their conversation, noting the messages’ times; they’re all from Monday afternoon. I feel a flush of shame at how certain I was that he was Cyrus, bidding on my book auction, when it was Cyrus all along, piggybacking off the inn’s open wireless network.

  “Young love,” says Madison drily. “Isn’t it precious?” I wonder again if she’s bitter about Noah and me.

  I decide to ignore her tone. “It is precious,” I say. “I’m so happy for you, Echo.”

  She nods sagely. “Well, he’s a Libra, and they do appreciate fashion. Okay, I’ll try it on.” She smiles, accepting the dress from Rebecca and draping it over her arm.

  The three of them drift away to another display, and I trail behind, lost in thought.

  “How about this one for you, Maddy?” Rebecca holds up a short, silver tunic with a high neck and bell sleeves.

  Madison shrugs her shoulders. “Sure, if you say so. I don’t know what looks good on me.”

  “I am your date, after all,” Rebecca smiles. “You should trust me.”

  Echo raises her eyebrows. “You guys are going together? That’s cool, I didn’t realize . . .”

  Madison throws her head back and laughs. “We’re not dating,” she explains. “We’re just going together since we’re both dateless. We’re basically going to be working the entire night.”

  Rebecca blushes and looks down at the floor. I wonder if there’s more to this exchange—if Rebecca really does want to date Madison. She’s certainly got a gigantic girl-crush on her. But Madison likes guys—that much was clear from the way she flirted with Noah.

  “What about you, Rebecca?” asks Echo. “We need to find you a dress, and you’ve been so busy helping the rest of us.”

  “Oh, I have one already,” Rebecca says. “It’s vintage Dior.” Of course it is. “Silver satin.” She throws an arm around Madison’s shoulder. “I’ll match with Maddy. We’ll look great in pictures, especially with Echo’s mural as the backdrop.”

  “Mmm-hmm” is Madison’s reply. She sounds bored.

  “I guess that just leaves me,” I say with a sigh, approaching the racks of dresses.

  “Commence Operation Find Kailey a Dress,” Echo declares. She and Rebecca begin to dig through the racks while Madison and I follow.

  Echo holds up a turquoise-blue shift. “How about this?”

  I nod, taking it from her. “I’ll try it.”

  “Or this?” she says, handing me a lacy black strapless dress. “I bet black looks good with your blond hair. Plus, you’re a goddess of war and an international woman of mystery.”

  “I am neither international nor mysterious,” I lie, arching my eyebrow.

  “Put those down,” Rebecca pronounces somberly. “This is the one.” I smile—I can tell she’s enjoying this. At least she’s using her powers of fashion for good.

  I catch my breath when I see the dress she’s holding. It’s a deep, emerald green, with pin-tucked cap sleeves and a low, square neckline. Gathered panels of raw silk fall from the high waist. It’s beautiful, but that’s not why I gasp. Everything about it reminds me of Charlotte. It’s exactly the color she would pick—she loved to wear green, the dramatic contrast it made against her fiery red hair, her milky skin. This dress is short, but if it were floor-length, I’d swear it was a replica of a gown I’ve seen Charlotte wearing before. I can picture it sweeping the cobblestones in 1880s Manhattan as we hurried through the streets together, Charlotte always turning back to make sure I was following.

  I miss her. I miss her so much.

  “You’re right,” says Echo, watching me. “Look at Kailey’s face. She loves it.”

  “I do,” I admit, reaching out to touch the dress. It’s just as soft as I knew it would be.

  “You should try it on,” Echo says gently, putting her hand on my arm.

  I nod and follow her to the dressing room, blinking back tears. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with memories of Charlotte: the two of us eating ice cream on San Francisco rooftops, scouring the flea markets in Paris, running through the streets of Morocco.

  I slide the dress over my head, the silk cool against my skin. It feels light as air. And suddenly, I do too. There’s no reason for me to be sad—nothing is keeping me from Charlotte anymore. Worrying about Cyrus has become so ingrained in me, I need to learn how to stop.

  When I get home, I hang the green dress in my armoire, sit at the desk, and flip open the laptop. Then I do what I haven’t dared since I became Kailey Morgan: I log on to Gmail with my own e-mail address. The inbox is full to bursting, message after message from Cyrus, concerned and angry and threatening. I’ll delete them later. But for now I just click the COMPOSE button and enter Charlotte’s address in the TO field. I hold my hands over the keys, take a deep breath, and type.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Eureka!” Echo emerges from my armoire, where’s she’s been digging around for the perfect pair of shoes to match my dress.

  Leyla nods, satisfied with the sparkly burgundy platform pumps Echo’s selected. “Perfect. Red shoes, green dress, like a Christmas tree. Put ’em on, Cinderella.”

  I laugh, sitting on the bed to unzip the boots I was wearing earlier, more out of habit than anything else. “More like Dorothy Gale than Cinderella, no? They’re ruby, not glass.” Luna tries to climb into
my lap as soon as I sit.

  “There’s no place like home,” Echo agrees. “Just don’t click them together three times and disappear.”

  “But this is my home,” I protest. “I wouldn’t go anywhere.”

  “You never know,” says Leyla. “You might end up in Oz. Don’t risk it.”

  “Noted,” I say, slipping the ruby pumps on my feet and standing up, ignoring Luna’s meows of protest at the loss of a warm lap. I approach the mirror again and smile—Echo did my hair, fluttering around me like an ethereal fairy godmother, and I love the result.

  My hair is gathered at the crown of my head, secured with a generous handful of light gold bobby pins that Echo expertly tucked away, leaving just a few tendrils to fall around my face. She added a few tiny braids at each of my temples that are swept up with the rest of my hair. The only jewelry I’m wearing is the birdcage necklace that Noah gave me.

  “Thank you both, so much,” I say softly, feeling suddenly wistful and overwhelmed at how lucky I am to have such good friends. But it’s bittersweet, because getting ready for the dance with them makes me think of Charlotte. She hasn’t responded to my e-mail yet, and I’m starting to worry. Then again, she was never one for checking her e-mail very often. I tell myself she just hasn’t gotten around to reading it yet.

  There’s a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” I call, and Mrs. Morgan’s face appears.

  “You girls look beautiful,” she says. “Although in Leyla’s case, perhaps I should say you look beautifully carnivorous.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Morgan,” says Leyla, smiling radiantly. “That’s what I was going for.” She’s wearing red fishnet stockings underneath her bacon dress, and dangly earrings in the shape of T-bone steaks. When I told her how impressed I was that she found the meat earrings between our shopping trip and tonight, she scoffed. “These aren’t new, Kailey. I’ve had them for a while—I just never had anything to wear them with.”