A dangerous kernel of hope starts to take root, but when I reach our bench, it’s empty.
She’s nowhere to be seen, but I swear I can smell her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kennedy
“What do you think?” Amanda asks, turning in front of my mirror.
“Perfect,” I say.
“Really?”
“Look at you. You’re hot,” I say, and connect with her in the mirror that hangs behind my bedroom door. She’s wearing a shimmery red dress with the thinnest of straps. The dress falls to just below her knees. She scored a pair of matching heels—four-inch cherry-red ones with a sparkly pattern on the spikes.
I’m wearing a green dress. It’s the color of money, the color of envy, the color of lush green grass after it rains. But it’s not as pretty as Amanda’s and that’s the point. I pull my hair up into a French twist and clip it.
“You never wear your hair up and you should because it looks amazing,” Amanda says.
I fasten the necklace my mom gave me a few weeks ago and the silver pendant drops down against my bare skin. I touch it once, thinking of her¸ wishing she could see me going to prom. But she can’t, and she won’t, except through the pictures my dad will take that I’ll send her tomorrow. I run my fingers over my three charms next. I still wear the necklace Noah gave me. I don’t think I’ve ever taken it off.
“You should just call him,” Amanda says.
I pull my fingers away and brush an unseen piece of lint off my dress.
“What? You just like the way the necklace feels in your fingers?” she continues.
I roll my eyes. “Not gonna happen for so many reasons.”
“By the way, I can’t believe you wore that thing for a year and I had no idea where it came from.”
I pretend to blow on my fingernails, like they’re hot. “What can I say? I’ve got game. This girl knows how to keep a secret.”
Amanda takes out a bottle of lotion, the kind that leaves a shimmery sparkle behind and tosses it to me. “For your shoulders,” she explains.
“Yeah, figured that much out already,” I say and put some on. I toss the bottle back to her and she tucks it away in her bag.
“We look perfect,” she announces.
“Are you nervous?”
“Are you nervous?”
“No,” I say. “Of course not. It’s totally normal for a guy to take two girls to prom, right?”
“And to think you were worried about going to prom with an older guy.” Amanda knows pretty much everything about Noah. I’ve told her tons of details in the last two weeks, and she loves slinging them back at me when she can. She also likes Noah. Well, she likes what I’ve told her of Noah. How could she not? He was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. He was my beautiful escape, and I only miss him when I’m breathing.
The buzzer rings and Amanda squeals. I point at her. “You squealed!”
She covers her mouth, feigning embarrassment. “What is wrong with me?”
“You smeared your lipstick now. I can’t take you anywhere.” I reach for a tissue and thrust it at her. She peers into my mirror and fixes her makeup.
I hear my dad open the door. “Good evening, Lane.”
“Hello, Mr. Stanzlinger.”
“Nice job with the double corsages. I trust you’ll have the girls home at a reasonable hour.”
“Of course, Mr. Stanzlinger.”
Lane sounds nervous.
“I’ll go fetch them.”
Fetching, of course, involves walking five feet to my bedroom, since this is New York and space it at a premium.
My dad appears in my doorway. He raises an eyebrow, and the corner of his lips quirks up. “Your threesome is complete,” he says, enjoying our unusual arrangement for prom. He gestures to the hall. “Allow me to present you to your suitor, please.”
We leave my room and there’s Lane waiting in the foyer. He looks gorgeous and then some, but that’s what I have come to expect. He is, quite simply, empirically handsome. Amanda walks out and I watch her inhale Lane. I can tell she’s knocked off her feet by him, from the way his auburn hair invites fingers to be run through it to how his hazel-green-brown eyes can hypnotize you. He wears a tux, black pants and jacket, crisp white shirt, and bow tie. There are no powder-blue ruffles in sight. He watches Amanda, who looks gorgeous in her red dress, then he shifts to me. He hands me the corsage, then gives one to Amanda.
My father leans in to stage whisper to him. “You’re supposed to put it on them.”
“Oh, right,” Lane says, and his cheeks flush. He’s used to girls, but taking two to prom in our most unusual trio would try any boy. He fumbles with the plastic container that holds a red rose. I watch as his fingers stumble across the opening. He flips the container open and takes out the flower. Amanda holds out her hand and he slides the corsage onto her wrist. He does the same to me with my flower.
My father snaps some photos and then sends us on our way.
Noah
It’s a Saturday evening in early June and even though Tremaine’s not my client anymore, I still dress the part as I head to Speakeasy to meet him for a drink. He called earlier and said he wanted to catch up, so I return to my agent wardrobe, opting for the cobalt-blue shirt. I’m still an agent; my client list is just much thinner.
But hey, it’s bigger than a week ago when I had none. I’m working from home, manning my own phones, trying to land deals like I did before. I’ve nabbed a junior writer on a fledgling late-night comedy series, and I’m betting he’ll go big.