Radiant
Page 16
“Well, I don’t want normal.” I snuggle down into his chest, press a kiss there. “I don’t know why she’s so fussy about it. She of all people should understand. Her mom married an angel, for heaven’s sake!”
I know the minute I say it that I’ve betrayed her.
Phen tenses, his hand freezing on my bare back. “What?”
I sit up and untangle myself, pull the sheet to cover me. “I shouldn’t have told you,” I say. “I didn’t mean to. Please, don’t . . .”
“No, I won’t,” he says softly, almost like he’s talking to himself. “It has nothing to do with you,” he says, and I’m not sure what he means by that. He looks at me sternly. “But you should be more careful. If the fallen knew, they would hunt her.”
“Okay.”
He pulls me back down to him. We lie there for a minute without talking.
“This is foolishness, Angela,” he says finally.
I close my eyes. “If this is foolish, I don’t want to be wise.”
“I care about you, more than I could ever have expected,” he says. “And I’ve . . . enjoyed this.”
“Me too.”
“But I can’t love you. And you deserve love. Clara is right about that.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I don’t need love right now,” I whisper. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he says, and then I kiss him, as if I can make it like this conversation never happened, like I can make everything but us go away. And, for a little while at least, it does.
When I get back to the house Nonna is sitting on the front step. Waiting. She stands up when she sees me.
“So. It is true. You’ve been with a boy. All night.”
I force myself to stay casual. “Did Clara tell you that?”
“I don’t need Clara to tell me what is plain,” she says. “You have defiled yourself.”
“Oh, Nonna, don’t be so dramatic.”
She bangs her cane against the cobblestone, hard. “Your mother does not send you here for this!”
“So why does she send me?” I shoot back. “To get rid of me for a few months, that’s why. So she can be alone without a kid to weigh her down. Right?”
“Of course not. She sends you so that you might learn history, and understand the world. So that you will learn about family.”
I don’t say anything.
“Today you and Clara will take a train to my sister in Florence. You will stay there for the rest of the summer. And you will not see this boy again.”
“He’s not a boy,” I say.
“I don’t care what he is,” Nonna says wearily. “You will go. Now get upstairs and pack.”
I want to refuse. I’m eighteen now, a grown woman. I make my own choices. But I don’t argue. When Phen said good-bye to me this morning there was a finality in his voice, like maybe he won’t be there if I go back again. I guess I always knew that our time together would be fleeting. Ephemeral. And if he doesn’t decide to call it off now, it’s not like going to Florence will stop us from being together.
“Fine,” I say softly. I slip past Nonna into the house. In the kitchen, Clara looks up at me from the table, then looks quickly away.
“Well played,” I tell her.
“I didn’t do anything. She has eyes, you know. She could see you weren’t here. I tried to cover, but—”
“You’re a crappy liar,” I fill in. Which is true. Clara couldn’t lie her way out of a paper bag.
“Sorry,” Clara murmurs. “But Ange, about Phen—”
“Don’t concern yourself with Phen,” I interrupt. “Now apparently I’ve got some packing to do.”
CLARA
Angela doesn’t speak to me for a solid week. I pass the time wandering around Florence alone, seeing the sights without her. I consider how hard it’s going to be come fall, when we have to head off for Stanford together. But I’m not sorry for what I said to Phen. Not really. I was protecting her, I tell myself. The only way I knew how.
It doesn’t matter though. By the end of the week, she’s sneaking out again. Out the window, this time. Phen must have followed us here.
I’m going to have to talk to her about it. About him.
Angela’s great-aunt, Betta, puts us to work making her mandatory Sunday night family dinner. I watch Angela while she’s chopping lettuce for the salad, and I can tell she’s barely here with me. She’s still with him. Her eyes are far away. I wonder if I looked like that, with Tucker. If it was so plain on my face.
She looks up, sees me staring at her, and her expression darkens.
“You’re judging me,” she says. “Again.”
I don’t know how to tell her what I think. My throat closes around the words I would say, about what I saw of Phen’s soul, what he said, what I said to him. It’s not what she wants to hear. Still, I should tell her. It might hurt, but it’s important for her to know what he’s really like. I glance out the window and spot Betta on the balcony hanging up sheets, humming to the radio, safely out of earshot.
“Ange, listen,” I begin, even though I have a feeling that she won’t.
“Don’t bother explaining,” she says before I can get another word out. “I know this thing with Phen won’t work. He and I both know it. We’ve been over it. Maybe that’s part of what drives me crazy about him. He’s forbidden fruit. I know we can’t be together.”
I let out a tiny sigh of relief. Thank God she’s being sensible. Finally.
“But that doesn’t change how I feel about him,” she says then, staring up at me with the paring knife still clutched in her hand. “He might not be my destiny, like what you have, but it doesn’t change the fact that I . . .” She looks embarrassed, wipes sweat off her forehead, and goes back to cutting up lettuce. “I guess I thought you’d understand.”
So much for sensible. She’s right, though. I’m the last person qualified to lecture someone else about affairs of the heart. I’m the poster girl for the it’s complicated relationship status on Facebook. I still dream about Tucker almost every night.
“I do understand,” I say. “But—”
“That’s why we agreed to keep it casual,” she says like she didn’t hear me. “It was temporary; we knew that. We’re just friends, really. That’s all.”
I know the minute I say it that I’ve betrayed her.
Phen tenses, his hand freezing on my bare back. “What?”
I sit up and untangle myself, pull the sheet to cover me. “I shouldn’t have told you,” I say. “I didn’t mean to. Please, don’t . . .”
“No, I won’t,” he says softly, almost like he’s talking to himself. “It has nothing to do with you,” he says, and I’m not sure what he means by that. He looks at me sternly. “But you should be more careful. If the fallen knew, they would hunt her.”
“Okay.”
He pulls me back down to him. We lie there for a minute without talking.
“This is foolishness, Angela,” he says finally.
I close my eyes. “If this is foolish, I don’t want to be wise.”
“I care about you, more than I could ever have expected,” he says. “And I’ve . . . enjoyed this.”
“Me too.”
“But I can’t love you. And you deserve love. Clara is right about that.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I don’t need love right now,” I whisper. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he says, and then I kiss him, as if I can make it like this conversation never happened, like I can make everything but us go away. And, for a little while at least, it does.
When I get back to the house Nonna is sitting on the front step. Waiting. She stands up when she sees me.
“So. It is true. You’ve been with a boy. All night.”
I force myself to stay casual. “Did Clara tell you that?”
“I don’t need Clara to tell me what is plain,” she says. “You have defiled yourself.”
“Oh, Nonna, don’t be so dramatic.”
She bangs her cane against the cobblestone, hard. “Your mother does not send you here for this!”
“So why does she send me?” I shoot back. “To get rid of me for a few months, that’s why. So she can be alone without a kid to weigh her down. Right?”
“Of course not. She sends you so that you might learn history, and understand the world. So that you will learn about family.”
I don’t say anything.
“Today you and Clara will take a train to my sister in Florence. You will stay there for the rest of the summer. And you will not see this boy again.”
“He’s not a boy,” I say.
“I don’t care what he is,” Nonna says wearily. “You will go. Now get upstairs and pack.”
I want to refuse. I’m eighteen now, a grown woman. I make my own choices. But I don’t argue. When Phen said good-bye to me this morning there was a finality in his voice, like maybe he won’t be there if I go back again. I guess I always knew that our time together would be fleeting. Ephemeral. And if he doesn’t decide to call it off now, it’s not like going to Florence will stop us from being together.
“Fine,” I say softly. I slip past Nonna into the house. In the kitchen, Clara looks up at me from the table, then looks quickly away.
“Well played,” I tell her.
“I didn’t do anything. She has eyes, you know. She could see you weren’t here. I tried to cover, but—”
“You’re a crappy liar,” I fill in. Which is true. Clara couldn’t lie her way out of a paper bag.
“Sorry,” Clara murmurs. “But Ange, about Phen—”
“Don’t concern yourself with Phen,” I interrupt. “Now apparently I’ve got some packing to do.”
CLARA
Angela doesn’t speak to me for a solid week. I pass the time wandering around Florence alone, seeing the sights without her. I consider how hard it’s going to be come fall, when we have to head off for Stanford together. But I’m not sorry for what I said to Phen. Not really. I was protecting her, I tell myself. The only way I knew how.
It doesn’t matter though. By the end of the week, she’s sneaking out again. Out the window, this time. Phen must have followed us here.
I’m going to have to talk to her about it. About him.
Angela’s great-aunt, Betta, puts us to work making her mandatory Sunday night family dinner. I watch Angela while she’s chopping lettuce for the salad, and I can tell she’s barely here with me. She’s still with him. Her eyes are far away. I wonder if I looked like that, with Tucker. If it was so plain on my face.
She looks up, sees me staring at her, and her expression darkens.
“You’re judging me,” she says. “Again.”
I don’t know how to tell her what I think. My throat closes around the words I would say, about what I saw of Phen’s soul, what he said, what I said to him. It’s not what she wants to hear. Still, I should tell her. It might hurt, but it’s important for her to know what he’s really like. I glance out the window and spot Betta on the balcony hanging up sheets, humming to the radio, safely out of earshot.
“Ange, listen,” I begin, even though I have a feeling that she won’t.
“Don’t bother explaining,” she says before I can get another word out. “I know this thing with Phen won’t work. He and I both know it. We’ve been over it. Maybe that’s part of what drives me crazy about him. He’s forbidden fruit. I know we can’t be together.”
I let out a tiny sigh of relief. Thank God she’s being sensible. Finally.
“But that doesn’t change how I feel about him,” she says then, staring up at me with the paring knife still clutched in her hand. “He might not be my destiny, like what you have, but it doesn’t change the fact that I . . .” She looks embarrassed, wipes sweat off her forehead, and goes back to cutting up lettuce. “I guess I thought you’d understand.”
So much for sensible. She’s right, though. I’m the last person qualified to lecture someone else about affairs of the heart. I’m the poster girl for the it’s complicated relationship status on Facebook. I still dream about Tucker almost every night.
“I do understand,” I say. “But—”
“That’s why we agreed to keep it casual,” she says like she didn’t hear me. “It was temporary; we knew that. We’re just friends, really. That’s all.”
