I cleared the cobwebs from my throat in groggy squeaks and tried to blink away the memory of my dream — this was the second time I’d had it in as many nights. I propped myself onto my elbows.
“Good morning, Birthday Girl!”
My mother was perched on the end of my bed. There were small crinkles at the sides of her eyes, and her mouth was curved upward in a grin that could have put the Cheshire Cat’s to shame. I was glad to see her smile like that, even if she was just doing it for the sake of the day. I had missed the way it made her eyes sparkle.
In her lap she held a red velvet cupcake, lavished with cream cheese frosting.
“Good morning,” I croaked.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
She fished a Zippo lighter from her cardigan, flicked it open, and lit the candle. “Make a wish!” she said, shoving the cupcake so close to my face I could see tiny wisps of smoke rise above the flame.
I hesitated as it danced across my eyeline, taunting me. Clarity, I decided at last. I just want clarity. I blew purposefully across the flame, extinguishing it in one tiny puff of air.
My mother produced a silver knife from her other pocket. She sliced the cupcake straight down the middle and the two halves fell apart from each other, toppling under the weight of the frosting. She scooped up one half and handed it to me.
“Delicious!” I said, taking a bite. “Thanks.”
Setting her half on her lap, my mother reached behind her and fished out a present wrapped in glitzy purple paper. “I made you something.”
I smiled as I wiped the residual cupcake grease from my fingers onto my duvet. I already suspected it was the dress she had been working on in secret. Carefully, I unstuck the tape around the edges and peeled away the paper so that the garment slipped out, perfectly folded, onto the bed. I unfurled it. It was structured but delicate, made from light gold silk that fell in soft waves, and adorned with sequins that glinted in the morning sunlight. I brushed my fingers along the thin straps and felt the dress curve in around the waist as I held it up. “It’s incredible!”
“And it matches your hair!” My mother smiled. “I thought you could wear it to the party at Millie’s later?”
“Great idea.” I felt a pinch of guilt knowing my mother was unaware of Millie’s parents’ absence. Still, what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, right?
She clapped her hands together. “Lunch later?” she asked, bouncing up from my bed. “I want to treat my seventeen-year-old daughter at the Eatery.”
“Really?” I reclined and stretched my body out in one long, angular yawn, blinking up at the ceiling. “That sounds great.” And expensive.
My mother carried the dress across the room with her, hopping over old sweatshirts and unfolded jeans as she went. She hung it inside the closet and, with one final disgruntled — hypocritical — look at the floor, she edged back out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which turned to the strange dream I’d just had. Like a jolt of electricity, the feeling of Nic’s kiss took hold of me again and I felt my stomach clench uncomfortably at the memory of how he had left me so suddenly. I hoped I wasn’t doomed to relive his desertion in my nightmares, too. There were still so many questions floating around in my head, and no way for me to get the answers I desperately wanted. I clutched at the red velvet uneasiness in my stomach and groaned. Maybe a party was exactly what I needed to take my mind off everything.
*
The black ponytail stuck out of Gino Priestly’s head like a noir mini palm tree. Beside him, the lights were dancing off Dom’s overly gelled helmet of hair. What the hell were they doing here?
“What is it, sweetheart? Don’t you like the quiche?”
I refocused my attention on my mother, who was sitting across from me. “It’s good. I’m just a bit overheated.”
“You’ve been so quiet since we got here. I thought you’d like this place. Is it too fancy?”
As concern etched across her features, a fresh heap of guilt consumed me. I shook my head more vehemently this time. “Are you kidding? This place is great.” I gestured around at the Eatery’s monochrome décor: The black granite floors were inlaid with intricate floral designs; the tables were covered with expensive white cloths; and all around the restaurant, Romanesque pillars wound toward the ceiling. The walls were decorated with black-and-white photographs of twentieth-century Chicago and dotted incrementally with glass lighting fixtures. “Makes a welcome change from the diner.”
My mother smiled and took a sip of her Chardonnay. “Speaking of the diner, I wanted to talk to you about that …”
I let my attention fall on Gino and Dom again — or rather, on the backs of their heads — and wondered about the odds of us being at the same restaurant. It was miles away from Cedar Hill, right in the center of Chicago, and since it was one of the best restaurants in the city, it was more of an eye-wateringly expensive, special occasion kind of place. The karma gods must have been enjoying the show.
At least Nic and Luca weren’t with their brothers. I tried to remind myself of how horrible Nic had been the other night, but it was difficult to forget all the other things about him: the softer, funnier, kinder things. The way he smiled, the way he had pressed his lips against mine … the way he drove away from me in the middle of the night without a second glance. I flinched.
“Sophie?”
“What?” I took another bite of my quiche Lorraine, wondering why I had ordered it. Then again, I didn’t understand the majority of the fancy menu and I wasn’t convinced I would enjoy “truffle-infused fries” as much as normal ones.
“I want to talk to you about the diner.”