Maybe Katie’s doing this math, too. Or maybe she’s feeling like I am—tired from this whole night, tired from all the drama.
“I think it’s time for me to go home,” she says. “I know I’m your ride, and I don’t want to leave you stranded. But I really want to go now.”
June and Uma both look to Lehna, to see where this is going next.
Lehna doesn’t disappoint.
“Come on, Katie—”
“Kate.”
“Okay, Katherine—don’t be like that. Don’t punish us for what you did. The night is still young and my mother is, I’m sure, too knocked out on sleeping pills to hear people come and go. We can get home at four in the morning and no one will notice. Don’t ruin our night just because you ruined yours.”
Katie pulls her keys out of her pocket and dangles them in the air.
“Are you coming?” she asks June and Uma.
June looks at Uma. Uma looks at Lehna, then shakes her head.
“We’ll find someone else to drive us,” Lehna says. “Or take a cab. I don’t care. We’re not leaving now. Candace is here, and I haven’t even begun flirting with her. And Shelbie’s brother is an awesome singer.”
Katie tosses the keys up in the air, then catches them.
“Fine,” she says. But the tremor in her voice shows she’s not fine. She tried to call Lehna’s bluff, but now she’s the one falling off the cliff.
“I really appreciate it,” I tell her. “You driving me home.”
“Yeah,” she says, looking me in the eye—trying to find something she needs in there, but I’m not sure what. “Let’s get you home.” She turns back to her friends. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Or see you Monday. Whatever.”
My phone reminds me it has messages. As Katie and I walk away, I check them.
From my mother:
Who’s driving you?
And from Ryan:
I think I’m going to fly solo tonight. Well, not exactly solo. ☺ Have fun, my friend.
I stop in my tracks. I want to give up on the whole universe. I show Katie the screen.
“Dickish,” she says. “So dickish.”
And the pathetic thing is: I want to defend him. I want to say that it’s not sarcastic this time. He does want me to have fun.
Because he’s having fun. Somewhere. With someone. And he wants me to have that fun, too. He does.
We’ve walked a couple blocks, out of range of the sounds of the party. So I’m a little surprised to hear footsteps running on the sidewalk behind us. Katie and I turn to see who’s coming.
“June?” Katie says.
June is a little out of breath and speaks too fast at first. “I’mprettysureshewenttothewharf.”
“What?” Katie asks.
June breathes in. Puts her hand on Katie’s arm.
“The sea lions,” she says. “She said she’d never seen the sea lions. So I think they’re taking her to see them.”
4
Kate
A tulip, a dahlia, a freesia, a rose.
I can’t even think about what just happened, so I am thinking about flowers instead. About what a girl like Violet would choose for a girl like me.
“Of course we’re going,” Mark is saying. “It’s not even that far out of our way. It’s to the bridge and then a little past it.”
“Thirty-nine piers past it,” I say.
“Still,” he says. “You need to do it. There’s someone you think you might love who thinks she might love you in return. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make you go after that?”
I am still not ready. Especially not now, after I screwed it up, slammed a door, made it so that our meeting will begin with an apology instead of a hello.
Lehna was right, though, when she told me I have to go right through it. Even I can see that. There are so many people in the world who are unlucky in love. I might be one of them, but that hasn’t been determined yet. What if Violet turns out to be exactly who I want her to be? Or what if she is different, unexpected, in a way that’s even better?
What if she really could change my life?
It would be a crime against love to not take this chance, so I send a silent thank-you to June and sail past the on-ramp to the bridge. Mark actually lets out a whoop as we pass it, like I just made some great play at one of his baseball games.
A daisy, a zinnia, a lilac, an aster.
As I list them to myself, I see a new series of paintings. Individual flowers against cobalt-blue backgrounds. If I paint them right, they’ll look like more than pretty flowers. They’ll look like the possibility of love.
The Embarcadero is dark and still. Parking, for once, is easy to find.
I turn off the engine and we get out. I can hear the sea lions barking, but nothing else. The quiet throws me off because I was expecting to find the pier crowded with tourists carrying souvenirs, their bellies full of clam chowder and sourdough bread.
But it’s late and everything is closed. Mark must feel my worry, because he says, “She wasn’t here to shop. She was here for the sea lions. Let’s walk toward the water.”
With each step, I feel a little hope escaping.
“What does she look like?” Mark asks, as if there’s anyone here to distinguish her from.
I play along.
“She has short dark hair. In the pictures I’ve seen, it’s usually falling into her eyes. In a perfect way.”