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Authors: Marni Bates
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her lips puckered in a teasing kiss with the Hollywood sign looming in the background. He’d documented over twenty of their dates, everything from the Griffith Observatory and Grauman’s Chinese Theatre to window shopping along Rodeo Drive and strolling down Venice Beach.
The last two photos were ones my mom had taken. All I could determine with any degree of certainty from the first photo was that my dad’s broad shoulders looked well-built and strong as he walked down a street lined with palm trees. The second image was a bit more informative. My mom had taken a super close up photo of his left eye that revealed every fleck of golden brown in an otherwise green iris. I’d nearly hacked both photos into a million pieces more times than I wanted to admit.
I hated them. Loathed that the image of my father walking away was the closest we’d probably ever get. The only reason I hadn’t ripped the photos into confetti was because some stupid part of me thought I might need them someday. That I’d be walking past the lions at the New York Public Library and identify a total stranger as my father with the briefest of eye contact. Then he’d sweep me into his arms in a cinematic embrace that deserved swelling orchestral music. All the photos had actually accomplished was making me wonder if his right eye was lighter than the left, if my own moss-green irises were a faithful copy of that color.
I wiped the palms of my hands on my jeans and turned to face Audrey and Ben who were hovering by the bed. They hadn’t assisted me with the packing, which unfortunately left them with nothing to do but obsess over my future.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Nasir?” Audrey asked for what had to be the hundredth time. “He might be able to help you, y’know, get settled in or something.”
“If
you
want to call him, go for it. But I don’t need you to contact your ex-boyfriend for me. I can look out for myself.”
“Yeah, you’ve been doing a killer job so far,” Ben countered. I ignored him.
“Your call, Audrey,” I said. “I’m still willing to yell at Nasir for you. Trash his dorm room. You just say the word.”
“No. That’s—no. It’s fine.”
Yeah, I seriously doubted that whatever happened between Audrey and Nasir qualified as “fine,” but Audrey clearly wasn’t ready to talk about it. Part of me knew that I shouldn’t push—that she’d share when she was ready—but the temptation to pry had never been stronger.
“Are you sure? I could, uh, give him the cut direct!”
Ben stared at me as if I’d just provided proof that I’d lost my mind and needed to be institutionalized for my own good.
“You know, like in Regency times when they’d pointedly ignore someone with a cold shoulder? I could do that!”
Audrey smacked her forehead against her hand. “You’ve been binging on historical romances again, haven’t you, Emmy?”
“Maybe,” I said, noncommittally.
Ben looked revolted. “Christ, Emmy. You’re going to get yourself killed and your last words will be, ‘But that would work in a romance novel.’”
“Will you look at the time?” I mimed checking a watch on my bare right wrist, “I’m all packed up and I’ve got somewhere to go.”
Ben grabbed my suitcase and hauled it off my bed and onto the floor without another word. He’d wheel it out of the apartment complex, even if the elevator was broken and that meant hauling it down three flights of stairs. He’d complain, but he’d do it. Even now when he wanted to yell that it was a spectacularly bad idea to rely on a scholarship from Sebastian St. James, he’d only get extra snarky if I insinuated that I didn’t need him to maneuver the monstrosity on wheels.
“Emmy, I’ve been doing some research on this school,” my mom said as I swung open my bedroom door. She blinked at Ben and Audrey, but didn’t say anything about their unannounced presence, probably because their comings and goings no longer
The last two photos were ones my mom had taken. All I could determine with any degree of certainty from the first photo was that my dad’s broad shoulders looked well-built and strong as he walked down a street lined with palm trees. The second image was a bit more informative. My mom had taken a super close up photo of his left eye that revealed every fleck of golden brown in an otherwise green iris. I’d nearly hacked both photos into a million pieces more times than I wanted to admit.
I hated them. Loathed that the image of my father walking away was the closest we’d probably ever get. The only reason I hadn’t ripped the photos into confetti was because some stupid part of me thought I might need them someday. That I’d be walking past the lions at the New York Public Library and identify a total stranger as my father with the briefest of eye contact. Then he’d sweep me into his arms in a cinematic embrace that deserved swelling orchestral music. All the photos had actually accomplished was making me wonder if his right eye was lighter than the left, if my own moss-green irises were a faithful copy of that color.
I wiped the palms of my hands on my jeans and turned to face Audrey and Ben who were hovering by the bed. They hadn’t assisted me with the packing, which unfortunately left them with nothing to do but obsess over my future.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Nasir?” Audrey asked for what had to be the hundredth time. “He might be able to help you, y’know, get settled in or something.”
“If
you
want to call him, go for it. But I don’t need you to contact your ex-boyfriend for me. I can look out for myself.”
“Yeah, you’ve been doing a killer job so far,” Ben countered. I ignored him.
“Your call, Audrey,” I said. “I’m still willing to yell at Nasir for you. Trash his dorm room. You just say the word.”
“No. That’s—no. It’s fine.”
Yeah, I seriously doubted that whatever happened between Audrey and Nasir qualified as “fine,” but Audrey clearly wasn’t ready to talk about it. Part of me knew that I shouldn’t push—that she’d share when she was ready—but the temptation to pry had never been stronger.
“Are you sure? I could, uh, give him the cut direct!”
Ben stared at me as if I’d just provided proof that I’d lost my mind and needed to be institutionalized for my own good.
“You know, like in Regency times when they’d pointedly ignore someone with a cold shoulder? I could do that!”
Audrey smacked her forehead against her hand. “You’ve been binging on historical romances again, haven’t you, Emmy?”
“Maybe,” I said, noncommittally.
Ben looked revolted. “Christ, Emmy. You’re going to get yourself killed and your last words will be, ‘But that would work in a romance novel.’”
“Will you look at the time?” I mimed checking a watch on my bare right wrist, “I’m all packed up and I’ve got somewhere to go.”
Ben grabbed my suitcase and hauled it off my bed and onto the floor without another word. He’d wheel it out of the apartment complex, even if the elevator was broken and that meant hauling it down three flights of stairs. He’d complain, but he’d do it. Even now when he wanted to yell that it was a spectacularly bad idea to rely on a scholarship from Sebastian St. James, he’d only get extra snarky if I insinuated that I didn’t need him to maneuver the monstrosity on wheels.
“Emmy, I’ve been doing some research on this school,” my mom said as I swung open my bedroom door. She blinked at Ben and Audrey, but didn’t say anything about their unannounced presence, probably because their comings and goings no longer
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