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“The usual way.” A lie. Millie trains her gaze to focus on Father’s chin instead of his eyes. She wills her pores not to start sweating. Father stares at her for an interminably long time, andshe swears he can look straight through her skull and read every guilty thought skittering through her brain. She can’t stand it. She’s going to burst. She’s going to blurt out the truth to him. She—
“Okay. Well, have fun.”
It takes all of Millie’s willpower not to jump in surprise and squeak, “Really?” Instead, she nods and says, “See you, Father,” then ducks her head and squeezes past him. He doesn’t bother stepping back to let her past. Occupying a large space is something Father is very good at and something Millie is really bad at.
Millie brisk-walks out of the complex and doesn’t stop until she’s all the way down the block. The whole time, she thinks she can feel Father’s eyes lasering her back. He would’ve told Mother by now. They work so well as a team, Father and Mother. Their friends probably envy their marriage.
By the time she gets to the bus stop, she is out of breath. She feels slightly lightheaded too, which is probably a sign that her breakfast hadn’t been big enough. But Mother is very strict about food allowance, and Millie is on a 1,200-calorie meal plan to—of course—keep her looking young and vulnerable. Every week, Mother makes Millie do a weigh-in, and god help her should her weight fluctuate by more than three pounds in either direction. When the bus arrives, Millie is glad to find an empty seat. She rests her head against the window, watching the scenery change as the bus trundles into the city. San Francisco is probably the prettiest city she’s ever been to. Not that she’s been to that many cities, but Millie can’t imagine a lovelier place than this one. It looks like something out of a storybook. Millie loves looking at the houses on the hills, making up stories about the people who live inside them.
She spots Oliver from a distance, and despite everything, herheart rate spikes. Something about Oliver feels different from the other guys she’s gone out with. She smiles wide as she steps off the bus, and he gives her a friendly but nonsuggestive hug.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he says.
“Good,” Millie says, and she means it. It really is good seeing him.
“It was a nice surprise, getting your text,” Oliver says.
Millie blushes. Mother would hate that Millie was the one who made the first move, but there’s just something about Oliver that had captured her the first time they met. There is a note of poignancy in the way Oliver carries himself, and Millie recognizes it as the sign of a fellow dreamer. Though what Oliver could possibly dream about, she has no idea. Surely he has everything he could wish for.
“Yeah,” she says, “I’m glad you agreed to come out and see me.”
“Of course.” Oliver grins. “I haven’t been to this part of the city in a while.”
They’re at Alamo Square, right next to the Painted Ladies, an iconic row of Victorian houses that Millie loves but very rarely gets to see. They start strolling down the street.
“My god, it’s so beautiful here. I wish I could take my little sister out here. She’d flip out.”
“Aww, I didn’t know you had a little sister. How old is she?”
That gives Millie pause. “Eleven.” So young. She thinks back to what she was like at eleven and her chest tightens.
“Wow, quite an age gap between you two.”
Millie elbows him. “Are you calling me old?”
“God, no. If you’re old, I’m a pile of ash waiting to be blown into the wind.” Oliver snorts. “What’s your lil sis like?”
Millie sighs. “Honestly, I don’t know much about her. We’renot that close. But I’d like to get closer to her. I feel protective over her.”
“Pretty hard getting close to preteens. I was…well, let’s just say I was not the most approachable kid when I was eleven.”
It’s hard for Millie to think of Oliver as anything but approachable. Maybe he’s just trying to make her feel better. Time to change the subject. “This is truly my favorite part of the city,” she says, gazing at the colorful homes wistfully.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
She shrugs. “Before I came to America, I don’t know why, but I had it in my mind that all the houses in this country would look like this. I thought I would live in one of these houses.” She laughs, and it comes out slightly more bitter than she expected. “That’s probably really stupid, huh?”
Oliver nudges her with his elbow. “Well, if we’re going to compare stupid childhood beliefs, I believed that a giant built the Golden Gate Bridge out of Lego bricks.”
Millie laughs. “Aww, that’s cute!”
“Not really, not when I believed it up until I was around twelve.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“My dad told us the story, and I just didn’t think to question it.” Oliver gives her a look. “Do not tell me you’re judging me right now, after what you just told me.”
Millie raises her hands. “No judgment here.”