Page 80 of Emmett
“No you don’t,” Mariah chortles. “Come on.”
I follow as she climbs out of the car, taking her arm in mine again as we make our way back toward the collective. When I drape my free hand over hers, her skin feels like velvet. I can feel the gentle crunch of snow beneath our feet and I could almost swear that it sounds a little bit different, too.
My grip tightens on Mariah’s hand for just a minute as we approach the entrance of the building and I reach to pull the door open.
“Whoa.”
“Thereit is,” she laughs, rubbing her hand against mine.
I pull my focus as we enter the building, letting every note and vibration of the music around me pour inside. Several people are lined before us, each of them seated in front of an easel while they work on still life paintings. Their brushes glide across the canvases as if they’re dancing with each other, swirling shades of vibrant color together into one big, beautiful mess as they take shape.
Every beat of music sounds likemagic; it wraps itself around my mind like a warm hug that sends a flood of euphoria through every nerve in my body and I let out a laugh. I finally get why Davis does this stuff all the time.
After slipping off my suit jacket, I set it on an empty stool nearby and reach for Mariah’s hands. “Dance with me,” I tell her.
“It’s opera.”
“It’s perfect.”
“Here, watch this,” she tells me.
She pulls her hand from mine and holds it in front of my face, shaking it back and forth. Hypnotizing lines of motion trail behind each movement, forcing another laugh out of me that won’t stop.
“I’m so happy right now,” I tell Mariah as one hand cups her cheek and the other strokes through her hair. Each strand is so soft; it almost feels how I imagine a cloud would.
Her lips meet my cheek like pop rocks to the tongue. “Then let’s see if we can find some glitter andreallyget you going,” she laughs.
I follow behind her with my arms wrapped around her shoulders, dipping my head while we move to lick and suck at a spot on her neck that tastes like cotton candy. Every step leads us to a new area of the gala, past another class and the silent auction.
We don’t find any glitter, but we do find a tightly-packed group of freshly-filled champagne flutes, and I lower myself until they’re eye level with me so I can watch the streams of bubbles shoot up to the top and disappear. I can almost feel them bursting against my skin.
I pick up one of the glasses and drink the champagne down as if it’s a shot and every bubble pops against my tongue in a tiny explosion that makes my teeth tingle. Grabbing onto my friend’s hand, I pull her with me through the event, swaying and moving my shoulders to the flow of the music.
We maneuver through the event for almost two hours, taking in every detail in every art piece, absorbing every note of every song, and appreciating the texture of every fabric. This is the first time in a long time that I’m smiling without it feeling forced. The guilt and the shame that I felt in the office are nowhere to be found, no voices in my head telling me that I’ve screwed upagain.
Nash and Anna are far from my mind, and it feels like my lungs can finally pull in a full breath of clean, fresh air.
As I reach for another glass of bubbly, tingly champagne, I smack into my dad. “Hey, Dad!” I shout in greeting. I wrap my arms around him in a hug, only stopping to pat him on the head; which quickly turns more intopettinghis hair as if he’s a dog. The texture of the pomade in it rolls against my palm and I find myself wanting to mold the neat style into a new shape.
He studies me for a long moment before grabbing my jaw and forcing me to make eye contact with him. “Emmett Reid Fowler, are you ondrugsright now?”
“Just one,” I laugh, watching the color in his eyes move.
“What did you take?”
“Ecstasy,” Mariah blurts out from behind me. She’s wearing her ‘talking to my boss’ voice, and it’s fucking hilarious. “He’s on Ecstasy. I gave it to him, Mr. Fowler, I’m sorry.”
His narrowed gaze moves to Mariah and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he lets out a long breath. “I can’t leave here. Can I trust you to get him home if I get the two of you a driver?”
“Yes sir.”
“Aww, do wehaveto Van Goh?” I ask, following with a cackle as I point to my ear. “Okay, you would laugh really hard at that if I still had the thing on.”
Mariah delivers an elbow to my ribs in a not-so-subtle way of telling me to shut up and stay that way, and Dad’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “I love you,” he tells me, “and I’ll call you when I’m finished here.”
I wrap my arms around him to crush him in another hug, clapping him on the back before we part and Mariah drags me out toward the parking lot.
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