“Did you see Brooklyn at all?” I asked her.
“No,” Nikki replied. “I thought he was back out here with you.”
I stiffened, feeling Nikki’s eyes on me. “Oh, then I’m sure he’s just wandering around, admiring some of the art.”
“Oh that’s sweet,” Mom chimed in, but she was bouncing on her toes and looking for the younger guy who had walked by us before.
Nikki gave me a sideways glance. “It’s not that big of a gallery, Nat, and he’s also, like, built like a tree.”
She swept her arm outward, where almost every corner of the space was visible from where we stood.
There was absolutelynoreason for everyone to be getting so worked up, and I was about to relish the feeling of being right. I handed Nikki my champagne glass. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as I was out of her line of sight, I made a beeline to the back hallway that led to the bathrooms and curator offices, and for maybe one fraction of a second my mind wandered to more sinister thoughts. I wasn’t even sure what a relapse for someone like him looked like, but that was where I forced the thoughts to stop. Sure enough, Brooklyn emerged from the dimness seemingly on cue, looking as calm, cool, and collected as ever.
“Everything all right?” I asked when he made his way over to me.
“Yeah, it was a whole adventure to find a glass of water, and my bladder is the size of a quarter.” He gave me one of those endearing smiles, and it made the tension whoosh out of my shoulders.
“I’m sorry.” I sighed, silently kicking myself for even suspecting there wasn’t a reasonable explanation for his absence. “I should have realized with you being sober, this might be uncomfortable for you.”
“I’m fine,” Brooklyn said. “Never was a champagne guy. Gives me bubble guts, to be honest.”
I giggled and shook my head. I wasn’t sure exactly what bubble guts were, but it seemed like a reasonable description for whatever was going on in my stomach now. No more champagne for me, that was for sure.
He offered me his elbow. “Shall we?”
I slid my arm through the crook of his elbow, and he felt as sturdy as ever as he led me back into the heart of the gallery. We did a few laps, admiring some of the more abstract artwork and making pretentious sideways comments as if we knew exactly what we were talking about. We laughed, and maybe itwassimply champagne guts, but everything inside me warmed, the way the sun warms the ocean in the mornings.
We made our way back over to Mom, where Brooklyn effortlessly slipped into conversation with her about her creative process (and god knows shelovedthat). He was so good with people, I was almost envious.
We were debating if a painting had actually been hung upside down when his phone rang in his jacket pocket, and annoyance flashed across his features.
“I’m sorry, I gotta take this.” He gave me a quick nod before retreating to the back hallway by the bathrooms again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a smaller painting on the back wall of the gallery that we seemed to have missed in our laps, and I wandered over to it. It hadn’t gathered much attention compared to some of the larger pieces, but I was drawn to it. It was an oil painting like my mom’s, but much darker. Parts of the ocean and sky were nearly black, and the only pop of lightness was a hand sticking out of the water.
I didn’t know why, but looking at it for too long gave me chills. It was like something I would have nightmares about as a teenager—drowning, suffocating, and reaching out for help that wouldn’t come.
“Where’s your man now?” Nikki jolted me from my grim thoughts.
I shrugged in response, not willing to humor her sideways comment. “He got a phone call he had to take. Probably his mom. She likes to check in.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird?” She scrunched her nose up and gazed around the room, where Brooklyn was nowhere to be found again. “Like, first he’s late, and now he’s basically been MIA since he got here.”
“I don’t think it’s weird,” I responded. “I think it’s weird thatyouthink it’s weird.”
Nikki scoffed and gave me another dramatic eye roll. “I’m saying it’s sketchy. For all you know, he could be like snorting cocaine in the bathroom or something.”
That one hurt. Not just because it was coming from my sister, but because there was the smallest iota of a chance it might have been true. But I wouldn’t let her know that.
“I don’t understand, Nikki, where is all this coming from?”
“Nat, he’s got drug problems,” she said bitingly, her tone hushed but still sharper than knives. “And I’m getting a weird vibe from him tonight. Something’s not right.”
“You know what?” I folded my arms over my chest, not bothering to hide my irritation anymore. “You of all people should be more understanding.”
She scowled. “That’s exactly the point. I’veseenpeople like him in rehab, Nat. They sneak around and hide and lie and they’regoodat it.”
