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—Act III, Scene IV
Willow
I woke up with a slant of bright, spring sunshine over my face. I lay on the floor in my blanket as usual, though I’d slept straight through with no night terrors. I’d been sleeping better for the last few weeks. Not in my bed yet, but I was getting there. I had hope.
My phone chimed a text from “Dane.” I smiled as I bundled deeper into my blankets with the phone, shutting out the rest of the world.
Need to change up rehearsal today he wrote. Act 4, instead of 3.3
Translation: Running late, see you at 4 instead of 3:30.
My thumbs flew. Sounds good.
A2 he wrote.
A pleasant shiver rippled through me and I bit my lip over my smile.
S2 I typed back and tucked my phone away.
I showered, dressed in a pretty, pale pink sundress that came just above my knee, and jogged downstairs for breakfast. My mother sat at the kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine. It was only quarter after seven, but Dad had been at work for hours already. The Wilkinsons worked him hard, or maybe he didn’t want to hang around my mother. I couldn’t blame him.
“You’re up early,” I said.
“Spa appointment in Braxton at eight.” She let her magazine drop as I set my bicycle helmet on the counter and rummaged in the cupboard for a glass.
“Really, Willow, that helmet looks so silly. Especially riding a bicycle with a dress on. We can buy you a car. We can afford a car.”
“Don’t want a car.”
“You won’t be saying that next December,” she said. “You know how God-awful it is here in winter.”
I rolled my eyes. Right. Because New York in winter is super fun.
“We’ve been over this a hundred times, Mom. I love the bike. It’s a short trip downtown and to school, and you never have to worry about me needing a ride.”
Not that you ever did before.
For me, a bike was a necessity. My days of using Angie as my taxi service, or to cover for me, were over. I loved her too much to risk getting her in trouble again. And as my body continued its slow thaw of recovery, being outside in the sunshine and getting exercise brought me closer to my idea of normal.
I’ll worry about winter later.
My mother set aside the magazine and flipped through the mail on the counter. “I should’ve known,” she said, an envelope in her hand.
“What’s up?” I asked, pouring some juice.
“The party for Wexx that was set for next week in Indianapolis. It’s canceled. A new one is scheduled in Manhattan over this weekend.”
I froze, the glass at my lips. “Canceled?”
These past weeks, the only dark cloud over my happiness with Isaac was the Wexx party and Xavier Wilkinson being there.
My mother sighed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if half the attendees RSVP’d no and Wexx came to its senses.”
Usually my mother’s prejudice against the Midwest made my skin itch, but today I hardly heard her.
“So,” I carefully set the glass down. “The Wilkinsons aren’t coming here?”
“Willow, are you listening to me? Why would they come here if the party’s been relocated? It’s back in Manhattan. We’re all invited, of course—”
