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She?
Who were they talking about?
At that second, he must’ve sensed my attention lingering there, because he switched off his phone and slid under his thigh. Smiling, he craned his neck to look at my face. “Did you say something, babe?”
“Don’t call me babe,” I said, trying to maintain a positive air. “Babe.”
“Nice,” Pierre laughed, shifting his eyes back to the performers.
About twenty minutes in, it started to drizzle. While others started rolling up their beach towels and packing up their picnics, Pierre and I remained. The rain wasn’t heavy, at least not yet, and without saying it, both of us knew we wanted to milk this moment for what it was worth.
The band seemed to have taken notice of the fact that we were the only couple left still giving them the attention they deserved. The main guitarist nodded to the percussionist, and the group started playing something that sounded more like a pop ballad than off-beat jazz. Pierre jumped up to his feet, and extended a hand toward me.
His eyes were dazzling and bright—how could I resist? I took his hand, allowing him to awkwardly hoist me up.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know this song,” Pierre said, grabbing onto my shoulders. His smile was contagious, and I could only shake my head and laugh. “What? Come on.”
“I don’t listen to indie rock shit,” I said, shaking my head as he intertwined his fingers with my right hand. “You know that.”
“Well, now you will,” he said, his other hand holding my waist. We started swaying, the rain droplets falling around us, missing us, as if by dancing we were able to ward off the elements of Mother Nature. A little self-conscious, I craned my neck to see if anyone was watching. But all of the concert-goers had fled because of the rain, and the only people left around us were yards away, ordering food from street vendors or rushing past under the hoods of their umbrellas. The musicians themselves were busy having fun, forming their alternative riffs to the song, laughing amongst each other.
Pierre was the only one watching me. And even he could barely do that as he held me closer, close enough to whisper in my ear.
“You’re my kind of woman,” he purred, his lips brushing against my ear. I wanted to tell him I loved him, right then and there. That he was the perfect one for me. That he deserved the world. “And only mine.”
I knew that was far from the truth. But maybe that was what he wanted to hear.
“I love you,” I whispered back.
Except, Pierre didn’t hear it. The rain started pouring in heavy currents, and the music was gone in an instant as the musicians scrambled to pack up their things. We didn’t have the time to talk as we rushed back toward the street in search of shelter.
Oh, well.
Maybe it was for the better.
The next few hours went by in a warm haze. We ate British fast food until it felt like our stomachs would explode before heading back to Pierre’s place to gather up my things. I hadn’t brought much to begin with, but we still struggled to locate every personal item of mine. I had strewn my toiletries, socks, ear-pods, and everything else all over the place as if I had moved in for the year rather than a couple of days.
Pierre had arranged for a taxi service to come pick me up and bring me to the airport. Meanwhile, we planned Pierre’s trip back home.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay with you and your mom?” he asked, scrolling mindlessly up and down the page of the airline’s website. “Won’t it be a little cramped?”
“Cramped? Are you kidding?” I shook my head at him. “Did you forget that you practically lived in my mom’s apartment for the better half of senior year? I don’t think she gives a shit, honestly.”
“True, true,” Pierre said. His eyes fell to the gift card lying on the kitchen table, where we had sat down. “Shame.”
“What is?”
“This,” he said, picking up the card and turning it between his index finger and thumb. “Shame that we didn’t use it all.”
“It wasn’t meant to be used by me,” I said. “You can use it for meals, now. Which, come to think of it, is kinda silly considering it’s a five-star restaurant. A gift card for some supermarket would’ve made more sense.”
“Guess he didn’t have to spend the money,” Pierre remarked. “Considering his dad owns the place. For him, it’s cheaper than a bodega.”
I snorted at the comment. “I guess.”
We were silent for a moment, and I glanced at my phone. We only had about thirty more minutes together before the car came for me.
“Hey,” I said, leaning across the table toward him, folding down the screen of his laptop as I did so. He had been avoiding eye contact with me ever since we started planning his flight. I could tell he was nervous. “How did you know about … the fact that I’m sort of with the three of them? Did Luna tell you?”
