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I try to fly-swat away the encroaching disappointment and hang on to the positives. We can still have an awesome time in San Francisco as just friends. It’s only a month away. Not so long from now, and maybe…maybe everything will be resolved by then. Maybe we could actually attend as a couple.
Not so fast, Luna.
I am a greedy bean. Probably too impatient as well. I just want all of him. Now.
“Yeah, it’ll be fun,” I nod, trying to accept whatever I can get. “I can pay you back. How much was the ticket?” I open my cash app.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I frown. “Fan conventions aren’t that cheap. I can pay—”
“I got it,” he says again like it’s nothing. Yet, he hasn’t taken a seat. He’s standing and looking around the room, giving a great deal of attention to a copper lamp and then Ripley’s Hot Wheels race.
“We aren’t together though,” I say so quietly, I doubt he hears. But then his gaze meets mine, and by his saddened expression alone, I’m certain he has heard.
“It’s just…it’s something I’m doing for a friend,” he rationalizes. “I bought your ticket. I also got your bodyguard’s ticket and an extra.”
I freeze. “An extra?”
“Just in case someone else wants to go.”
Oh. “Like Joana?” I throw out there, regrettably.
His face twists in hurt. “I’m not inviting my best friend’s little sister. I’m not inviting any other girl.” He pauses. “Except Frog, but she has to go if you go.”
“Who’s the extra for then?” I wonder.
“Whoever you want to bring, bring ‘em,” Donnelly says earnestly. “I just thought it’d be better if more people go with us.”
Easier.
A group setting. It’s where our friendship started and lingered forever. We weren’t “share alone time together” kinda friends, because feelings did exist and Donnelly didn’t want to mix signals when he couldn’t act on them. Now, I’m reading this signal pretty well.
Just friends.
Only friends.
“You bought the extra,” I say. “You should give it to someone. It doesn’t feel right me giving it away.”
“Think of it as an early birthday present,” he says. “It’s yours.” He’s giving me way more control over our trip by leaving the extra ticket up to me. I can choose one of my friends instead of his.
I nod, “Yeah, okay.”
He brushes another hand through his hair. “I don’t wanna tell you who to bring, but if you bring a date—”
“I wouldn’t,” I cut in fast.
He exhales.
“Lookie! Lookie!” Ripley rushes over to Donnelly, trying to show him a red Hot Wheels truck.
“Watcha got there?” Donnelly crouches to the baby, but he’s casting a deeper glance back at me. Seeing him interact with a baby is adorable, but more than that, this baby has Donnelly’s eyes—they look so much more alike than I realized.
Ripley’s cheeks redden, timid all of a sudden. “My truck.” He grows more reserved at times and definitely when more people are around. It’s not just Donnelly.
“Your truck? You can drive?”
Ripley nods.
Donnelly whistles. “Look at you. You’re already way cooler than your papa. You tell him Uncle Donnelly said so, yeah?”
Ripley nods a ton, acting very serious.
He’s good around babies. A fact I’ve known for a while after he made Ripley break into a giggling fit. At dinner one night, he did a magic trick with a disappearing grape. When Donnelly popped it out of his nose, Ripley doubled over giggling in his highchair.
“You like kids?” I wonder.
“When they’re not crying.” Donnelly stands up while Ripley returns the truck to his bucket. “Baby cries are a nail gun to the heart though. I hate ‘em.”
“Me too,” I say just as Charlie Cobalt struts into our convo.
“Says the two people about to live with three newborns,” Charlie tells us like we’re insane. His suit jacket is thrown over his shoulder like he’s either on a Parisian stroll or about to make a quick exit. Considering we aren’t in Paris, I think I know which.
“This is a big place,” I tell him. “We might not even hear them cry all that much.”
He swings around. “They’re not guppies in a tank. They’ll be in communal spaces crying. It’s what babies do.”
Stop scaring Donnelly out of the penthouse! I want to shout at Charlie, but as I look over at Donnelly, he seems to share the same concern. That I’m about to rocket off to another place, another city, without him. He’s married to wherever his client resides, and Xander has a lot of his senior year left.
“I dunno,” Donnelly tells Charlie, “babies might come out celestial. Could be a house of three little angels.”
“Yep,” I nod. “This is heaven.”
“Your heaven is my hell,” Charlie notes, eyeing the doorway but he lingers. “Move to New York.” At first I think he’s telling Donnelly.
“Me?” I point to my heart.
Donnelly shifts uneasily.
“No, the wall behind you,” Charlie deadpans. “Yes, you, Luna. It’s honestly shocking you’re still here.”
