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I say hello to the other familiar faces, and Gilly makes introductions between people who don’t know each other.
Cleo and I sit nearby Gilly, who holds court at the head of the table. I say hello to Hugo, who sits opposite us. To my surprise, Lucas thuds into the seat on the other side of me. Strange, since he’s always seemed to prefer everyone else over me.
After half an hour, everyone has arrived, and the food and drinks come out. Instead of individual meals, we’re treated to platters of fancy finger-food — slivers of pink meat folded over cream cheese and crispy bread, plum-sized burgers with honey-sweet buns, smoked-salmon sandwiches, meringues topped with raspberries, skewered fruit carved into the numbers two and zero…
As expected, everything is delicious, and the table is loud with chatter.
Cleo asks me to take a photo of her drinking champagne, which bubbles in the glass. I take sixty-three photos until she decides that one is acceptable. Later, everyone moves around to take group photos. Hugo takes one of Cleo and I, huddled together.
Gilly comes over to talk to us. He realises he’s taking one of the same subjects as Cleo — Intro to Professional Writing — and soon they’re trash-talking the lecturer and following each other on Instagram. Their conversation veers to reality TV and celebrity gossip, and I zone out.
An hour later, dessert comes out — a tall chocolate cake covered in candles. Gilly flounces back into his seat at the head of the table. Everyone sings him happy birthday before he blows out the candles and cuts the cake. After slices of cake have been distributed, I’m just about to take my first bite off my fork when Lucas leans over and eats it.
“You ass,” I hiss, stamping on his foot. He licks and makes a show of swallowing.
He’s done this before. On my tenth, eleventh and twelfth birthday, he always stole some of my cake. Not my thirteenth, though. By my thirteenth birthday, we hadn’t spoken in months.
I look at my fork in disgust. “Now this is covered in your germs.”
He rolls his eyes and looks past me to ask Cleo how she’s finding the cake.
“It’s alright,” she replies. “Way too many calories for me, though.”
That leads to them talking about micronutrients and the best way to make a green smoothie. As Lucas nods along to what Cleo says, his knee nudges mine, as if to say, I’m being nice to her right now. Aren’t I so kind?
I roll my eyes and pull my knee away, but a few seconds later, he’s pressing his leg against mine again. I glance at him, but he’s looking at Cleo.
“Shit, that’s so cool,” he says.
Cleo giggles. “Thanks.” She continues talking about I-don’t-know-what, flicking her hair over her shoulder, lips curled in a mischievous smile.
I pull my legs away again and turn from Lucas so I’m facing Cleo, and that’s when Lucas shifts. I sense it before I feel the weight of him, his arm resting on my shoulders, heavy chest against my back, leg sprawled out, his thigh touching mine.
He’s so big, to be able to encapsulate me like this. I can feel his body heat. Maybe I’ve had too much to drink, but his touch—
He laughs softly at something Cleo’s said, and his breath tickles my ear, and goosebumps raise all over my body.
That’s it. I stand up abruptly, mutter an excuse and head to the bathroom.
There, when I catch my reflection above the sink while washing my hands, I spend more time than I’d like to admit assessing my face. I’m not blushing, which is a good sign.
I think I look nice tonight, or at least nice-ish. I know that most people wouldn’t say that I’m attractive, but I like the way I look. I’ve had nineteen years to get used to my face, and I wouldn’t want to wake up looking like anyone else. I might not look like a movie star, not even slightly, but I still look like myself, and that’s what matters.
I check my teeth to make sure I haven’t got any food stuck in them, then muster up a smile.
When I return to the banquet table, Cleo has moved into my seat and is talking to Lucas, eyes big and expressive as her hands move around.
And Lucas…Lucas is smiling at her.
I don’t know why he doesn’t smile more often. His smile makes the world seem brighter, the colours sharper. He rests his chin on his palm, pointer finger tapping against his lips which are upturned in a small, knowing smile, and that alone oozes charm. Someone should paint him in that pose. I’d show it to him when he’s being a surly asshole. I’d show him it to remind him that he can be relaxed. Effortless. Seductive.
I walk over. “Hey,” Cleo says and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. Lucas looks at me.
I fall in Cleo’s old seat, and she continues to talk to Lucas. He laughs and makes a joke, and while Cleo tips her head back in a giggle, his eyes move past her to meet mine. The easy glitter in his eyes fades, replaced with dim slate.
Sometimes his eyes scare me. Grey-blue doesn’t sound scary, but to me, they’re more terrifying than pure black eyes or blood red. When he looks at me like that, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I don’t know whether he’s going to pin me down and whisper something cruel, or if he’s going to tug on my hand like a needy child. When he looks at me like that, my heart swoops, as if I’m on the precipice and I don’t know whether he’ll save me or push me off.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, uncomfortable, itchy. I look away.
