He sighs. “Yeah.”
“Ohmygod. Is that the mayor?”
A snappily dressed, elderly photographer is taking pictures of an equally elderly man with tipsy-red cheeks and a sober-looking, much younger partner.
“Yep,” Josh says, unenthused.
As we pass them, I follow Josh’s blasé lead, and I don’t turn my head to stare. Even though I want to. This evening will never stop being weird.
We wander, searching for his parents, but it’s a slow-moving process. Everybody seems to know Josh, and they all want to congratulate him on the re-election. Political lifers. Josh remembers the names of children and locations of vacation homes, and he introduces me to everyone. I munch on bland canapés. This is the type of conversation that he despises, but his distaste never shows. It strikes me that if he had the desire…he could be one of them, too. He’s a good actor.
It’s a little unsettling.
But not nearly so unsettling as the other type of partygoer who keeps pulling Josh aside. Society girls. The female version of him – always someone’s daughter – but with a drive that’s both alarming and intimidating. They laugh. They flirt. I eat more canapés. They tower over me. Even the ones who aren’t tall still manage to tower over me through their confidence alone. A brunette with an unwinterlike tan does a particularly swell job of pretending that I don’t exist. Her hand touches the sleeve of Josh’s jacket twice.
After the third sleeve-touch, Josh makes our excuses and steers us away. But even that doesn’t stop her from following him with her eyes as we move throughout the room.
Over an hour later, after emoting my most sociable holiday cheer during countless conversations in which I am invisible, we locate his parents beside a large copper…vat? I read the sign. Baptismal font. Unexpectedly, I’m relieved to see them. At least I know they won’t ignore me.
As Josh predicted, they’ve partaken of a few more glasses of wine. They’re relaxed and happy. Mrs. Wasserstein even compliments my shoes. But soon another stranger interrupts us, some famous journalist, and then the pushy brunette re-approaches Josh from behind. She stands in a way that forces him to turn his head away from us to hear what she’s saying, which means that I can’t hear what she’s saying.
The journalist envelops Josh’s parents in a conversation about tax incentives. They glance at me occasionally, including me in the discussion with their eyes, but I contribute nothing, feeling dumb and unimportant. The brunette laughs. Josh turns his head to shoot me an apologetic look. I smile as if everything were fine.
We’ve only been here for two hours, but I’m ready to leave.
A tapestry of a medieval lady snags my gaze. She’s giving me a distinctly incredulous “oh, no, this is not happening” face, and I’m grateful that someone sees what’s going on here. Even if she is woven.
Josh finally cuts off the brunette, and his father sweeps him back into their conversation. “I’m sorry,” Josh says, “but Isla and I are heading out.”
What now? I perk up.
The senator looks disappointed. “Come by the house for dinner this week,” he tells me. “I’d like to have a real chance to get to know you.”
I’m touched. And panicked to think about an evening with them unprotected by a public safety net. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
“Marvellous seeing you again.” Mrs. Wasserstein gives me a limp, one-armed hug. The words sound friendly enough, but the warmth in her action is debatable.
“It was nice seeing you, too. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Are you going straight home?” she asks Josh.
“Nah, we’re gonna get some real food first. But I’ll probably still beat you back.”
“Is Brian taking you?”
“I just texted him.” Josh holds up her phone and grins.
She snatches it back, but she’s smiling as she hugs him goodbye. “Pickpocket.”
“Warden.”
It’s the first Josh-like exchange that I’ve heard in a while. His mom is placated enough by his answers, so he puts an arm around my waist and guides me towards the exit. “It’s strange,” I say, the moment we’re alone. “The way you’ve been steering me around like this tonight.”
He yanks away his arm as if it’d been caught in a com-promising position. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, I know. It was the environment. It just feels…weird.”
“That whole scene is weird, right?” He gestures towards the fading laughter and string quartet.
“You seem comfortable in it, though. If I didn’t know any better, I’d never guess that you hate it.”
“Well, I do.” He sounds defensive.
“I know. I’m only saying that you’re a good actor.”
Josh shoves his hands into his pockets, and the museum’s dim light catches the sheen of the tuxedo stripe on his pants. “I don’t think that was a compliment,” he says at last.
“That’s not what I meant.”
But…it was. And Josh knows it. For some reason, now that I’ve started, I can’t hold back. “The whole thing reminded me of Televised Josh. You, looking so polished. Speaking in that voice. Standing so straight.”
Josh opens the museum door for me. His teeth are gritted.
“Knowing all of these people and things that I don’t.” Shut. Up.
“Yeah, because they’ve been a part of my life for, like, ever. I’m not gonna be a dick in front of the people who keep my dad in office.”
“I know! And I know you’re a part of this life, so you have to act like that—”
“I don’t have to do anything. I choose to be a decent person.”
It’s a sword through the chest. I’ve gone too far. I’ve gone way, way too far. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I don’t know why…”
“Forget it.” But his head is turned away from mine. He’s scanning the line of cars for Brian, but, really, it’s an excuse not to look at me. I can’t blame him. Why couldn’t I keep my stupid insecurities to myself?
It’s freezing, and I wish I’d brought my winter coat. For the first time ever, either Josh doesn’t notice that I’m shivering or he chooses not to offer me his jacket. Not that he should have to give it to me. It’s my own fault for leaving my coat behind during the excitement of his arrival at my house.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
He shrugs.
“Do you still wanna get something to eat?”
“Of course.” Josh sounds surprised. He pulls his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms. After a minute of uneasy silence, he uncrosses them and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, too. For bringing you. Not that I didn’t want you here,” he adds quickly, “but because I knew it would suck. These things always do. Not that all of that sucked,” he adds again. “Twenty minutes of it were fantastic.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” I stare at the pavement. “You have this big life that I’m not a part of. And I wanted to see it.”
Josh’s frown deepens.
I open my mouth to try again when a black town car pulls up to the kerb and flashes its lights. The wind turns abrasive as we hurry towards it. The locks pop, Josh opens the back door, and we slide inside.
“Sorry I’m late,” Brian says. “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour.”
Josh shakes his head. “No problem. You know how these events are.”
“Do I ever.” Brian grins at us in the rear-view mirror. “You’ve got ninety minutes before curfew. Can I take you somewhere else?”
Josh leans forward in his seat. “You know that café on Amsterdam? Kismet?”
Brian snorts. It tells me that he already knows the story. “I think I can find the place.”
“Thanks.” Josh sits back. And then he turns to me with a sudden alarm. “Is that okay? Sorry, I’m still in stupid party mode. I didn’t even ask. I know we’re going there for New Year’s, but I thought an early visit would be nice. For nostalgia’s sake.”
“
No, it’s perfect.” I force a smile. “Thanks, Brian.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he says.
But the feeling inside the car is not perfection. There’s no hand holding. We’re quiet and ill at ease. As Brian merges into traffic, he tries to lighten the mood. “So, Isla. Did you get to see any of the museum?”
It’s a leading question. Clearly, Josh tells him a lot of things. “I did.”
“Aaaaand?”
I force another cheerful smile. “It was a beautiful gift.”
He pumps his fist. “Nice.”
“Went off without a hitch,” Josh says. “Thank you, Chuck.”
“Thank you, Chuck!” Brian repeats.
They discuss the plan, some last-minute part of the arrangement with Chuck that Brian hadn’t heard yet, and I squirm in my seat. How many people knew about this? Has Josh done this sort of thing before? The less private it gets, the more uncomfortable I feel.
There’s something I shouldn’t say, but for some terrible and unknown reason, I have to say anyway. I should save it for a more appropriate, less emotionally stressed day. I should save it for when we’re alone. I shouldn’t ever say it. Don’t say it.
“Rashmi likes ancient Egypt, doesn’t she?” I ask.
Shit.
“What?” Josh’s response is sharp as his attention snaps from Brian to me.
“I— I mean, in your book. Her rabbit, Isis. And then she goes to Brown to study Egyptology.”