21. Eve

CHAPTER 21

EVE

I was arranging roses. Well, not just roses. White roses, sweet peas, sprigs of baby's breath. Pretty, pale posies, one for each table.

If you wanted something done right, you did it yourself. That was the point of this, not distraction. I wouldn't shiver to pieces if I stopped moving. I wouldn't scream, cry, or lose my mind. This wasn't like Rafael, a public disaster. It was a sweet nothing that had run its course, and now I was here in New York with my parents, helping them set up the children's aid gala. As I did every year. Nothing strange there.

I jammed a white rose into the floral foam. Its slender stem snapped and I cursed through my teeth. The florist had gone too hard shaving the thorns. Left the stems wobbly and ready to break.

One of the event planners, Donna, glided up to me. "Can I help with the flowers?"

"No, no, I've got them." I tossed the rose in the trash and picked out a fresh one, then narrowed my eyes to survey the hall. The tables fanned out in artful flotillas, paths carved between them to allow for mingling. I frowned at them, then at Donna, and shook my head. "Those tables back there are too close to the fire door. And they're too close together. I want them spaced out."

"But you have two hundred guests, and you wanted six to a table. You'd need eight to a table if you want?—"

"I want six to a table, and the tables spaced out. And the ivory tablecloths, not that stark white. And could we fold the napkins, not those big clunky rings? I don't want napkin rings all over the tables. There's nothing to do with those once you unroll your napkin."

"Of course," said Donna. "But there's a problem with space. You can't fit all those tables without?—"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'll arrange it myself. Open the terrace and put up some awnings. We can set a few heaters out in case it gets chilly. You know, those hot rock ones, not the fan kind."

Gabriella came up to us. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," I said. "Could you get me the seating chart?"

"It's right behind you." She pulled up a chair.

"Well, take some gloves, then. Help with the posies."

"We have florists for that." She stretched out her legs. "Seriously, they're sitting there, out in the kitchen. Eating those pizza rolls we got for the sound guys."

"Well, we'll get more, then. Write it down. Pizza rolls."

Donna tapped at her phone, but Gabriella waved her back. "We don't need more pizza rolls. That's not what I'm saying." She picked up a daisy and started stripping its petals, one after another. I snorted meanly.

"You don't need a daisy."

"Need it for what?"

"You know, he loves me. He loves me not. You don't need a daisy to tell you that."

"That's not what I'm doing." She tossed the daisy aside. "Why are you even here? When did you sleep last?"

"To help with the gala, and some time last night?" I rolled my eyes, hoping she'd take a hint. Instead, she beckoned a waiter.

"Grab us some drinks?"

"I don't need a drink," I groused, but the waiter was gone. Gabriella surveyed the banquet hall much as I'd done.

"It looks good," she said. "You don't need to change it."

"No, I do, now I think of it. It'll be more festive. People can circulate indoors and out. We'll set up a bar out there, make it less stuffy. The more fun they're having, the more they'll donate."

"And you're doing the flowers yourself because…?"

"Because they looked sloppy." I arranged six more roses into a perfect bouquet, pink trails of sweet peas spilling over the vase. A dusting of baby's breath finished the ensemble. Gabriella leaned over me and poked at the blooms.

"Well, now they look uptight. Kind of like you."

"Are you going to help, or are you just here to heckle?"

"I'm here to get you out of the event planners' faces." She grabbed my arm and tried to tug me down beside her. "You're driving them crazy — isn't she, Donna?"

But Donna didn't answer, and I saw she was leaving, striding away from our burgeoning drama.

"Mother asked me to help," I said.

"With the seating chart, yeah. But the chefs are complaining you've ruined their menu."

"Not ruined. I?—"

"And you're moving the tables and playing with flowers, and what was all that about napkin rings? No, don't run away. What are you doing?"

I opened my mouth to argue, but couldn't find the strength. The waiter glided back and set out two champagne flutes. He poured Gabriella's bubbly, and then he poured mine.

"Drink it," Gabriella said.

I took a small sip.

"No, drink it. Drink more."

I drained half my glass. The bubbles fizzed in my head. I closed my eyes as the room spun: when had I last eaten?

"You should talk to him," she said.

I snorted. "No way."

"You know how men are, with their big, stupid egos. I'm betting he said that to try and save face. So it wouldn't look like you dumped him when you?—"

"He compared me to fruit."

Gabriella winced, sucked her teeth. Drank more champagne. "Okay, that sucks. I won't deny that. But if you care for him?—"

"I don't. We were fake."

"So you're running yourself ragged, messing with flowers? And Mother said you were asking about the art show next month? You're doing that too? Because — why would you do that?"

"To help," I said, feeling like I was beating a dead horse. "It's as simple as that. I'm doing my part. I was out for a while with the whole wedding whirl, then my little break from reality with Marco. But I'm back now, and?—"

"They don't need you."

I jerked like she'd slapped me. "Excuse me?"

"They don't. They have people to do this stuff, and it's not what you want. Even if it's true it was all fake with Marco, what about your life? What about your dreams?"

"I'm awake now," I said. "No time for dreaming."

Gabriella made a pthbbt sound and drained her champagne. "No way you're that cynical, and I know you're not stupid. So what does that leave, besides a broken heart? Are you scared? Is that it?"

I stood up. "Whatever."

"No, not ‘whatever.' I saw those outtakes from your commercial."

I turned away. "So what?"

"So, you were happy. You were laughing your ass off. I never saw you so bubbly, lit up like a light bulb."

I tumbled back through what felt like vast tracts of time, back to a moment that felt like a dream, the lights and the cameras. The clifftop kiss. Marco. That day was a blur to me, a bright comet trail, all of my fantasies caught up in one. I'd seen it that day, a fresh, trembling vision, all the threads of a new life ready to weave. All I needed to do was reach out and grasp them. Fame on my own terms, a new career. Marco beside me, cheering me on.

"All I'm saying is, he must really know you." Gabriella had risen, and she took my arm. "He knew what to do to put that smile on your face. Not only that, but he went out and did it. Don't you owe it to yourself to at least hear his side?"

I jerked my arm away. "What side is that?"

"The side where he messed up? Where nobody's perfect? Where you aren't, either, hiding away? You always do this. You always run scared. The first hint of rejection, and?—"

"And what's wrong with that, with protecting myself?" I realized I was shouting. The florists were staring. Gabriella yelled back at me, blocking my way.

"Maybe he's as scared as you are. You ever think of that? Maybe he's pulling back before you can dump him."

I clutched at my head, trying to clear it. I couldn't think past the cobwebs from nights of no sleep. "It doesn't matter," I groaned. "He— he— I was ready. I was ready to fight for him. To tell him, let's do this. That's why I went back there, to make it real. I'd just chickened out again, but then I thought, why? What's the worst he can say to me? ‘I don't feel the same?' I was ready to hear that. I'd have moved on. But it was so much worse , so mean, so awful, and?—"

Gabriella tried to hug me, or maybe corral me. I squirmed away from her, ranting on.

"And it would be just like that if I tried to do acting. Did you know Meryl Streep got told she was ugly? Too ugly for acting, that's what they said. That's how it is out there, that's the real world, and you know what? I'm done with it. I don't need it. I'm fine with my fake life. With all this right here. I'll marry the next one, the next Rafael."

Gabriella held her hands up. "O- kay . You need sleep."

"No. No, I'm fine. I'm good where I am." I took a deep breath, so deep my head spun. When I let it out, I swayed on my feet. I could hear myself talking from far, far away, repeating the same line, I'm fine. This is fine.

If I shouted it loud enough, maybe I'd believe it.