Macarons at Midnight Read online

  “Sounds like a disaster,” I mumbled in a halfhearted attempt at a joke.

  She lifted her head off her clothes to look at me. “It’s not. Not really.” Her eyes narrowed as she sat up. “But … you are! What’s wrong? Your face is all scrunched and blotchy.”

  I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. “I’ve had a bad day.”

  “Is it my mom? Or your dad?”

  “It’s a boy,” I muttered, not quite believing I was admitting that to her. But since our quest for pickled eggs, I was starting to feel as if Destry and I might actually—shocker—be bonding.

  “I should’ve known. Disasters always involve boys.” She groaned. “I’ve wasted two hours trying to figure out what to wear to Jake’s birthday party, and it isn’t until Friday.”

  “You do know it’s only Monday,” I said, and when she nodded, I added, “That’s bad.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said. “And … tell me about the boy.”

  I hesitated for a minute, but she looked so sincere—even sympathetic. Plus, I reasoned, she was a year older than I was. That was a quantum leap when it came to boy expertise. So, I did what a few weeks ago I would’ve thought was impossible. I poured my heart out to my not-so-evil-stepsister.

  “Whoa,” Destry said when I’d finished telling her the whole saga. She held out her hand. “Give me some chocolate. Even I need some after hearing that.”

  I laughed, handing her a piece. “What do you think?”

  “Well, aside from Viv trespassing on your territory, which she totally did—”

  “Unintentionally,” I added in Viv’s defense. (Although it was nice to feel validated, I had to admit.)

  “Whatever,” Destry said, as if the point wasn’t even debatable. “You.” She jabbed her finger at me. “Need to tell Raj everything. How can you expect him to know what he’s doing when he doesn’t even know who he likes?”

  “He likes Viv.” I stuffed another piece of chocolate into my mouth. “It’s too late to tell him now, especially when this whole thing is my fault to begin with. Besides, I couldn’t do that to Viv.”

  “But you’re forgetting one really important thing,” Destry said. “Raj is falling for the wrong girl. He thinks Viv is you.”

  As annoying as her condescending, big sisterly tone was, she had a point.

  Still, I told her, “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. What he sees in Viv is someone gorgeous and popular and … perfect. Everything I’m not. And … that’s the girl he likes. He told me himself.”

  “I’m not buying it,” Destry said. “I don’t think you’re giving Raj enough credit. He doesn’t seem that shallow. Besides, you’re a lot prettier than you seem to think you are.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled, knowing Destry wasn’t the type to just hand out compliments. “And thanks for the advice. I’ll think about it.”

  “Anytime.” Destry nodded. “But better think fast. The dance is this Saturday.” She stood up. “Now, it’s your turn to give me some advice.” She sighed at the mountain of clothes on her bed. “Help me figure out what to wear so I have somewhere to sleep tonight?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’re asking me for fashion advice?”

  “Hey,” she smiled sheepishly, “isn’t that what sisters are supposed to do? But … I have veto rights.”

  I giggled. “You got it.”

  By the time Gail and Dad came home from the doctor’s, Destry and I had solved her crisis, but I wasn’t any closer to solving mine. Wardrobe dilemmas, as it turned out, were much easier to figure out than boys.

  I sat through dinner exhibiting the social skills of a zombie, but only Destry, who shot me sympathetic glances across the broccoli every few minutes, knew what was wrong. As much as it pained me to think about Raj, it was also fun, in a weird way, sharing a secret with Destry.

  “What’s going on with you two?” Dad asked at one point.

  We just shrugged, gave each other conspiring glances, and ducked our heads over our dinner plates. Dad finally gave up and cleared the dishes while Destry and I hunkered down in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn. After all the studying we’d done together, Destry had gotten a B on the Algebra test she took last week, so Dad and Gail were willing to let the “No TV on school nights” rule slip, just this once.

  It was an ordinary, nothing special sort of night—a comfy sweatpants and ponytails night—exactly the sort of night I would’ve had with Simone in Boston. But it was nice to have Destry beside me, munching popcorn, giggling, and chatting with me. It felt … normal, the way my life had felt normal back at Mom’s.

  When I went to sleep that night, though, I was restless again. My mind ticked off every practical reason for letting Raj go, but my heart wasn’t in a listening mood. When I finally drifted off, my dreams were filled with visions of Raj, smiling at me in the candlelight at Swoonful of Sugar, lifting a sweet macaron to my lips.

  “Earth to Lise.” A hand flashed in front of my face. “Come in, Lise.”

  I blinked, and there was Viv, standing in the dressing room before me, wearing another impossibly perfect dress.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking about the review I’m working on.”

  “Right. Like you were just thinking about your English paper five minutes ago, and your Algebra quiz five minutes before that.” Viv arched her eyebrow. “What’s up with you today? You’re supposed to be helping me decide on a dress, and instead, you’re orbiting space.”

  I forced a laugh, but laughing was the last thing I felt like doing. I’d been at the mall with Viv for hours, watching her try on dress after dress, getting more impatient and crabby by the second. I’d agreed to go shopping with her, wanting to prove that I could be a mature, supportive friend, no matter how I felt about Raj. But I hadn’t banked on the fact that she was going to gush over Raj so much this week, and worse, that she actually knew next to nothing about who he really was. She admitted she was getting tired of his “art talk,” but in the next breath told me how amazing it was that he held doors open for her.

  “I’m sure we have other things in common,” she reasoned. “I have to figure them out, that’s all.”

  I couldn’t stand it, and it was only Wednesday. How was I going to survive the three more days until the dance?

  “You look fantastic in everything you’ve tried on,” I said, which was true. Viv would’ve looked fantastic wearing a burlap sack. “Maybe you should just … pick one?”

  “I can’t!” Viv eyed her current dress in the mirror, then flipped through all the others she’d already tried. “I want Raj to think it’s perfect. How do I know which one he’ll like?”

  Ugh. This was like a Viv version of the conversations I’d been having with Raj in the pressroom all week. Every day, he started in on me with a new set of questions. Should he give Viv flowers before the dance? What was her favorite flower? Where should he take her to eat beforehand? Each question chipped a little further into my armor, and each day I felt more exposed, and less certain I’d be able to keep acting like everything was okay.

  Now, I skimmed the dresses hanging on the rack, thinking of Raj’s paintings. They were so full of bright colors. I was sure he’d like the candy-pink dress Viv had tried on a few minutes before. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

  “You know Raj better than I do,” I said to Viv. “What colors would he like the best?”

  I was being horrible, testing her this way just to try to make myself feel better. But even as I scolded myself, I felt a shameful satisfaction in watching Viv struggle with the question.

  “Um … I’m not sure,” she said, looking stressed. “We’ve never talked about that.” A worry line formed on her forehead, but then she shook it off, smiling. “But I really feel like we understand each other without having to talk much, you know?”

  Oh, please. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I needed to get out of here, before I lost it. “He likes bright colors,” I finally said. “Get the pink dress.” />
  “Great! Thanks!” she said, setting it aside and stepping back behind her dressing room door to change into her regular clothes. “So,” she said, her voice muffled under the clothes she was pulling on, “I can’t believe you and Kyan are going to the dance together.”

  “Why not?” I said, bristling. “Friends do things like that all the time. Don’t read into it, okay? Kyan’s not the one for me.”

  “No, I know,” she said. “You’re not his type at all.”

  “Really?” I flushed, gripping the sides of the bench. “I’m not Raj’s type, either, I guess. Maybe I’m not anyone’s.”

  “Oh, Lise,” Viv said softly, sticking her head around the dressing room door. “That came out wrong. That’s not what I meant.”

  I sighed. “I know. So … who is Kyan’s type?”

  “I—I—” Viv stammered. “I don’t know. It’s just … weird to think about at all. I had no idea he even wanted to go to the dance.”

  “You don’t sound happy about it,” I said.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly. “I want him to be happy.”

  I shrugged. “I’m only going to cheer him up.” I stood up, wanting this conversation to be over. “He actually wanted to go with someone else, but she’s always spoken for.”

  “Really?” Viv asked, slipping on her cardigan over her shirt. “Who?”

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It was never going to happen.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me about her?” she asked. “He tells me everything.”

  “He didn’t have to,” I said. “It was pretty obvious. I guess just not to you.”

  “Huh,” Viv said, then gave me a puzzled glance as I turned toward the door. “Wait … where are you going? Aren’t you going to try on some dresses, too?”

  “Nah, not right now.” I shrugged. I’d thought maybe I’d find a dress for myself tonight, but now I wasn’t in the mood. I knew Raj was going to be blown away by Viv at the dance, and trying on anything with Viv in the same room felt impossible.

  “Just try on a few, please?” Viv emerged and grabbed my arm, playfully pulling me toward a dressing room. “Kyan’s favorite color is red, and you’d look fab in red.”

  “We’re going as friends, remember?” I said. “And anyway, I, um, already know what I’m wearing.” That wasn’t true, but it was the best explanation I could think of. I started for the exit. “I’ll meet you by the registers.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding disappointed.

  She came out a few minutes later, holding a cherry-red floor-length chiffon number.

  “What happened to pink?” I asked.

  Viv shrugged, blushing slightly. “Oh, you know, red’s more my color.”

  I stared at the dress as she draped it over the sales counter, irritation simmering in my veins. What was she trying to do, mess with Kyan’s head, too?

  Maybe she didn’t have any motives. After all, she didn’t have a clue Kyan liked her. Maybe the red dress was her favorite, and it was as simple as that. But still, it didn’t seem fair.

  After she paid for the dress, we walked to the food court for ice cream cones, but I barely tasted mine, eating it mechanically as I listened to Viv debate with herself over how to wear her hair to the dance.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Up or down? Kyan told me once that he liked it when I wore my hair up, but Raj has never told me what he likes.”

  “It looks okay either way,” I said flatly.

  “Okay?” Viv repeated worriedly. “But I want it to look great! I mean, if I wear it down and then he tries to kiss me, it might get in the way, but then if it’s up and glued to my head with hairspray, he won’t want to touch it.”

  “Just fix it however you want!” I said, exasperation creeping into my voice.

  “Yeesh, okay.” Viv stared at me from over the top of her ice cream. “Hey, are you mad or something? You seem pretty tense—”

  “I’m fine,” I said, way too quickly. I checked the time on my phone. “I … I forgot that Gail said she’d be here at six. I’ve got to go.” I nearly dropped my ice cream cone in my hurry to grab my purse.

  “You didn’t tell me that before—” Viv started, perplexed, but I was already waving, calling over my shoulder that I’d see her at school tomorrow.

  Five minutes later, I was standing outside the mall’s main entrance, freezing as I dialed Gail’s cell. She sounded surprised when I told her I was done shopping already. I’d originally told her to pick me up at eight, but she said she’d come get me, no problem. I sighed as I hung up the phone. I’d have to wait another fifteen minutes in the frigid air, but I’d much rather shiver than talk to Viv about her plans to kiss my dream guy. It wasn’t lying, I reasoned. It was self-preservation, and I’d do it for as long as it took me to get over Raj.

  Getting over Raj would’ve been much easier if I didn’t have to see him every day. But not only did I have to see him; I had to work with him. And listen to him talk about how much he was looking forward to the dance. It was torture, and by Friday after school I felt strung so tight that I worried the slightest little hiccup would make me snap.

  Then … the hiccup happened.

  I was watching Raj’s face as he read my new review on Wild Bamboo, the vegan restaurant on the outskirts of town. He was sitting so close to me that our elbows were grazing, and I was trying to hold my breath, because his clean, fresh smell was driving me to distraction. Finally, he looked up, shaking his head.

  “What happened here, Lise?” he said quietly, sliding the review across the desk to me. “This isn’t your best work. Not even close.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked as my stomach lurched. But even as I asked, I knew the answer. The review had taken me twice as long to write as my earlier ones, but was only half the length. As much as I’d tried to infuse it with enthusiasm, every word had fallen flat on the page. Raj, Raj, Raj was pounding in my head even as I’d pounded the keyboard, and I couldn’t shake it.

  With my nerves quaking, I reread the first few lines of the review: Wild Bamboo sits on the edge of town and plays host to a variety of culinary appetites. It offers everything from cauliflower tempura to tofu sausage. Even non-vegan diners will delight in the menu….

  I dropped my eyes, not able to read anymore. It was so … so utterly boring, and I had no defense. Except that it was all his fault! Of course, I couldn’t say that, so I blustered, “I don’t know what the problem is. I think it’s fine.”

  “No way. You’re too good a writer to be letting yourself off the hook for subpar work. It would be great if you could fix it ASAP, because I’ve got another piece I want you to do for the weekend. You’re going to cover the grand opening of Swoonful of Sugar this Sunday.”

  Swoonful of Sugar.

  I felt my throat closing in panic. No way. I couldn’t. It would be too hard, remembering everything that had happened there with him that would never happen again.

  “No,” I blurted. “I … I won’t do it.”

  Raj threw up his hands in frustration. “Come on, Lise, don’t tell me you’re protesting the food beat again? I thought we were done with that—”

  “It’s not that,” I said softly. “I just can’t.”

  “You can’t.” He stared at me, then blew out a breath, folding his arms across his chest. “Why not?”

  I shook my head, blushing, then finally mumbled, “I can’t tell you.”

  “Fantastic.” He snorted. “Well, here’s what I can tell you. You fix the Bamboo piece and do the Swoonful review, or you lose your job.”

  “What?” I stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do?” he cried. He sat back in exasperation, then looked at me long and hard, and his expression softened. “Lise, what’s going on?” he asked gently, leaning forward. “You’ve been acting strange ever since the trip to Concord, and I don’t get it. I thought we were friends.” I cringed at the idea that I was hurting his
feelings without him understanding why. “Now you only talk to me when you have to, and you have this attitude when you’re here at work. I know something’s wrong …”

  My pulse skyrocketed, and I felt as if my soul was bared in mortifying glory right there on my blazing face. “Everything’s f-fine,” I stammered.

  He shook his head. “But you’re refusing to write the Swoonful review, and there’s none of you in that Bamboo review, either. It’s like your heart wasn’t in it.”

  I glared at him, frustration an exploding firecracker in my brain. I snatched up the review and whipped away from him. “You’re one to talk about hearts,” I snapped, loud enough that several kids lifted their heads from their computer screens. Raj gave them warning glances, and immediately the heads bent down again. “Where’s yours?” I demanded. “Not in this pressroom, that’s for sure.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said as he led me into the hallway.

  I scowled at him. “You’re playing this editor-in-chief power trip because you don’t have the guts to tell your dad about your art.”

  “You know why I can’t tell him,” he said through clenched teeth. “He doesn’t understand. He’d only make me stop.”

  “You haven’t even tried talking to him, so you can’t possibly know how he’ll react. Instead, you spend all your time running the pressroom like some dictator.”

  “I’m doing my job,” he said gruffly.

  “A job you don’t even like!” I stabbed a finger toward the pressroom. “Nothing you do here is you. It’s just who your dad wants you to be! How can you even know who you want when you don’t know who you are?”

  “Who I want?” He frowned in confusion.

  My heart froze. Oh no. I did not just say that. “I meant what. What you want.” I shook my head, avoiding his gaze.

  He took a step toward me, his eyes intense on my face. “But you said who—”

  “Forget it!” I cried, turning away in panic. “Just … go hide in the pressroom! You’re good at that! But don’t you dare tell me what’s wrong with my writing. I don’t want to hear it. Not from you.” I glared at him fiercely. “And you don’t have to fire me. I quit!”