[completed] Nova Carter knows exactly what the next few years of her life will look like: she will work harder than anyone else (as she didn't get into New York University to slack off); she'll be keeping her head down and prioritizing getting her a...
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Chapter Twenty-nine | She Dances ♫She Dances by Billie Marten
The lobby of the hotel is bustling so much it almost feels as though it's shaking beneath my feet. I feel out of place in the fancy skyscraper, dressed in one of Milo's jeans (what they'll be referred to as from now on) and a turtleneck that itches beneath my chin.
Every now and then, the doorman swings open the grand doors at the front to welcome another group of guests, usually in grand fur coats and with a bit of wet snow trailing in behind them, but another man in a suit is quick to mop it up.
It's not the kind of place I expected my parents to book rooms for them and Sofia, but as the morning dew dissolves against the large windows, I feel myself tense with anticipation, anyway, waiting for Dad's salt-and-pepper-hair to pop up next, or Mom's smooth and perfectly straightened dark brown locks.
Elle's rented a car with the money Gregory and Katherine sent her to come home for Thanksgiving with Logan. They left late last night. Flynn sent them off from her apartment— which at this point is half his, too— and he's had to tell me how Logan seems to be doing. Since Fresco's party, I've felt like I lost the right to ask.
I've genuinely tried to do better. To absolutely no avail, I've been trying to convince myself that everything is okay and that even if it isn't, at least my family will be reunited. I can ask Mom to braid my hair before bed again, show Sofia my dorm and where I've stuck the posters she's gifted me in case the photos I've sent her were too blurry, hold onto Dad's arm while walking like I always did when he was around.
I can pretend none of it has happened. Olivia's at the dorm, Milo's not preparing to go abroad and leave me behind, Logan's patient and happy with me, Atlas and his green old-timer stand at the ready because I'm so new and interesting, professor Stew sees me as a blank slate and I can surprise him with how capable I am, despite despite despite.
I can even revert to a younger version of myself, sixteen or fifteen or fourteen. I don't know if doing so will comfort or worry my parents. Part of me thinks they'll be relieved to know I still need them, but another thinks they'll be disappointed if that's the case.
I hate how heavy I'm making it for myself. Earlier this morning I spent an hour changing outfits just because I worried what message each of them would convey to my parents. I don't understand where that came from.
"Here."
Flynn approaches me from where he took off to the vending machines, plated gold and marble and selling expensive juices rather than sodas, extending a glass bottle of pear juice my way. Before I can ask the question, he says, "Oh, hold on," and unscrews the cap for me.
I squeeze the glass tightly between two palms and ten fingers, pushing the rim against my lips to drink. I notice the magazines tucked between his elbow and his torso as he unscrews the cap of his own bottle and shoot him a questioning glance.
