Eternal » Larry Stylinson

S E V E N

On the ride to the restaurant all I can think about is Gemma, her snide remark, and how completely rude it was to just let it slip and then disappear. I mean, I've been begging her to tell me about our parents, pleading for just one smidgen of info this whole entire time. But instead of filling me in and telling me what I need to know; she gets all fidgety, acts all cagey; and refuses to explain why they've yet to appear.

You'd think being dead would make a person act a little nicer, a little kinder. But not Gemma. She's just as bratty; spoiled, and awful as she was when she was alive. Simon leaves the car with the valet and we head inside.

And the moment I see the huge marble foyer, the outsized flower arrangements, and the amazing ocean view, I regret everything I just thought. Gemma was right. This place really is chichi. Big-time, major chichi. Like the kind of place you bring a date-and not your sullen nephew.

The hostess leads us to a cloth-covered table adorned with flickering candles and salt and pepper shakers that resemble small silver stones, and when I take my seat and gaze around the room, I can hardly believe how glamorous it is. Especially compared to the kind of restaurants I'm used to.

But just as soon as I think it, I make myself stop. There's no use examining the before and after photos, of reviewing the how things used to be clip stored in my brain. Though sometimes being around Simon makes it hard not to compare. Him being my dad's twin is like a constant reminder.

He orders red wine for himself and a soda for me, then we look over our menus and decide on our meals. And the moment our waitress is gone, Simon smooths his greying brown hair, smiles politely, and says, "So, how's everything? School? Your friends? All good?"

I love my uncle, don't get me wrong, and I'm grateful for everything that he's done. But just because he can handle owning a lot of companies doesn't mean he's any good at the small talk.

Still, I just look at him and say, "Yep, it's all good." Okay, maybe I suck at the small talk too.

He places his hand on my arm to say something more, but before he can even get to the words, I'm already up and out of my seat.

"I'll be right back," I mumble, nearly knocking over my chair as I dart back the way we came, not bothering to stop for directions since the waitress I just brushed against took one look at me and doubted I'd make it out the door and down the long hallway in time.

I head in the direction she unknowingly sent me, passing through a hall of mirrors-gigantic gilt-framed mirrors, all lined up in a row. And since it's Friday, the hotel is filled with guests for a wedding that, from what I can see, should never take place. A group of people brush past me, their auras swirling with alcohol-fueled energy that's so out of whack it's affecting me too, leaving me dizzy, nauseous, and so light-headed that when I glance in the mirrors, I see a long chain of Louis' staring right back.

I stumble into the bathroom, grip the marble counter, and fight to catch my breath. Forcing myself to focus on the potted orchids, the scented lotions, and the stack of plush towels resting on a large porcelain tray, I begin to feel calmer, more centered, contained. I guess I've grown so used to all of the random energy I encounter wherever I go, I've forgotten how overwhelming it can be when my defenses are down and my iPod's at home. But the jolt I received when Simon placed his hand on mine was filled with such overwhelming loneliness, such quiet sadness, it felt like a punch in the gut. Especially when I realized I was to blame.

Simon is lonely in a way I've tried to ignore. Because even though we live together it's not like we see each other all that often. He's usually at work, I'm usually at school, and nights and weekends I spend holed up in my room, or out with my friends. I guess I sometimes forget that I'm not the only one with people to miss, that even though he's taken me in and tried to help, he still feels just as alone and empty as the day it all happened.