I picked up my phone, but threw it back onto my bed before I could connect the call. Why didn’t I want to call him? He would help things make sense again. It would be simple.
Maybe that’s what I was afraid of.
Because this wasn’t simple. A few hours ago I had been so happy in Jake’s arms, Saxon didn’t even enter my head. Now, one night later, I couldn’t get Saxon out of my mind. What did that mean? I chewed on my bottom lip until it felt sore, and reached for the phone again.
I picked it up and squeezed hard.
Had I rushed things with Jake?
Was it fair if I swore I was in love with him, but spent all of my time in Paris imagining what it would be like to kiss Saxon? Was Saxon right about the fact that I would always wonder?
I sat on the bed heavily and held my pounding head in my hands. I rubbed my temples in an attempt to stop the full-blown migraine that crept up on me. I wanted this to be easy. I wanted to know for sure who I loved and why. I wanted to be in love without a hint of doubt.
But I realized that I could want as hard as I liked; the reality was already messier than I liked. I was in over my head, and this was day one with Saxon. My brain felt scrambled, my heart thumped heavily in my chest, and I had a panicked feeling that I wasn’t going to be able to maneuver this without screwing up big time.
I took a deep breath and yanked the sheets back. I snuggled down obstinately, intent on getting good sleep and rethinking this in the morning with a clear head. Maybe it would all make sense then. My eyes closed slowly, and my last thought was that the moon was pouring too much light in my room.
Before my mind could even process my gripes about the over-bright room and the unsettled feeling thinking about Jake and Saxon left me with, I was sound asleep.
Chapter Six
The next morning, it was Mom who woke me up. I was so happy to see her face over me in the sun-bright room. The ghosts of the previous night’s worries tried to rear their ugly heads, but I slammed them into the back of my mind and resolved to focus exclusively on exploring Paris with my mother.
“Morning, Bren.” She smoothed my hair back. “We’re going to the Museum of Modern Art this morning. Are you ready for some Fauves?”
“Yes.” I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “Just keep my away from the Dada. I’m in no mood for all that nonsense.”
“I love a kid who can swipe a whole artistic movement away with one grumpy morning proclamation. Come down to the kitchen. Lylee picked up fresh croissants and I’ve got hot chocolate on the stove.” She smiled and kissed my forehead.
She wore her emerald green sweater and a herringbone wool skirt with a pink scarf. She looked like she belonged in Paris, and it made me feel a weird, warm pride. I got up and jumped in the shower down the hall, which had terrible water pressure, then wrapped myself in my towel and ran to my room. I shivered as I toweled off and dressed.
I wore my gray button-down shirt dress and red leggings with my new gray Chucks. I pulled my hair back in a high ponytail and tied on a red scarf as a headband. I made my makeup heavy and sprayed on some of the perfume Jake had gotten me, something sweet and citrusy that I had loved when I sprayed it at a mall counter. He had remembered, and, typical Jake, made sure I had it for Christmas. I grabbed my pea coat and headed to the kitchen.
Lylee looked chic and pretty in a black dress with giraffe print flats on. “Good morning, Brenna. You look adorable. My son will probably spend the entire day mooning over you.” She smiled, and I saw Mom grimace a little.
“Saxon will be fine.” I glanced in mom’s direction, but she was stirring the hot chocolate with quiet intensity. “There will be a lot of stuff more interesting than me to check out at the museum.”
“You assume my son is as highbrow as you are.” Lylee sighed. “With any luck, you might rub off on him.”
“Talking behind my back again, Mom?” Saxon appeared out of thin air. His hair was shiny and damp, hanging a little in his black eyes. He had on a tight Killers t-shirt with a thermal under it and dark jeans. He was wearing Chucks, too.
“Doesn’t Brenna look so pretty today, Saxon?” Lylee raised her steaming mug in my direction.
It was pretty obnoxious. I knew it made Mom more than a little uncomfortable, and I thought that should be obvious, but Lylee was oblivious.
He looked me up and down, and I felt extra irritation race through my veins.
“She always looks pretty,” he said finally, somehow drawing anything nice out of the words entirely with his flat, bored tone.
“Mom says we’re heading to the Modern Art Museum.” I tried to ignore it when Lylee rolled her eyes a little at Saxon. I had that feeling you get when someone who’s sure she’s cooler than you is making fun of you for being so square. I bristled a little.
Mom brought me a cup of hot chocolate and I thanked her. “I’m so excited,” Mom gushed. “Some of Brenna’s favorite Matisses are there. I can’t wait to see them with her.”
“You two are so adorable,” Lylee said in a voice that was slightly condescending.
“Mom is a really great teacher.” My voice sounded defensive to my own ears. “She got me into art when I was really young.”
Lylee just smiled. I was always respectful to adults, always. But Saxon’s mother brought out something snappy in me. I found myself glaring at her a little, and I had to glance away before I embarrassed myself and Mom with my bad manners. Lylee chuckled when I did, like she knew just what I was thinking, and I felt my dislike curl up and out.
Saxon kept his eyes on me, but I stuck to Mom like glue. Her good mood was easy to catch, and I caught it hard. We went to the big white museum with the famous tube stairway, and she dragged me from painting to sculpture to installation piece like a kid in a candy store.
Art had been a huge part of our life growing up. I credit Mom’s love of art with my own interest in color and design. When I was just a baby, she’d sit me on her lap with art history books, and we’d look at the colors and the pictures. I counted stars in Van Gogh’s sky, learned my ABCs with Cezanne’s fruits and Monet’s flowers, and drew colors out of Raphael’s cloaks and wings and Titian’s lady’s dresses. Mom and I were gaga over the Warhols and Duchamps I’d only seen in books, and now, there they were, right in front of our faces. After a few hours, the professors went to have a meeting in a little antechamber that had been set up for them, and the kids who had come along were allowed some free time.
I was staring at the colors in a Modigliani when I smelled the sexy, smoky scent of Saxon next to me.
“Nice painting.” He nodded to the Modigliani with his chin like he was giving his approval.
“I like it,” I muttered back and walked away.
He followed.
“There’s a roof here. We can go on it. You can see Paris for miles.” He caught my sleeve between two fingers and turned me towards him.
“I don’t really feel like going to the roof alone with you.” I moved on to look at some Expressionist paintings I didn’t know well.
He followed.
“Is this about me calling you a coward?” He maneuvered so he was in my way no matter which direction I tried to take. “Because I meant it, but I also didn’t mean it. If that makes any sense.”
“As much sense as you ever make.” I stopped trying to move around him and looked right into his eyes. “Look, I’m not in Paris to spend my time wrapped up with you.”
“That’s not how you felt last night.” His voice was a little angrier now that I hadn’t gone along with him unquestioningly.
“I did. You can’t seem to hear it when I say ‘no.’” I plopped down on a bench and turned my back to him.
“You didn’t say ‘no’!” he snarled back. I whipped my head up and looked at his face. “You can say whatever you want.” He calmed his voice down. “The truth is, you feel something.”