Page 28 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
‘Why do boy-fights only last five seconds?’ she says when the door closes, rubbing her palms together.
‘That was hardly a fight. It was miscommunication between two old friends.’
She pauses, analysing my words. It makes me nervous to know how intensely she pays attention to what I have to say.
‘You consider my father an old friend?’
We approach the second-floor gallery dedicated to marriage ceremonies and I pretend I’m analysing artefacts to stall.
‘I mean I’ve known him my entire life. He’s who I was with before going to university.’
‘Huh. I don’t think I’d ever call your father my friend.’
No shit. My hands flex, trying to dismiss the memory of being eighteen and running to Claudio, begging him to the point of tears to let me leave with him. When he finally allowed me to go, I hugged him so tightly that my forearms were sore. And for those three months in Egypt, we were inseparable. Or maybe I was just impossible to get rid of, following him around everywhere he went.
‘I didn’t know that, how much my father helped you.’ Her voice is low and when I look over at her she’s looking back at me, fingers twisted together in confusion. The tight lines of her mouth make me feel like she has more to say, but she turns to look around the room, and we continue to peruse the gallery in silence. The only sound is her shoes against the hardwood floor, every so often stopping to stand and examining another vase or ring. Observing her profile as she takes in the artefacts, it seems she looks at me the same way she looks at these objects – cautiously.
‘I’m sorry for what I said in the car. Last night, when I saw you underneath that table...’ I let out a harsh breath, thinking about the hurt in her eyes. I still in the middle of the gallery, pretending to be absorbed in one of the terracotta bowls on display. ‘When I saw you there, I knew right then that he wasn’t gonna get away with it. And if you assume it’s because I feel some brotherly obligation to protect you on Anika’s behalf, you’re fucking wrong.’ I turn to her, my chest tight. ‘I wasn’t thinking of Anika at the club or in your kitchen. All I saw was you.’
For a moment Magdalen does nothing but stare at me. Her green eyes are cool underneath the dim lighting of the gallery and her mouth is a straight line, unwavering. Great. I’ve stunned the girl. Scratching my jaw nervously, I realize this is the most I’ve ever spoken to her and I’ve basically admitted that I’m fucking obsessed with her.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ she replies softly, holding my gaze. As much as I want to say more, to ask her for coffee afterwards or visit the piazza to sit and watch the farmer’s market set up, there are reasons Magdalen Savoy is an impossibility. So I break eye contact first, needing space away in order to remember why.
Blinking rapidly, I try to change the subject. ‘So, basically, they haven’t changed a thing in this museum since I left.’ I tuck my hands in my pockets and walk down the gallery, pretending to give a fuck about any of this.
‘Well, they now carry T-shirts that say: “I LEFT MY HEART IN A MUMMY’S TOMB”.’
‘I’m surprised there isn’t one that says: “GOT A SAR-COUGH-AGUS FROM MUSEUM OF TORINO”.’
She snorts. ‘Did you just come up with an ancient Egyptian pun on the spot?’
‘No, Magdalen.’ I pause, turning around to face her. ‘I’m just a normal sarcophaguy, like everyone else. Please, don’t treat me any differently.’
Her mouth hangs open, shock and delight covering her face. So fucking cute. Turning back around, we exit the exhibition room and enter the adjoining one dedicated to ceremonial tombs. The quiet padding of Magdalen’s shoes lets me know she is right next to me. I love it more than I should.
‘Of corpse, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for my insensitivity.’
I pause, looking at her, a grin stretching across my face. Full of surprises, that girl.
Before I walk again, she nudges her hip into mine in friendly amusement.
‘You and I are a lot alike.’
She’s looking up at me, cheeks flushed a beautiful pink.
‘How so?’
‘We’re both insanely good at puns. Both tall, and don’t say you’re taller because I’ll cry.’ A whisper of a smile threatens to break across my face. The foot separating us feels too far and my body hums to move closer.
‘You’re tall enough, Magdalen.’
Her own smile frays. ‘We also both ran away from something.’ Prodding at the boundaries of our friendship, she again turns to look around at the items on display. My heart lurches. For a moment, I ignore her comment about me running from something and focus on her own confession. She ran away? What on earth would Magdalen Savoy have to run away from? Dr Savoy is nothing but warmth. But love. She has no fucking right to want to leave him.
‘I didn’t run away.’
‘But you just said—’
‘I didn’t fucking run away.’ The mixture of anger, curiosity and blatant attraction for her makes my head spin viciously. But there is no conviction in my tone. I may as well sink to the floor and start crying in front of her.
