Page 25 of Big Stick Energy
“What’s our other problem?”
“This… dancing thing. The internet says we have to be creative to win. I’m not very creative.”
I let out a snicker. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. As soon as I finish my homework, I’m on it.”
“Homework?”
“I take college classes in the summer.”
“Seriously?” he asks.
“And here you thought I was fun. But I’m trying to get through school with no debt.” At least nomoredebt. I have loans from my freshman year at NYU—when I was still laboring under the impression that I could afford to be a full-time college student.
“That’s really cool,” he says. “I can never figure out what to do with myself when there’s no hockey.”
Oh, Eric.“We have to get you out more,” I say, as though it were up to me. “I’ll work on the gift thing. Maybe I can ask Theo what they need for the house.”
“Could you really? I’ll also try Maribel. But she’s usually more interested in experiences than stuff.”
“Huh.” I can’t imagine not caring about presents, but maybe I’m just shallow. “How do you know her. High school?”
“Sort of. She was, um, engaged to my brother.”
Oh shit.“You mean… the one who died?”
“That’s the guy. It was eleven years ago, though. We all had some dark days then, but I’m glad she’s found someone.”
I give a low whistle. “Me too, then. I’ll call if Theo gives me any good ideas. Otherwise, I’ll just wing it. Leave it to me.”
“You’re the best,” he says. “When should we leave on Saturday?”
After Eric and I make a few plans, I dig Theo’s contact information out of my phone and call him.
I get Theo’s voicemail, which isn’t a big surprise. And, what the hell, I decide to leave a message. Eric is counting on me.
“Hi, it’s Darcy. Your, um, sister.” Ugh. I’m off to a great start. “I heard you’re moving into a new house, and I was wondering what you and Maribel might need? For a shower gift? If you can think of anything, I’d love to know. See you Saturday.”
Then I hang up, wondering why my family has to be so damn weird.
Chapter 10
Who’s Obsessed?
Eric
Did you find the watering can? I think I left it on the counter.”
I’m standing in DeLuca’s kitchen, talking to him on the phone. “This tiny thing?”
“Yeah. Fill it up about halfway.”
“For six plants?”
“Yup. My babies don’t need much. The first one is on the coffee table.”
I fill the can and wander into DeLuca’s generous living room, which looks a lot like mine, with the same floor-to-ceiling windows. But he’s got views of northern midtown, while my place faces south.
DeLuca, Chase Merritt, and I are the sole occupants of the penthouse floor of our apartment building. It’s our sanctuary, and we often rely on each other for small favors. Which is why I find myself watering DeLuca’s plants at nine a.m. on the morning of my departure to Massachusetts.
