“Perfect,” I told him, uncapping mine. “To Clyde.”
“To Clyde,” he repeated, and we drank.
I still had one more person I needed to see, as my nervous stomach kept reminding me. I wasn’t even sure why I felt like I had so much at stake, other than the fact that it was old habit. Even in a whole new world, some things never change.
“There he is!” Benji said, tugging at my sleeve.
I turned, looking where he was pointing. Sure enough, there across the gallery, in dark jeans and an untucked plaid shirt, was Morris. He was talking to two women in cocktail dresses, gesturing at the gray painting behind him, and for a moment I just watched him, marveling. When he finally looked over, seeing us, and grinned at me, I laughed out loud.
Because of Benji’s disappearing act, I’d missed Clyde announcing the plans for this tour at the art show. Which was no big deal, as I’d already known about that. It was the other, less public choice he made that I knew, in the end, had probably qualified as Theo’s Biggest Surprise Ever. Despite his glad-handing and mad ambition, or probably because of it, he was not the one chosen to come along for the ride. Instead, that was Morris, and it had been him even before he identified Theo’s exotic plant as common beach grass. It had been what Clyde had wanted to talk to me about, before I found out Benji was missing, and in a way I was glad he’d never had the chance.
After all, my confidence in Morris’s abilities was shaky to say the least. Which was why I’d stayed out of it as he began really working for Clyde, focusing instead on my own life, which is what I should have been doing all along. To my surprise, but not Clyde’s, Morris turned out to be a quick study once inspired, the perfect mix of capable and familiar. Did he know everything about Clyde’s oeuvre and the art world? No. But he didn’t have to, either. All that was needed was for him to keep a schedule and do what he was asked, tasks I’d been struggling to get him to master for years. Somehow, though, Clyde was a good influence, not to mention role model, and Morris was doing well. At least if this event was any indication.
“Look at you,” I said, as he came towards us. He high-fived Benji and gave me a hug. “You’re wearing long pants!”
“It’s winter,” he told me. “Here, that means it’s actually cold.”
“Still, I’m impressed,” I told him. “You look good.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “And happy.”
“Well, this one was a biggie,” he said, glancing around. “You should meet the gallery owner. What a jerk. He’s totally crackers.”
I smiled. “You hear from Daisy lately?”
“Got a letter yesterday,” he said, pulling a yellow envelope out of his shirt pocket. “Gonna answer it tonight.”
“I still can’t picture you writing letters,” I admitted.
“I wouldn’t for anyone else,” he replied. “But I love that girl.”
“Enough to get off the couch,” I said, looking around.
“Yeah.” He slid the letter back into his pocket. “Way off.”
The day after the Beach Bash—where Daisy and I had extended our Best-Dressed Couple streak, thanks to the candy dresses—Morris had indeed gone to break up with Daisy. He explained all his reasons, as well as why he felt it was what he had to do for her. And she informed him, flat out, that he was wrong. Typical Daisy: she wouldn’t even do a breakup like everyone else. She did agree, however, that long-distance would be hard, and proposed that they try a different approach to staying together. Instead of talking and texting more, they’d go for the opposite tack, pledging for the entire fall to communicate only via time-honored, almost-obsolete handwritten correspondence. I knew from e-mailing with Clyde that Morris spent nights he wasn’t working hunched over a legal pad, painstakingly detailing everything he was doing while away from her. It was an odd way to stay close, but then nothing about Daisy and Morris had ever made sense. It wasn’t like I should have expected this to be the exception.
I felt my phone beep in my pocket and pulled it out, knowing already what I’d see. Sure enough, it was a text from my mom, the kind I’d gotten regularly since landing in New York.
Just tell me you are still alive please.
And well, I wrote back. At Clyde’s show. Will call later.
This, I knew, would hold her over. For about fifteen minutes. She was better when I was at school, but not by much. It was still early days, though, and I knew she’d adjust eventually and realize the distance between us didn’t really have to change anything. She still loved me to the moon. This was just the more.
“Let’s get a picture,” Clyde called out, gesturing for me, Morris, and Benji to come over to where he and Ivy were standing. Behind them was a broad canvas, one I hadn’t seen before, made up of deep blues and greens, dotted with tiny specks of something I couldn’t make out. I walked closer to the canvas, leaning in.
“Okay, everyone,” the photographer, a tall girl with braids, called out. “Look here!”
Morris looped his arm over my shoulder, while Benji moved in beside me. Out on the street, traffic rushed past, night falling as everyone headed back to the place they called home. People were walking past the gallery, some looking in, some with their heads ducked down against the cold. Not for the first time since I’d been here, I thought of a boy in a sport jacket, raising a glass, who, despite everything else, had taught me something I needed to know about the difference between the superlatives and everything else. Any other girl might not have been so lucky.