Isla and the Happily Ever After(64)
Author: Stephanie Perkins

“It’s Sunday night,” he continues. “You aren’t at Pizza Pellino.”

“No, I’m at the Treehouse with Hattie.” And then I’m so dizzy that my vision goes black. “How…how did you know that I’m not there?”

But I’ve already anticipated his answer.

“Because I’m here.”

Chapter thirty

I’m trembling. Hattie’s ear is pressed against my head, listening in. Silver-white flakes catch in our tangle of red hair.

“Isla?” Josh says. “Isla, are you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“I was hoping you’d be here. At Pellino’s. My friends and I are on our way to the Olympics, so we stopped by for old times’ sake. I wanted to introduce you. I mean, I know you already know them. But I wanted you to know them.”

My head swims. “You want me to know your friends?”

“Is that too weird?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d like to see you again. We could talk?” His question is tentative.

He’s caught me off guard. I’m not ready for this. I have to prepare for this. “How long will you be in town?”

“Just tonight. We’re catching the train to Chambéry in the morning.”

Hattie is nodding her head like a madwoman.

“Um,” I say. “Sure. I guess I could be there in…twenty minutes?”

“Great!” Josh says. “Okay, bye.”

I stare down at my phone’s screen. “He hung up.”

“He was afraid you’d take it back,” Hattie says.

I put my head between my legs. “I feel ill.”

“That was the strangest timing. The strangest. It’s like fate, if I believed in fate. I don’t know. Maybe I believe in fate now.”

The tone of her voice makes me lift my head. She grins.

“Hattie.” My heart seizes. “What did you do?”

“Jeez, nothing.”

“Tell me what you did!”

“Ow.” She covers her ears at my shouting. “Maybe I mailed your stupid book to his dad’s stupid office in DC, I don’t know.”

I frown. “Huh? What book?”

“The one you brought home from Angoulême, thanks for not inviting me, that I stole from your room to read and discovered you’d had personalized? I thought it was so sad and pathetic that I mailed it to him. And maybe I attached a note saying how much you were totally still in love with him, and he should try calling you again.”

It’s the only thing that could shock me more than Josh’s call. Finding out that I have Hattie to thank for it. I’m speechless.

“You’re welcome,” she says.

“Thank you? I think? I’ll let you know when this is all over.”

“You’d better.” She pulls me to my feet, leads me through the trapdoor and down the stairs, locks the door, and slides the key into her pocket.

The pressure inside my chest grows at a paralysing rate. “I don’t know about this.”

“Shut up. You’re being annoying again.” Hattie leads me, stumbling, into the closest métro station. I feel like I’m moving both too fast and too slow. She shoves me through the turnstile and says, “Don’t be a chickenshit. Tell him how you feel.”

“What if he doesn’t love me?”

“He does.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Ugh, then who cares? You won’t lose anything you haven’t already lost.” She flicks a snowflake from the tip of my nose. “For once in your life, listen to your younger sister. She’s taller, and she knows better than you.”

The flakes are scattered, here and there, as they float down to earth. I glance at the grey-white sky. If only a blizzard would burst from above and bury me alive. That would be better than what I’m about to do. The temperature is below freezing, but I’m sweaty and feverish and short of breath. My feet touch Pellino’s threshold, but my body won’t go any further. One step at a time. I place my hand on the door.

Pushing it open has never felt so impossible.

A chain of brass bells signals my entrance. The maître d’ brightens at the sight of me. “Où est Monsieur Bacon?”

“Kurt has other plans tonight,” I reply in French as my gaze darts around the room.

“Oh. Are we sad?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m actually meeting—”

“Isla!”

It comes from the corner table. St. Clair is waving me down as Josh turns around in his chair. Everything transitions into slow motion. The maître d’, the noisy chatter, the smoky fragrance of the wood-fired pizza – they vanish as I wait for his eyes to find mine.

We lock.

The entire contents of my heart reflect back at me in his expression. Joy, pain, strength, wonder, sadness, beauty, hope. He is everything.

“Ah,” the maître d’ says. “Of course.”

He guides me towards the table as my heartbeat thumps in my throat. The room closes in. My soul aches with attraction. There are four empty seats, and the maître d’ pulls out the chair beside Josh. I’m shaking as I place my coat onto the back of it. I’m shaking as I sit down. I’m shaking as Josh glances at the maître d’ with a look of unmistakable gratitude. Does that glance mean what I want it to mean?

“Where’s Kurt?” Josh asks.

“He’s out with some new friends. Underground. It’s a long story.”

Josh lifts his eyebrows in surprise as the rest of the table beams at me – St. Clair, Anna and Meredith. “Wow,” I say. “The gang’s all here.”

“Everyone but Rashmi,” St. Clair says.

Anna gives him a swift kick below the table, but I catch it. “It’s okay,” I say awkwardly. At least it’s answered a question. They know about my history with Josh. I glance at the three empty seats. “Is she coming?”

“One of those was for Kurt,” Josh says, and I’m touched.

“The others are for our friends who got us into the Olympics,” Anna says. “We split up today, and they’re still out sightseeing. They should be here any minute.”

“Friends from California?” I grab the opportunity to show them that I’m not completely in the dark. Just mostly.

She nods. “Yeah, Lola and Cricket. Étienne and I—”