TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, I received a phone call from Keisha, Mr. Kipling’s wife. “Anya,” she said tearfully, “Mr. K. is dead.” Mr. Kipling had been fifty-four years old. He’d had a major heart attack my junior year of high school. A little over two years later, a second heart attack had finished him off. Mortality rates in my circle were always high, but that year, they had been particularly so. I’d lost Imogen in January, my cousin Mickey in September, and now, Mr. Kipling. A loss for nearly every season of the year.
Perhaps this is why I did not cry when Keisha gave me the news. “I’m truly sorry,” I said.
“I’m calling because I wondered if you might say a few words at his funeral?”
“It’s not really my strong suit.” I was not comfortable with public displays of emotion.
“But it would mean so much to him. He was incredibly proud of you and the club. Every single article about you, he saved.”
I was surprised to hear that. For the last nine months of his life, Mr. Kipling and I had fought, mainly over my decision to open the club that apparently he’d been “incredibly proud of.” (There had been other reasons.) However, from my father’s death in 2075 until I’d become an adult last summer, Mr. Kipling had overseen every financial decision I had made and quite a few of the personal ones. I’m not sure how good his advice was at times, but he had always done his best and had never given up on me even when it seemed that the world was against me. I knew he had loved me. I had loved him, too.
* * *
Noriko; Leo, who was finally home from prison; and Natty, who was back from Sacred Heart, accompanied me to St. Patrick’s. I was the third to speak—after Simon Green and a man named Joe Burns, who apparently had been Mr. Kipling’s squash partner, but before his daughter, Grace, and his brother, Peter. By the time it was my turn, my palms and armpits were moist. Though it was winter, I was seriously regretting my decision to wear a black sweaterdress.
I brought my slate with me to the podium. “Hello,” I began. “I wrote some notes.” I turned on my slate, which seemed to take forever, and glanced over what I had written:
1. Mr. K. = Dad’s best friend. Joke about how it’s hard to be a crime boss’s best friend?
2. Mr. K., funny story about his being bald?
3. Mr. K., maybe not the best lawyer, but loyal. Story about that?
4. Mr. K. honored commitments.
And that was what I had. I had written the notes after coming home from a late night at work. They had made sense at the time, but as I stood in St. Patrick’s, they looked pretty inadequate. I turned off my slate. I would have to speak from the heart, which was an act I tried to avoid.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said stupidly. “He was”—my inane notes ran through my head: bald? my dad’s best friend? a mediocre lawyer?—“a good man.” My foot was shaking and I could hear myself breathing. “Thank you.”
As I walked back down the aisle, I could not look Keisha Kipling in the eye. I sat down in my pew, and Natty squeezed my hand.
* * *
After the funeral, Simon Green, who I usually tried to avoid, approached my siblings and me. Natty hugged him. “He was like a father to you,” she said generously. “You must be heartbroken.”
“Yes. Thank you, Natty.” Simon took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. He nodded toward me. “Anya,” he said, “I wondered if I might speak to you a moment.”
I would have preferred not to, but what choice did I have? “This is hard to say,” Simon said once we were outside.
I crossed my arms. I already didn’t like the tone of his voice.
“Mr. Kipling left his firm to me, but unfortunately, his client list is vastly diminished. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it afloat. Of course you can say no, but I wondered if you might have a job for me at the Dark Room.”
“The Dark Room has a lawyer already,” I said. Furthermore, I didn’t want Simon around.
“I know. I only meant because your business is so big now. Maybe if it gets any bigger you’ll need another lawyer. And a man like Charles Delacroix can’t be thinking he’ll be legal counsel to a nightclub forever.”
“I’ve learned it’s fruitless to try to speculate about what Charles Delacroix is thinking.”
“Okay, Annie. I can see I’ve made you upset. You can’t blame a person for asking.”
I knew I was being unkind. “Listen, Simon, it’s not personal, it’s business.”
“Sure, Annie. I get that.” He paused. “Leo’s back from prison, I see.”
This was not said casually, but as a reminder of an obligation I may or may not have had to Simon regarding the circumstances of my brother’s return from Japan last Easter. Had Simon spoken bluntly, I would have respected him more. “If my situation changes, I’ll let you know.”
* * *
And so I came to the end of 2084. It was tempting to dwell on the lows (the deaths, the loss of Win, the arguments with my sister, etc., etc., etc.), but for once in my life, I chose not to. My portion of tragedy had made my triumphs somehow sweeter. My business was prospering; I had settled relations with Fats and the Family; I was on the right side of the law for the first time in my life; I had more than enough money; I had become a godmother; and I’d become increasingly skilled at wearing heels.
And perhaps this explains why your fun-challenged heroine decided to behave in a way that was entirely out of character: New Year’s Eve, I threw a party at the Dark Room.
I posted a sign out front that read: CLOSED FOR A PRIVATE AFFAIR. Then I opened the doors of my club wide and turned the music up loud.
That night was the first time Leo had been at the club. “What do you think?” I asked him.
He grabbed my head with his hands and kissed me on my forehead, my cheeks, and the top of my head. “I honestly cannot believe that my tiny baby sister made this herself!”
“I had help,” I said. “Noriko. And Theo. And Mr. Delacroix.”
“You are the most amazing sister. Hey, Annie, can I come work here, too?”
“Sure,” I said. “What would you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I want to be useful.”
I would figure something out. Maybe I could team him up with the meticulous Noriko. I was still thinking about this when Natty grabbed my hand.
“Win’s here! I asked him to come. We should go say hi.”
“What? Who’s here?” I wasn’t sure if I had heard her correctly over the loud music.
“When we were riding back on the train from Boston, I told him he had to see your club because it was amazing. I reasoned with him that since it was basically the reason you two broke up, he probably wouldn’t have closure unless he did.”
“Natty, you really shouldn’t have done that,” I said.
“Truthfully, I didn’t think he would come, but he’s here now.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. He hadn’t seen me since I’d gotten my hair cut.
Natty led me to a table near the windows. Win was indeed there, along with his mother, Mr. Delacroix, and a girl about my age. I knew without being told that this was the girlfriend from Vermont. She was skinny skinny and tall tall with blond hair that flowed to her waist. Mr. Delacroix and Win stood. I smiled (in a way I hoped was) graciously at the table and put on my best hostess voice. “Mr. Delacroix, Mrs. Delacroix, so nice to see you again. Win, what a surprise. And you must be Win’s girlfriend?” I held my hand out for the Viking to shake.
“Astrid,” she said.
“Anya,” I said. “Amazing to meet you.”
“This place is so charming,” she said. “I love it.” Her hand was resting on his thigh. He brushed several long, blond strands of hair from her face.
“Charming is the word,” Mrs. Delacroix agreed. The last time I’d spoken to her, she’d seemed nonplussed about the club and her husband’s role in it, but she seemed to have made peace with both. “You’ve done a wonderful job. You and Charlie both.” She looked at her h
usband. Mr. Delacroix’s expression was cryptic, and I did not know him well enough to decipher it. He had not even greeted me when I’d arrived at the table, but had kept his gaze toward the window, as if the real party was going on just outside.
“Thanks,” I said. “We’re proud of it.”
“It’s great,” Win said without much enthusiasm. “I’m glad I got to see it.” He paused. “You changed your hair.”
“I did.” I put my hand on the back of my neck.
“Well, it suits this club at least,” Win said.
“Drink up,” I told the table. “And a very happy New Year!”
I walked to the bar. “Sorry about that,” Natty said. “So awkward. I didn’t know his girlfriend was coming to the city.”
“It was fine,” I said. “I’m happy he saw the club, and I knew about the girlfriend already.”
Natty was about to speak, but then she shook her head. She ordered two Theobromas for us. “I was surprised to see Mrs. Delacroix here, though. Win says his parents are getting a divorce.”
“Oh, I hadn’t heard.” Mr. Delacroix was pretty tight-lipped about his personal life.
“Yeah. Win’s not that upset. He says it was a long time coming. It was his mother’s decision, I guess.”
“You and Win talk a lot?”
“Some. I’ve always liked him, as you know,” she said. “And when I see him in Boston, it makes me feel less homesick.” She sipped her drink. “Thank you for sending him to me, by the way.”
“Natty, I don’t know if you’ll even be able to answer this question. But do you think Win understands now? Does he understand why I had to do this?”
“I think so,” she said slowly. “He’s moved on, obviously, and he seems less bitter.” She rested her chin in her hands. “I thought you’d be with him forever.”
“Well, that’s because you were a little kid when he and I met,” I said. “I’ve thought a lot about it. The truth is, sometimes too much can happen in a relationship, and then there’s nothing anyone can do or say. It’s broken.”
“You don’t believe that could ever happen between us?” Natty asked.
“Of course not, you goose. You could be awful forever, and I’d still love you. Things are good at the new school?”
She took a long drink, and then she laughed. “I hate to say it, but you were right. It was getting too serious with Pierce. Once I got away, I could see that, and he started to seem a lot less important.”
“Funny,” I said. “Maybe if someone had sent me away to school, it would have been the same with Win.”
Natty shook her head. “Probably not, though. Win’s kind of, sort of wonderful, and Pierce is just some dumb boy.”
I laughed at Natty. “You can’t have Win,” I said. “He’s too old for you. Plus, he’s dating a Viking.”
“She does look like a Viking. I wouldn’t want Win anyway. I would never date the boy who broke my sister’s heart.”
He hadn’t broken it. I knew that now. If I was honest, I had done it to myself. (NB: Who needs a heart anyway?) It was important for her to know this, so I said it aloud. “He didn’t break it. No one can break your heart except you.”
“Maybe she looks more like an Icelandic princess,” Natty said.
Theo joined us at the bar. “Who looks like an Icelandic princess?” he asked.
Natty pointed to the Delacroixs’ table.
“Stop it,” I said. “We don’t want them to know we’re talking about them.”
Natty waved. “It’s fine. They can’t hear us. Hi, Icelandic princess!”
“Very pretty girl,” Theo said, “but you are both wrong. She looks like a mermaid.”
“No date?” I asked him.
He shook his head.
“What? Have you run through every girl in New York? Theo’s a big slut,” I informed Natty.
“Si. You will have to open a new location in another city so that I can find some new women to date.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
“Maybe Canada. I would like to see Canada before I die,” Theo said.
“Or Paris!” Natty said with a squeal of delight.
“Unfortunately, chocolate’s legal there. What would be the point?”
I excused myself to go talk to the DJ. She’d been playing too many slow, romantic songs. It was a party; I wanted party music. On the way back, I ran into Win, who was by himself.
He didn’t look like he wanted to talk to me, but whatever. I still hadn’t thanked him in person for going to see Natty. “Hey, stranger,” I said.
“Hey.” He barely looked at me. Instead, he looked over at the table where his parents and the Viking still sat.
“I wanted to thank you in person for visiting Natty.”
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Her school’s not that far from mine.”
“It is something,” I insisted. “You and I didn’t exactly end on good terms—so I appreciate you doing this.”
“Doing things for you is a bad habit with me. I should get back.”
“Wait.” I tried to invent a reason to prolong our conversation. “Win, how do you like school?”
“Good.”
A one-word reply, but I pressed on anyway.
“Astrid is really pretty. I’m happy that you met someone,” I said. “I hope me and you can be friends someday.”
Silence. “I don’t need a friend like you,” he said finally. He sounded angrier than when we had broken up. “I should not have come here tonight.”
“Why are you still so angry with me? I’m not angry with you.”
I heard him take a deep breath. “How about my parents’ divorce?”
“That is not on me, Win. Your parents have been unhappy for years. You told me as much yourself.”
“They seemed better after he lost the election. But all that went to Hell after you and your big idea.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am sorry I ever met you, Anya. I am sorry that I pursued you and that I didn’t leave you alone when you asked. I wish I’d never had to move from Albany. You were not worth getting shot for. You were not worth waiting for. You were not worth this trouble. You are the worst thing that ever happened to me. You have been a hurricane in my life and not in a good way!” He was almost screaming at me, but maybe that was the effect of the loud music. The DJ had honored my request to play party music, and the bass was literally deafening. “But hey, it’s not like I wasn’t warned. My father only told me about—I don’t know—roughly one million times to stay away from you. So no, I don’t want to be friends with you. The best part about breaking up with you is that we don’t have to be friends.”
And then he left. It would have been pathetic of me to run after him, to insist that he accept my friendship when he clearly thought it was worth so little. Even if I felt like it, I couldn’t leave the party I had thrown. I couldn’t go home, get into bed, pull the covers over my head, and cry. I put a smile on my face and went back to my friends at the bar.
The DJ announced that there were only two minutes until 2085 would officially begin.
Leo and Noriko came over to our group, and Natty chatted to them about whether they should have another wedding, a real one, now that Leo was out of prison.
With thirty seconds to go, Theo took my hand and looked at me with bright and perhaps slightly intoxicated eyes. “Abuela says that it’s bad luck not to kiss someone on New Year’s.”
“You’re such a liar,” I said. “I’m sure your abuela says nothing of the kind.”
“It’s true,” Theo said. “She worries that in New York, I am not getting kissed enough.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then you’ve not been telling her the full story.”
“12 … 11 … 10…”
He took my hand and rotated my barstool toward him.
“Life is short, Anya. Do you want to die knowing you had a chance to kiss a sexy Latin man but let it pass you by?”
“What s
exy Latin man are you referring to?”
“9 … 8 … 7…”
He set his hand on my knee. “Once in your life, chica, you should be kissed by a man who knows how to do it properly.”
“6 … 5 … 4…”
Theo looked at me with his smoldering Jesus eyes, and the Catholic schoolgirl in me crossed her legs.
“3 … 2…”
I would be lying if I said it hadn’t occurred to me that across the room my ex-boyfriend was being kissed by a Vikingmermaidicelandicprincess.
“And 1! Happy New Year! Here’s to 2085!”
“All right, Theo,” I said. “Since it’s a brand-new year, you may as well show me what you mean by ‘properly.’”
VII
I HAVE AN IDEA; EMBARK ON A RELATIONSHIP FOR DUBIOUS REASONS
I WOKE UP BEFORE DAWN on New Year’s Day. An idea had popped into my head and, once it had, that idea would not let me rest.
Theo and I had fallen asleep on the sofa. I unwrapped myself from his arms and went outside to call Mr. Delacroix.
“Anya, do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Six a.m.-ish?”
“It’s 5:13.”
“You never sleep, so I thought it would be fine.”
“New Year’s Day, I might sleep a little. I’d prefer the option at least.”
“Can we meet today? I want to run a business idea by you.”
“Of course. I’ll see you at ten a.m.,” he said.
“You’re already awake anyway,” I said. “Let’s say seven?”
“You’ve gotten to be a huge bully since you’ve become a success,” he said.
“Theo’s coming, too.” I hung up.
I went into the living room and shook Theo awake. “Happy New Year, mamacita,” he said drowsily. He puckered his lips but didn’t open his eyes.
“There’s no time for that,” I said. “We’ve got a meeting to get to.”
* * *
The three of us met at the Dark Room, which was a mess owing to the previous night’s festivities. “You are looking terrifyingly bright eyed,” Mr. Delacroix said to me. “I’ve seen this look from you before, and it usually means trouble.”
“What is this about, Anya?” Theo asked.
In the Age of Love and Chocolate (Birthright) Page 7
