With Love, from Cold World(76)

Or maybe it was her own heart. He’d been even more surprised by the things she’d said up there, in front of everyone. How Cold World was a family she felt left out of. How she would always fail the I’m not a robot tests. He hated that she felt that way, and he knew it was at least partly his fault, the way he’d always teased her.

“Why are we going to the Snow Globe?” she asked once he’d led her inside. He realized he hadn’t let go of her hand the entire time they’d been making their way to the enclosed space, but now that they were there, he had to drop it in order to hook up the machine. He’d been working on it all week, finding a way to attach it to the ceiling, a safer (and actually effective) way to plug it in. He’d tested it only briefly, but this would be the first time he’d see if it all worked the way it was supposed to.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She shot him a dubious look, but then her eyelids fluttered closed. He switched on the machine, holding his breath until the first clusters of bubble snowflakes started falling from the ceiling.

Her face was upturned, her lashes dark on her pale cheeks, and he could see the moment she felt the first bubble hit her skin. She flinched a little, then opened her eyes, letting out a surprised laugh at the snow falling down on her.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Asa, you did it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You were right about the outlet,” he said. “That was why it didn’t work that night.”

“It’s so . . .” Her lashes were spiked with something that sparkled in the light, and at first he thought it was bits of the mixture that made up the snowflakes. He stepped closer to her, about to try to brush it away, to protect her against the sting of soap in her eyes. But then it tracked down her cheek, and he saw that they were tears.

“Lauren . . .” he said, and her face crumpled.

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing up when he stepped toward her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Well, I have a few ideas. Nothing about tonight has gone the way I planned it, and I just—”

She shook her head, brushing her hand across her cheeks almost angrily, looking down as if any evidence of the tears on her skin would be a betrayal.

Asa wanted to reach for her, but he wasn’t sure if she’d welcome it, so he shoved his hands in his pockets instead. He didn’t know if she was referring to her date with Daniel, or something else. He’d noticed Daniel slip out of the party somewhere in the middle of Lauren’s song, and as much as it annoyed him to think of Daniel bailing on Lauren halfway through the night, he couldn’t deny that it had been a relief to see him go.

“I’m just tired,” she said, and something told Asa that hadn’t been her original idea for finishing that sentence. The fake snow was falling on her hair, glinting under the light for a second before dissolving into the dark strands. “Will you take me home?”

He switched off the snow machine, stalling long enough before answering that Lauren rushed to fill the silence.

“You can drive my car,” she said. “Unless you’ve also had too much to drink, but I thought . . .”

His hesitation had nothing to do with his level of inebriation—he’d had a single beer and hadn’t bothered to finish it, so he had no worries on that score. It hadn’t even been about the car situation. He was just trying to figure out where Lauren’s head was at.

“Sure,” he said. “Of course I’ll drive you.”

She started digging around for her keys before giving up and handing him the whole purse. It was surprisingly messy inside, given what he’d seen of Lauren otherwise and her penchant for things being organized and minimal. Under her wallet was a crush of receipts, pens, tampons, breath mints, and finally, all the way at the bottom, her keys.

On the way out, Asa said a quick goodbye to Elliot, the least occupied of his housemates, and told them he was leaving with Lauren.

He opened the passenger door for her and made sure she was settled inside before crossing behind the car, grabbing the antifreeze on his way and putting it on the floorboard in the back. He had to adjust the seat for his height, and it took a second to find the button for the headlights on the dashboard instead of off the steering column where it was in his car. It felt weirdly intimate to be driving her car, to have looked through her purse. He realized he was about to see where she lived. It felt . . . boyfriend-y.

He switched the radio on, partly to fill the silence and push thoughts like that out of his head, and partly to see what she listened to. He wasn’t expecting the Spanish new wave that came from the speakers, but he wasn’t mad about it.

“I think it’s the Latin alternative hour on public radio tonight. They play this band a lot.” She leaned her forehead briefly against the glovebox before tilting her head back against the seat and looking at him. “Honestly, it would be so good to touch you.”

Her eyes were so dark, and he felt himself falling into them.

“But it’s useless, your body’s made of latex,” she continued, and he blinked at her.

“What?”

“The song,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the radio. “That’s what it’s saying. Or something close. My Spanish is rusty.”

He put the car in reverse, bracing his hand on her headrest while he backed out of the parking space. He asked for her address and she described her apartment building, which he recognized as being one he passed on the way to work every morning. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”