“Or maybe you’re just coming around,” he shoots back, his eyes shining a deep indigo in the bright lights of the laundry room.
“What exactly am I coming around to?” I ask. “Thinking you need a tranquilizer…or possibly seven?”
“More like the idea that all this doesn’t have to end as badly as you seem to think it will.”
I shoot him a baffled look. “I…don’t have a clue what that means.”
“Don’t you?” He watches me closely.
“Not even a little bit, no.”
For long seconds, he doesn’t say anything. Then, just when I think he’s going back to his normal, sarcastic ways, he lifts a hand and circles his index finger in a little loop that makes no sense to me at all—at least not until Flo Rida’s “Good Feeling” starts playing—out of nowhere.
“What. Is. Happening?” I look around the laundry room a little wildly, at least half of me wondering if I’m being punked. Because what even is happening? “Why are you playing Flo Rida?”
“Why not?” he answers, then grabs my wrist just as the refrain starts. Then, before I can register what’s going on, he gives one solid yank, and I fly straight into his hard chest, squawking like an angry pterodactyl the whole way.
“What the hell, Hudson?” I demand, shoving at his chest until he finally lets me put some distance between us. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Why does something have to be wrong?” he answers.
“Because we hate each other. And because happy music isn’t exactly your style. And because the last thing I want to do right now is hug you.”
This time, both brows go up, marking the return of the superior look I know and hate so well. “Who said anything about hugging?” he asks, right before he spins me out in what I can only assume is supposed to be some kind of dance move.
“Hudson,” I say, but he ignores me in favor of pulling me back in and then spinning me back out in the opposite direction.
“Hudson!” I repeat a little louder. “What are you doing?”
He gives me a “what the hell” look. “We are dancing.”
“No,” I correct him. “You are dancing. I’m beginning to feel a dislocated shoulder coming on.”
“And whose fault is that?” he asks. “Dance with me, Grace.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to.” He spins me out again, but this time the move is a lot gentler.
“But why did you ask me to?” I quiz when he pulls me back in. “What’s going on, Hudson?”
“Grace?” he says, looking deep into my eyes, and for the briefest moment, I see something there that makes me catch my breath. And also wonder if I’m imagining it.
“Yes?”
He circles his finger again, and the music switches from Flo Rida to the opening lyrics of Walk the Moon’s “Shut Up and Dance.”
And it’s so clever, so ridiculous, so Hudson, that I can’t help bursting into laughter. Right before I decide, screw it, and let him dance me from one end of the laundry room to the other.
When the song finally comes to an end, Hudson lets me go, and we both stand there grinning at each other.
As we do, I can’t help but wonder what someone would think if they’d walked into the laundry room a few seconds ago and found me dancing around the machines by myself, singing to a song only I can hear. Probably that it’s just another weird human thing…or an even weirder gargoyle thing…which I guess it is, now that I think about it.
Still, I’m a little hot, a little breathless, but a lot more relaxed than I was when I got to the laundry room, and maybe that’s why I finally ask him, “How did you know I love that song?”
And just that easily, his smile fades away, leaving nothing there but an emptiness so stark that I feel it deep in my chest. Even before he answers, “So you really remember nothing of the time we spent together?”
57
Pulling all the
（Heart） Strings
Confusion swamps me. “I don’t… I mean… I told you…”
“Never mind.” He shakes his head, rubs a hand over his hair. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I don’t know what you were thinking, either,” I tell him. “That’s kind of the point of a conversation.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs.
“Maybe? What does that mean?” I feel like I’m missing something important here, but I don’t have a clue what it is. Even worse, this damn amnesia makes it impossible to figure out.