Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,67
for this.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so perfect for this job.”
“I’m not, though,” I said. I felt myself tearing up and fought it. “I get all the tastings wrong. I get overwhelmed with stocking and inventory and everything. I just . . . I love tea. But I don’t think I want to sell it.” I tried to keep going, but my throat had pinched shut.
Mr. Edwards let out this chuckle.
It wasn’t a mean one.
It was more like he was remembering something.
“You know I play guitar?”
I nodded. Landon had shown me his dad’s guitar collection.
“I’m pretty good at it, you know. I always hoped Landon would pick it up, but he liked bassoon better.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway. I was in a band for a while. The Second Steepings.”
I giggled at that.
“Hey, give me a break. We were pretty good. We put out an album. Did shows. Made some money. But you know what?”
“What?”
“After a while it stopped making me happy. I loved playing guitar, but I didn’t love being in a band.” He leaned forward and patted my knee. “It’s okay to keep something you love just for you.”
“Really?” I squeaked.
“Really. It’s okay.”
And I got this feeling. Like I could breathe again.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. I’m sure going to miss you, though.”
“I’ll still come in and get my tea here. I love this place.”
Mr. Edwards beamed.
He had his son’s smile.
“I’m really glad. I wanted this store to be a place for people who love tea.” And then his smile faltered a little bit. “Do you want to tell Landon or should I?”
I chewed my lip. “I will.”
* * *
“Was it something I did?” Landon asked.
“No.”
“Something someone else did?”
“No. I promise.” I pulled my bag out of my cubby. “It’s me. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
Landon studied his feet. I reached for his hand, rubbed my thumb over the top of it in little circles.
Finally he asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay.”
I kissed him on the nose. He giggled.
“Hey.”
“Hey what?”
“I got our tickets for homecoming today.”
Landon’s whole face softened. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“What’re you going to wear? Should we match?”
“Mom’s taking me shopping this weekend.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Oh.” I don’t know why it struck me so much, Landon asking me my favorite color. “Blue.”
“Easy enough.”
“Easier than orange, at least.” That was Landon’s favorite.
He smirked. “That would definitely get us noticed. But I’ve got a gray suit that still fits.”
Landon Edwards looked perfect in gray.
It brought out his beautiful eyes.
“What about . . . after?” he asked.
“After?”
“Yeah. We could go somewhere.”
“Um.”
“I know it’s cliché, but. Well.” His smirk slowly faded, and a blush crept up from his jawline to his cheeks. “Sometimes couples will, you know. Get together. After a dance.”
His face was nearly glowing.
“Oh,” I said.
My stomach did a little flip.
I didn’t know what to say.
And I got this really ugly feeling.
Like Landon only wanted sex from me.
I knew that wasn’t fair. I knew he really cared about me. But I couldn’t help it.
That’s normal.
Right?
“Think about it,” Landon said, and kissed me on the shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
IN THE GOLDEN LIGHT
“Are you nervous about homecoming?” Mom asked as she pulled her car into a parking spot.
“Hmm?”
She turned off the car and looked at me. “Are people giving you a hard time at school?”
“Oh. No.”
I couldn’t tell Mom that I was worried Landon thought we were going to do stuff afterward.
Sex stuff.
I never wanted to talk about gay sex with Shirin Kellner.
“Hm,” Mom said, but I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the door before she could say more.
The Dragon & Phoenix Consignment Shop + Boutique (a name that sounded more suited to oolong than gently used fashion) was this huge store at the corner of a strip mall in Beaverton. The inside was practically glowing from the eclectic collection of ceiling lamps, and the scent of incense tickled my sinuses.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“Not really.”
I showed her the picture Landon sent of his suit: a gray one with thin, slick lapels.
“Nice,” Mom said.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Let’s see what they have.”
Mom wandered around, pulling nearly every suit off the rack to examine it, while I went straight for the big and tall section. I traced my fingers along the rows of hangers. Most of the suits were black, or brown, or too tall, or not big enough.
And then, as I turned a corner, I saw it.
The perfect suit.
Bright blue, not quite pastel but nearly. And it was shiny, like there was something metallic in the threads.