The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue - V. E. Schwab Page 0,95
coils tight, strangling the word.
“It’s Addie,” says Henry. “And you’re being an ass.”
A nervous current runs across the table, and Elise, clearly looking to smooth the energy, cuts into a petit four and says, “This dessert is amazing, Henry.”
And he says, “It was all Addie’s doing.”
And that is enough to tip Robbie like a glass, and send him spilling over. He shoves up from the table with a rush of breath.
“I need a smoke.”
“Not in here,” says Bea. “Take it to the roof.”
And Addie knows that is the end of this beautiful night, the door slamming shut, because she cannot stop them, and once she’s out of sight—
Josh rises. “I could use one, too.”
“You just want to get out of doing dishes,” says Bea, but the two of them are already heading for the door, out of sight and out of mind, and this, she thinks, is midnight, this is how the magic ends, this is how you turn back into a pumpkin.
“I should go,” she says.
Bea tries to convince her to stay, says to not let Robbie get to her, and Addie says that it’s not his fault, that it’s been a long day, says thank you for the lovely meal, thank you for the company; and really, she was lucky to get this far, lucky to have this time, this night, this tiny glimpse of normal.
“Addie, wait,” says Henry, but she kisses him, quick, and slips away, out of the apartment, and down the steps and into the dark.
She sighs, and slows, her lungs aching in the sudden cold. And despite the doors and walls between them, she can feel the weight of what she left behind, and she wishes she could have stayed, wishes that when Henry had said Wait, she had said, Come with me, but she knows it is not fair to make him choose. He is full of roots, while she has only branches.
And then she hears the steps behind her, and slows, shivers, even now, after all this time, expecting Luc.
Luc, who always knew when she brittle.
But it is not the darkness, only a boy with fogging glasses and an open coat.
“You left so fast,” says Henry.
“You caught up,” says Addie.
And perhaps she should feel guilty, but she is only grateful.
She has gotten good at losing things.
But Henry is still here.
“Friends are messy sometimes, aren’t they?”
“Yeah,” she says, even though she has no idea.
“I’m sorry,” he says, nodding back at the building. “I don’t know what got into him.”
But Addie does.
Live long enough, and people open up like books. Robbie is a romance novel. A tale of broken hearts. He is so clearly lovesick.
“You said you were just friends.”
“We are,” he insists. “I love him like family, I always will. But I don’t—I never…”
She thinks of the photo, Robbie’s head bowed against Henry’s cheek, thinks of the look on his face when Bea said she was his date, and wonders how he doesn’t see it.
“He’s still in love with you.”
Henry deflates. “I know,” he says. “But I can’t love him back.”
Can’t. Not won’t. Not shouldn’t.
Addie looks at Henry, meets him eye to eye.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
She doesn’t know what she expects him to say, what truth could possibly explain his enduring presence, but for a second, when he looks back at her, there is a brief and blinding sadness.
But then he pulls her close and groans, and says, in a soft and vanquished voice, “I am so full.”
And Addie laughs despite herself.
It is too cold to stand, and so they walk together through the dark, and she doesn’t even notice they have reached his place until she sees the blue door. She is so tired, and he is so warm; she does not want to go, and he does not ask her to.
New York City
March 17, 2014
XI
Addie has woken up a hundred ways.
To frost forming on her skin, and a sun so hot it should have burned. To empty places, and ones that should have been. To wars raging overhead, and the ocean rocking against the hull. To sirens, and city noise, and silence, and once, a snake coiled by her head.
But Henry Strauss wakes her with kisses.
He plants them one by one, like flower bulbs, lets them blossom on her skin. Addie smiles, and rolls against him, pulls his arms around her like a cloak.
The darkness whispers in her head, Without me, you will always be alone.
But instead, she listens to the sound of Henry’s heart, to