Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,47

laughed a pure, bright laugh, and for one shining second our friendship was golden again.

“So what about you and me?” she asked. “We’re deep into summer and neither one of us has any prospects.”

I fidgeted in my seat. Could I tell her about Lydia? Maritza would understand better than anybody. She’d ask a million questions, demand to see her picture, make me offer up every detail so we could analyze it together. She might be the only person who could help me figure out if Lydia liked me back.

But I couldn’t explain Lydia without explaining Ricky and Cliff and Natalie and everyone and everything else I now had in my life, including the fact that I’d been lying to Maritza and JaKory for weeks now.

“I don’t know, dude, I’ve just been working a lot,” I lied, even though I knew she would judge me as soon as I said it.

“Yeah, well, you’re not gonna meet anyone there, unless you count those weirdos who come in looking for kitty cat overalls.”

“You had kitty cat pajamas until eighth grade,” I pointed out.

“They were cashmere,” she said, her mouth twitching.

“They were the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever owned, and you know it.”

Her smile lingered for a beat, but then her expression turned heavy again. “I don’t know, Codi-kid,” she sighed. “We need to find some other way to meet people. We could try to hit the bars down in the city, but neither one of us has a fake.”

“I’m not interested in that.”

“What are you interested in?”

I shook off the question. “You haven’t met anyone around here that you like?”

She snorted humorlessly. “Yeah, I’ve got a major crush on the new barista at Starbucks, but he’s twenty-five and has a girlfriend.”

“At least he’s someone cute to talk to.”

“Aren’t you listening to what I’ve been saying? I don’t want to just talk to someone cute, I want to date someone cute. Someone I can get excited about, who makes this long-ass summer feel special and meaningful and new…”

We fell quiet, nothing but plain suburban roads in front of us. I didn’t know what—or who—Maritza was thinking about, but I knew what was on my mind.

* * *

Just as Lydia had predicted, Cliff asked me to paint his portrait next. He’d already gushed about Natalie’s portrait when we were hanging out at Samuel’s, but he texted another slew of compliments that had me blushing with pride.

Cliff Broward: My favorite thing about that girl is her spunk and somehow you made that come thru in a painting. I’m ready to pay that bigggg cashhhh moneyyyy for mine!!!

I agreed that we could meet up on Wednesday afternoon, after my morning shift, and that Natalie should come to help him relax just as Lydia had done for her.

The sky was overcast as I drove out to Cliff’s house. He’d texted me to come around the back, where the basement door was, so I parked in the driveway and traipsed down the back path, hearing blaring music from the inside. I stepped in through the open door and felt more like I was in a gym than a basement: There were weight machines, treadmills, and exercise mats everywhere.

“Ayyyy!” Cliff roared, springing off the rowing machine. He hustled toward me and high-fived me with a slap that turned my hand red. “Whoops, sorry. How’s it going?”

Natalie eased herself off the bench press, where she’d been lounging with her phone. “What’s up?” she asked, pulling me in for a hug. “Welcome to Cliff’s sandbox.”

Cliff laughed and paused the music. He was drenched in sweat and stinking like hell, and as I watched, he squirted water sloppily into his mouth, wiping his chin on his sweaty bicep.

“So I figured you could paint me like this, huh?” He grinned. “Fresh off the circuit.”

“How do you have so much exercise equipment?” I asked.

“My parents own a gym. That’s, like, what they do. My whole family’s really into fitness.”

“They’re masochists,” Natalie said, deadpan. “It’s revolting.”

“Do you actually want me to paint you like this?” I asked, gesturing to his sweaty man-tank.

“No,” Cliff and Natalie said at the same time.

“If you can give me five minutes,” Cliff panted, “I’ll take a super-fast shower and put some real clothes on. Babe—you saw the chicken salad in the fridge, right?”

Natalie made us sandwiches while Cliff got ready. We laughed about how silly we’d gotten at Samuel’s party, then hovered around the exercise equipment, setting up an area in the corner where I’d be able to paint Cliff’s portrait.

“Sorry