Look - Zan Romanoff Page 0,61

calls.

Ryan brushes past her into Lulu’s room. Lulu doesn’t like the idea that Ryan can just insert himself into their moment like this. We’re on his property, she reminds herself.

“We were just—” she starts to say, but she can’t think of an excuse. What would she have here that Cass would need?

But then, why wouldn’t Cass just come visit her? Like friends do?

And doesn’t Ryan know anyway? What’s the point in trying to hide it?

Still, she finishes her sentence, says, “Cass came to steal my chocolate,” and tries not to hear how unconvincing she sounds.

“Good news for you, then,” Ryan says. “We’ve got hot chocolate downstairs.”

“And booze to spike it with?” Cass asks, coming around to hook her chin over his shoulder.

“And booze to spike it with,” Ryan agrees, giving Lulu a smile that says, Don’t worry. Of course I know.

* * *

This, at least, feels familiar and appropriate. Lulu texts her mom that she’s spending the night at Bea’s and lines the bottom of her cup in peppermint Schnapps, followed by enough hot chocolate to make it taste decent. Kiley and Ryan are still dressed, but the rest of them are in robes, hair damp and tangled, faces fresh and bare, and it feels like The Hotel is supposed to feel—off-kilter and unpredictable, a wild, lawless place.

It occurs to Lulu that Ryan must be sentimental about this goodbye too; he’s gone to a lot of trouble to arrange the evening for them. There’s the hot chocolate, and then the dinner he produces, an assortment of salads and sandwiches, cheeses and meats and crackers, more fancy little candies from a shop in Beverly Hills. It feels more like Christmas than anything that’s ever happened to Lulu before, like a family celebration: the five of them sitting around on the floor and eating with their hands.

“No, but Lulu tried to learn to surf, kind of,” Owen says at one point. Kiley has been telling them a story about her dad, one of his scars, Lulu wasn’t really listening. Cass is sitting next to her, cross-legged, one bare knee touching Lulu’s, and she can’t stop thinking about it: whether anyone has noticed, if she cares if they do, or if she even sort of wants them to. “Last summer. She went out once.”

“I went three times,” Lulu says. “You just think it was once because you only came once.”

“You only invited me once!”

“And you saw why!”

Owen shakes his head at her. Lulu thinks this might be the first time they’ve joked about something that happened during their relationship since it ended.

That day he wore a shirt Rich had made for him that said Surf Groupie on it. He sat in the sand, watching her wipe out over and over again.

It’s true that the day he came was the last time she went. She didn’t want to mention surfing to him again and know he was thinking about what she looked like flailing in the waves.

“I’ve always wanted to learn to surf,” Cass says, “if you could be convinced to try again.”

“Yeah,” Lulu says. “I mean, I actually bought a wet suit and everything. So I probably should.”

“We can find someone cool to take lessons from,” Cass says. “It won’t be warm enough until, like, July, but—” Lulu lets that we rattle around inside of her, trying to find a space to rest in her body.

“I’m really bad,” she says.

“I’ll be worse,” Cass says. “I do not have the guns for it, let me tell you.”

“You’re saying I’m built for power?”

“Lulu,” Cass says. “No one is ever calling you fat. You know that, right?”

Ryan got up a few minutes ago to go to the bathroom; when Lulu turns she sees him standing just behind them, watching the little group they make without him, hovering as if uncertain.

Cass distracts Lulu by poking her in the hip. “Maybe I’ll start calling you fat,” she says. “Reverse psychology. Just tell you a thing that’s obviously not true until you get so frustrated—”

“I love this,” Owen says. “You hear that, Kiley? Next time you refuse to eat a croissant, I’m not gonna try to talk you out of it. And then you won’t have any delicious pastry, and you’ll be sad, but I’ll have more, so I’ll be very happy. I love this plan, Cass. Very smart.”

Lulu doesn’t know what to say. She knows she isn’t— technically, she’s not fat. That’s just a numbers thing. But that’s the word she knows to express that she’s unhappy with