The Museum of Heartbreak - Meg Leder Page 0,24

said.

She pointedly turned her back on him. “We’re only here because Miles found an invite in the cafeteria and was hoping maybe by some coincidence the hot Starbucks guy he’s been crushing on would be here. No luck . . .” She made a sad trombone “wah-wahhh” noise.

“Gracie, why do you tell everyone my secrets?” Miles asked.

“Which doesn’t really matter anyway, because if Miles would just open his eyes and give the new guy Oscar a chance . . .”

Miles scowled at her and grabbed my beer, then drank half of it in one gulp.

“. . . he could have a totally perfect boyfriend too.”

“I told you, Oscar’s too quiet. He has no edge. He plays Dungeons and Dragons,” Miles said, as if that explained everything.

“You and your standards,” Grace muttered.

“It’s called not settling!” Miles hollered.

“Okay, you’re cut off, Drunky McFerguson,” Grace said to Miles. She turned to me. “We’re bailing and getting churros at this all-night Cuban diner on Fourteenth and Seventh. Want to join?”

Hanging out with new people sounded a little terrifying, but that was what Audrey and Eph had been going on about: hanging out with new people. Yes was on the tip of my tongue, when I saw Audrey waving at me from a crowd of people down the hall.

I didn’t know if I felt more relieved or disappointed.

“I should probably say hi to my friend and stick it out a little longer. I’m sorry.”

“No problemo,” Miles said, pulling my cup closer and sipping more beer from it.

I laughed as Grace pushed the beer back in my hands.

“Take my details, in case you change your mind,” she said. I handed her my phone and she typed in her number.

“Later,” Miles said, his smile hazy.

“Eat some churros for me!” I called out, watching them leave.

I started to weave my way to Audrey, but being short in a crowd makes finding particular people pretty impossible. I stood on my tiptoes, my boots straining to give me some height, and wished I could transport myself by clicking my heels three times.

“Pen!” Audrey said, ducking under some guy’s armpit and bursting into my space. She pulled me into a hug. “You look incredible, starry girl! Isn’t this amazing? Let’s find Eph!” She grabbed my hand and began tugging me through the crowd.

“By the way, what was that with you and him earlier?” she yelled over her shoulder.

“What?”

“On the bed. I thought you were going to start making out or something.”

I stopped, grimacing. “No way. It was Eph.”

“But you’re getting all weird and blushy.”

“No I’m not!”

“Whatever you say.”

“Not whatever I say—what you’re suggesting is just wrong. Take it back.”

She rounded the corner to the dining room, turned back, and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Take. It. Back.”

Eph’s arm was balanced against a door frame, and he was leaning over a girl dressed as Annie Hall, wearing a men’s vest, tie, and fedora. Wisps of long strawberry-blond hair trailed out from under her hat; a tiny nose piercing sparkled from the light of the dining-room chandelier. Her hand was resting on Eph’s elbow and she kept laughing at whatever he was saying.

It was the Elf Queen.

“Guess who’s interrupting one of Eph’s many hookups . . . ,” Audrey sang under her breath to me as she swept us in between the couple.

“Hey, Eph,” I said, more than a little embarrassed that we were cutting in.

“Pen, Audrey, long time no see,” he said, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the willowy girl.

Audrey’s theory was clearly ridiculous.

The Elf Queen leaned over, stretching out her hand to us. “I’m Mia.”

“Yeah, I know—I was there when you guys met,” I said, irritated that she hadn’t registered my existence.

“Ohhh, you were the one who pushed Ephraim over!”

So she had noted my existence.

“It was an accident.”

“Hmmm, okay, whatever you say?” Mia said in a voice as sweet as perfect tiny pink flowers, all honey and lightness, a tone I personally thought was inappropriate to adopt when you were clearly implying someone was officially a shover-over-er.

“Nice to meet you,” Audrey said, extending her hand in return.

“Ephraim talks about you guys all the time,” Mia said eagerly.

“Mia’s an artist too,” Eph said.

“Ephraim’s an aaaaamazing artist,” Mia said, tilting her head up at him, touching his elbow lightly again.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered to myself. “Why are you here?” I asked her.

Audrey elbowed me, whispering “Rude!”

Mia either ignored or totally missed my tone. “Keats and I know each other from grade school,” she said brightly.

Was Keats childhood friends with everyone?

Right then, from