A Thousand Pieces of You (Firebird #1) - Claudia Gray Page 0,28
the Paul I used to know.
The one who made me feel like I might finally fall in love.
Thanksgiving at our house is always a little weird. We don’t have much family aside from Aunt Susannah, who seems to think Thanksgiving is some barbaric American custom that would give her the cooties. So my parents invite along a motley crew of physics students, other professors, and neighbors. The grad students always contribute a dish, and they come from all over the world, which means we might have kimchi or empanadas along with the turkey. One time Louis—who was from Mississippi—brought something called a turducken; personally I don’t think any food should have the word turd in its name, but it turned out to be a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey, and I have to admit it was delicious. The turducken was one of the better offerings, really. Sometimes they’re almost sad, like this year, when Theo brought cupcakes we all pretended hadn’t been bought from a store.
Paul asked to borrow our kitchen, because he didn’t have access to a stove. So I was there to witness him cooking. “Lasagna?” I boosted myself up to sit on the counter. “Just like the Pilgrims used to make.”
“It’s the only thing I know how to cook.” Paul frowned down at the tomato sauce in its pot, as though it had done something to offend him. “The only thing worth bringing, anyway.”
I resisted the urge to point out that if he was cooking at our house, he wasn’t precisely bringing it anywhere. We had finally reached the point where I was starting to get comfortable with him—where I was starting to believe I might be able to get beneath all the quiet and awkward to figure Paul Markov out.
Mom and Dad were at the university; Theo was out partying; Josie wouldn’t fly in from San Diego until tomorrow morning, apparently because she’d spent the day surfing with her friends. So Paul and I were alone for a change. He wore his usual faded jeans and T-shirt. (I swear it’s like he doesn’t know people are allowed to wear anything besides black, white, gray, and denim.) Yet somehow he made me feel overdressed in my tunic and leggings.
“Why aren’t you going home for Thanksgiving?” I managed not to add, like a normal person. “Don’t you want to see your parents?”
Paul’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Not particularly.”
“Oh.” If only I could have grabbed those words back, but I couldn’t. Very quietly I added, “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” After another moment of uneasy silence between us, he added, “My father—he’s not a good person. My mother doesn’t stand up to him. They don’t understand the life I’ve chosen to lead. They’re glad I have scholarships, so I don’t cost them any more money. There’s not much else to tell.”
Which was obviously a big fat lie—how is there not more to tell about that story?—but I wasn’t going to compound my rudeness by prying. I’d just have to wonder what kind of loser parents would have a problem with their son being a brilliant physicist. Or how much might lie behind the phrase “not a good person.”
I tried to figure out how to move the conversation on to a new subject. “So, um, what music is this?”
“Rachmaninoff. The 18th Variation of a Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.” His gray eyes glanced toward me warily. “Not very current, I realize.”
“Theo’s the one who teases you about your classical music, not me.” Since Theo wasn’t around, I finally admitted, “I like it, actually. Classical music.”
“You do?”
“I’m not an expert on composers or anything like that. But I learned a little through my piano lessons,” I hastened to add. “Just—when I hear it, I think it’s pretty.” The Rachmaninoff was sort of amazing, actually, piano notes tumbling over and over in endless crescendos.
“You always apologize for things you don’t know.” Paul didn’t even look up from the bowl where he was stirring together mozzarella and cottage cheese. “You should stop.”
Stung, I shot back, “Excuse me for not being born already knowing everything.”
He stopped, took a deep breath, and looked up at me. “I meant that you shouldn’t feel ashamed of not knowing a subject. We can’t begin to learn until we admit how much we don’t know. It’s all right that you’re not familiar with classical music. I’m not familiar with the music you listen to, like Adele and the Machine.”