Sara Shepard - Wicked

Aria rolled her eyes. “You’re just pissed Mom picked a place that doesn’t serve wings.”

Mike crumpled his napkin. “Can you blame me? A virile man like me can’t live on vegetables alone.”

Aria cringed, grossed out that Mike was referring to himself as both virile and a man . “How was your date with Savannah the other day, by the way?”

Mike cracked his knuckles, thumbing through the menu. “That’s for me to know and for you to obsess about.”

Aria raised an eyebrow. “Aha! You didn’t immediately correct me that it wasn’t a date.”

Mike shrugged, stabbing his fork into the cactus centerpiece. Aria picked up a cornflower blue crayon from the little cup in the middle of the table; Rabbit Rabbit put crayons on every table and encouraged its patrons to draw on the backs of their place mats. Finished drawings were hung on the restaurant’s walls. These days, the walls were all covered, so the staff had started hanging place mats from the ceiling.

“You made it!” Ella cried as she walked through the doorway with Xavier. Ella’s newly dyed hair shone. Xavier’s cheeks were adorably pink from the cold. Aria tried to smile, but she had a feeling it came out more like a grimace.

Ella made a flourishing gesture at Xavier. “Aria, you two have already met. But Xavier, this is my son, Michelangelo.”

Mike looked like he was going to puke. “ No one calls me that.”

“I won’t tell.” Xavier stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He glanced at Aria. “Good to see you again.”

Aria gave him a tight smile, too embarrassed to make eye contact. She gazed around the room, searching out the last place mat Ali had decorated before she vanished. Ali had come here with Aria’s family and had drawn a cartoon girl and a guy holding hands, skipping off toward a rainbow. “They’re secret boyfriend and girlfriend,” she’d announced to the table, her eyes on Aria. This wasn’t long after Ali and Aria had caught Byron with Meredith…but looking back now, maybe Ali had been referring to her secret relationship with Ian.

Xavier and Ella shrugged out of their coats and sat down. Xavier looked around, clearly amused by all the drawings on the walls. Ella kept clucking nervously, fidgeting with her hair, her jewelry, her fork. After a few seconds of silence, Mike narrowed his eyes at Xavier. “How old are you, anyway?”

Ella shot him a look, but Xavier answered, “Thirty-four.”

“You know our mom is forty, right?”

“Mike,” Ella gasped. But Aria thought it was sweet. She’d never seen Mike be protective of Ella before.

“I know that.” Xavier laughed. “She told me.”

Their waitress, a busty girl with dreadlocks and a pierced septum, asked what everyone wanted to drink. Aria ordered green tea, and Xavier and Ella ordered glasses of cabernet. Mike tried to order cabernet too, but the waitress just pursed her lips and turned away.

Xavier looked at Mike and Aria. “So I heard you guys lived in Iceland for a while. I’ve been there a few times.”

“Really!” Aria exclaimed, surprised.

“And let me guess—you loved it,” Mike interrupted in a droll voice, fiddling with the rubber Rosewood Day lacrosse bracelet around his wrist. “Because it’s so cultural. And so pristinely untouched. And everyone’s so educated there.”

Xavier rubbed his chin. “Actually, I thought Iceland was weird. Who wants to bathe in water that smells like rotten eggs? And what’s with the miniature horse obsession? I didn’t get it.”

Mike’s eyes boggled. He gaped at Ella. “Did you tell him to say that?”

Ella shook her head, looking a bit dismayed.

Mike turned back to Xavier, ecstatic. “ Thank you . That’s what I’ve been trying to tell my family for years! But noooo, they all loved the horses! Everyone thought they were so cute. But do you know what would happen if one of those pansy-ass horses got in a smackdown with a Clydesdale from the Budweiser commercials? The Clydesdale would kick its ass. There wouldn’t be anything of that gay little horse left!”

“Damn right.” Xavier nodded emphatically.

Mike rubbed his hands together, obviously thrilled. Aria tried to hide a smirk. She had her own suspicions about the real reason Mike hated Icelandic horses. A few days after they’d arrived in Reykjavík, she and Mike had gone on a riding tour on a volcanic trail. Even though the stable boy offered Mike the oldest, fattest, slowest Icelandic horse to ride, the minute Mike climbed in the saddle, his face went disturbingly pale. He claimed he had a leg cramp and should stay behind. Mike had never gotten a leg cramp before…or since, for that matter, but he still refused to admit that he was scared.

The waitress delivered their drinks, and Mike and Xavier chattered on about all the other things they hated about Iceland: that one of the country’s delicacies was rotten shark. How Icelanders all believed that huldufolk —elves—lived in rocks and cliffs. How they all queerly went by first names only, because everyone descended from the same three incestuous Viking tribes.

Every so often, Ella glanced Aria’s way, probably wondering why Aria wasn’t defending Iceland. But Aria simply wasn’t in the mood for talking.

At the end of the dinner, just as they were finishing a plate of the restaurant’s famous homemade organic oatmeal cookies, Mike’s iPhone rang. He looked at the screen and stood up. “Hold on,” he mumbled evasively, ducking out the front door.

Aria and Ella exchanged a knowing look. Usually, Mike had no problem talking on the phone right at the dinner table, even if the conversation was about, say, the size of a girl’s boobs. “We suspect Mike has a girlfriend,” Ella stage-whispered to Xavier. She stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she announced, walking toward the ladies’ room.

Aria fiddled with the napkin in her lap, staring helplessly as Ella wove between the tables. She wanted to follow her mother, but she didn’t want Xavier to know that she didn’t want to be alone with him.

She could feel Xavier’s eyes on her. He took a long, slow sip of his second glass of wine. “You’ve been really quiet,” he pointed out.

Aria shrugged. “Maybe I’m always this quiet.”

“I doubt that.”

Aria looked up sharply. Xavier smiled, but his expression wasn’t particularly easy to read. He plucked a dark green crayon out of the cup and started scribbling on his place mat. “So are you okay with this?” he asked. “Me and your mom?”

“Uh-huh,” Aria answered quickly, fidgeting with the spoon from her after-dinner cappuccino. Was he asking because he sensed she liked him? Or because she was Ella’s daughter, and it was the polite thing to do?

Xavier put the green crayon back in the cup and dug around for a black one. “So your mom said you’re an artist too.”

“I guess,” Aria said distantly.

“Who are your influences?”

Aria chewed on her lip, feeling put on the spot. “I like the surrealists. You know, Klee, Max Ernst, Magritte, M. C. Escher.”

Xavier grimaced. “Escher.”

“What’s wrong with Escher?”

He shook his head. “Every kid at my high school had an Escher poster in their bedroom, thinking they were so deep. Ooh, birds morphing into fish. Wow, one hand drawing another. Different perspectives. Trippy. ”

Aria leaned back in her chair, amused. “What, did you know M. C. Escher personally? Did he kick you when you were a little boy? Steal your Big Wheel?”

“He died in the early seventies, I think,” Xavier said, snorting. “I’m not that old.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Aria raised an eyebrow.