Now That I've Found You Read online

  “Thank you,” I say either way. There goes the lava over my cheeks again.

  Our eyes lock across the table for longer than necessary. I’m the first to look away.

  “Enough about me,” I say. “You’re the one who’s so famous. Show me this YouTube video everyone keeps talking about.”

  He shakes his head, smiling. “Right, because you still haven’t seen it.”

  He pulls out his phone and cues up the video. It begins with the camera focusing on Raf, standing in crowded Times Square. He’s wearing a bright-red T-shirt and shiny black leather pants. They look ridiculous and tight. In the next shot, Milo appears beside him, strumming on his guitar, wearing the same leather pants, and my stomach flutters at the sight of him. I’m not the only one who’s affected this way, obviously. In the background, a bunch of tourists are staring at Milo specifically. The next shot has Ben with his drum set, and then Vinny runs in, playing his saxophone. And yes, both are wearing leather pants. They perform a little dance routine each time they sing the chorus, and they encourage tourists to dance with them. The video ends as the police run up, ready to ticket them for not having a recording permit, and I’m laughing so hard Milo has to shush me.

  “I can see why that went viral,” I say. “It’s good. The song’s good too. But why leather pants? Where did that come from?”

  He shrugs and puts his phone back in his pocket. “I went through a breakup last year, and I was writing a bunch of sad songs. The guys got tired of it and told me to write something happy. One day Raf found these ridiculous leather pants at a thrift store, and I started to write a song about them as a joke. But then we put music to it, and it sounded good. It kind of just took on a life of its own.”

  “Raf mentioned the sad songs to me,” I say. I am really curious about this breakup and this ex-girlfriend, but I don’t want to ask; it’s his business, not mine. And I know how guarded I can be, so I don’t want to push it. But finally, curiosity wins. “Who was she?”

  He takes another bite of his burger. For a second, I think he’s avoiding the question, and I start to feel bad for asking, but then he clears his throat.

  “Her name was Imani—is Imani,” he says. “There’s not really much to tell you, to be honest. We went to Brooklyn Tech together. She left for Texas A&M after graduation and didn’t want to do the long-distance thing, so we ended it. Or she ended it, I guess.”

  I wince. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

  “And she was mad that I was taking a year off to focus on music instead of going straight to college,” he adds. “So there’s that.”

  “It’s hard to be in love and be a creative,” I say automatically. He blinks, so I explain. “It’s something Gigi always says.”

  He nods. “I know. That’s where I first heard it. Your grandma really helped me out during those first couple of months, when I was really down. I moved out of my parents’ apartment in Bed-Stuy because I have three little sisters and there wasn’t enough space in our two-bedroom apartment. That, and my parents can be kind of … overbearing sometimes, you know? They think I’m wasting my time on music, and they never come to our shows. And then I moved in with the guys. But after a while, I thought that maybe I should just quit the band and go to college and major in something that will make a lot of money, and then I could help my parents financially, at least. I didn’t want to give up on my dream, but not everybody has the luxury to be impractical.” He pauses and looks down at the table. “The day I’d decided to tell the guys that I was quitting and moving out, I came by your grandma’s to drop off her groceries, and she could tell there was something off about me. Eventually, I told her my plan to give up on music, and she convinced me not to. She said it would be pointless to waste so much talent.”

  I smile a little. “That sounds like something Gigi would say.”

  “She told me I could stay with her sometimes if that made my commute a little easier,” he continues. “That changed everything for me. I’ve never had someone like her in my life before. I feel like she genuinely cares about what happens to me. She believes in me. That’s why we got so close.”

  He leans forward, looking at me. Earnestly, he says, “I know that she’s your grandmother. You have a place in her heart that I’ll never be able to take, and I don’t want to. I just want you to know that I care about her a lot, and I feel protective of her. That’s why I was so suspicious of you coming to visit this week.”

  “I was suspicious of you too,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I still am.”

  He smirks, leaning back. “Glad to know we’re still on the same page.”

  I take another sip of my milkshake to hide my smile. “So you really want to make it big with the band, huh?”

  “I hope so,” he says. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I almost feel like I’d do anything to just get signed.”

  “Well, once that day comes and you record an album, maybe you can write a song about me and how we ran from the paparazzi. With the way things are going for you, I’m sure there will be even more paparazzi-dodging in your future.”

  He laughs. “Maybe. But what if I’ve already written a song about you? Do you really think you need two songs?”

  I freeze. My mouth goes slack-jawed. “You wrote a song about me?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He picks up a fry and holds it above my shake. “Can I?”

  I blink, thrown off. “Can you what?”

  “Dip my fry in your shake?”

  “What? No! How gross. Why would you ever do that?”

  His eyes bug out. “Evie … are you telling me you’ve never dipped a french fry in a milkshake before?”

  “Of course not. This can’t be a thing that people actually do.”

  His mouth is hanging open. “People do it all the time!” He pushes his plate toward me. “Take one. You try.”

  I hesitate, wondering if he’s playing a trick on me or if this is just one of the many things I missed out on during childhood.

  I take a fry and slowly dip it in my shake. When I take a bite, it’s soggy, but salty and sweet. I try another one.

  “Oh my God, this is delicious.”

  He grins, triumphant. “Told you.”

  We both start eating milkshake-dipped french fries, and something about this feels like déjà vu, which is strange, because I’ve never sat in a diner and eaten french fries with a boy before.

  But then I realize it’s not my memory. I’m thinking about Diane and Henry from Every Time We Meet. Their first date is at a restaurant in East Harlem, and they stay so late into the night that the staff begins cleaning up while Diane and Henry are still busy talking. I almost bring this up to Milo, but I don’t want him reading too deep into the comparison.

  When the waitress returns with the check, I wonder again how we must look to her. A boy and a girl—who inexplicably wears sunglasses at night—laughing over french fries and a milkshake.

  “I can pay,” I quickly say as Milo takes out his wallet.

  “Let me.”

  “No, seriously, I can—”

  “I know you can, Evie,” he says. “But it’s Friday, and I got paid today. So just let me buy your dinner, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, only because I have a feeling we’ll just keep going back and forth. Plus, it’s not as if we’re really on a date or anything.

  Then, because I can’t seem to help myself, I suddenly blurt out, “Raf thought we were going on a date last night. And he told me not to break your heart. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

  Seriously. What is wrong with me?

  “Not really,” Milo says, shrugging. “I tend to like girls who are unavailable and/or unattainable. You fall into both of those categories, so I can see why Raf would make that assumption.”

  “Oh.” My heart starts to beat a little faster, and my palms get clammy. I look down and smooth out my dress just to have something to do other than stare at him. But when I look up, I find that he’s studying me in that careful way again, l
ike he’s trying to read my mind.

  “What?” I say.

  “Nothing. I’m just thinking about the first time I saw you in person—last Christmas, when your grandmother had us come over and sing Christmas carols for you and your parents. We were all really nervous to meet you, especially me, since your grandma talked about you so much, but then you were on your phone the whole time we were there, and you didn’t even look up at us once. I remember thinking that you were nothing like the kind and funny girl that your grandmother had described. You just seemed really stuck-up.”

  “Excuse me—”

  “Wait, let me finish,” he says. “Now that I know you better, I can see what your grandmother means. What she didn’t say is that you’re spontaneous and clever and headstrong to a fault. And that you like to kiss people out of nowhere.”

  The lava on my cheeks spreads down to my neck and chest. Pretty soon, my whole body is probably going to catch on fire. Flustered, I hiss, “I don’t just go around kissing people! That won’t ever happen again.”

  He grins. “Really? That’s too bad.”

  I glare at him, but he continues to grin. Then his expression turns into something a little more serious, and we’re staring at each other in silence. My heart gallops in my chest. I take measured breaths to slow it down, but there’s no use.

  “Y’all have a good night,” the waitress says, giving Milo his change and a receipt.

  We snap out of our staring trance and stand up awkwardly.

  As we ride the subway to Gigi’s, we sit side by side, and I try my best not to think of that kiss, or the way he looked at me over dinner, or how we had our very own Diane-and-Henry moment.

  Because none of it really matters. Gigi was right. Falling in love isn’t meant for creatives. I should be concerned about finding Gigi above anything else.

  * * *

  Once we’re back at Gigi’s, Milo goes into the kitchen to feed the cats and I head upstairs to my room. As I’m taking off Gigi’s boots, Milo comes to stand in my doorway.

  “Today was fun,” he says.

  Fun. I wouldn’t have thought to use that word, but he isn’t wrong. Aside from the Simone run-in and not actually getting a chance to talk to James, today was more fun than I’ve had in a really long time. I almost felt normal again.

  Milo really isn’t so bad.

  I look at him now, leaning against the doorjamb, all tall and handsome. I bet he’ll make his next girlfriend really happy. In another world, one where I could bring myself to let someone in again, maybe that girl could be me.

  But in this world, I’m unwilling to give my heart to someone just so they can inevitably break it.

  “Good night, Milo,” I say.

  He nods and taps the doorjamb. “Night, Evie.”

  Footage from homemade video—May 17, 1974

  *Evelyn Conaway and James Jenkins are at the home that they share in Los Angeles. They’ve just been married for a second time and are standing in their bedroom. Evelyn stands at the entrance to her closet, and James stands in the doorway, recording.*

  James (off camera): So how does it feel to be Mrs. Jenkins again?

  *Evelyn pauses in the act of taking off her heels, turns around to look at him, and covers her face*

  Evelyn: I can’t believe Candice let you borrow that thing. Is it too much to ask that a camera not follow me around at home too?

  *James chuckles*

  James: Aww, come on. I’m just trying to capture the moment. Can you answer the question, please? How does it feel to be Mrs. Jenkins again?

  Evelyn: Wonderful.

  *Evelyn walks over and stands directly in James’s line of sight*

  Evelyn: It feels absolutely wonderful.

  James: You look like you have something else you want to tell me.

  *Evelyn smiles and reaches for the camera, turning it on James, who is leaning against the doorjamb, smirking*

  Evelyn: How do you feel to be married to me again?

  James: It’s indescribable, babe.

  *James reaches out and wraps his arm around Evelyn’s waist, bringing his face right up to the camera lens*

  James: What do you want to do to celebrate?

  Evelyn: I want you to take me to the movies.

  James: If that’s what my lady wants, that’s what my lady gets.

  *recording ends*

  Chapter Fifteen

  SATURDAY, AUGUST 15

  “Evie, is there something you want to tell me?” Kerri asks as I hold my phone to my ear.

  I sit up in bed, groggy and half awake. Milo and I didn’t get back until almost 3:00 A.M. last night. I fell asleep without even taking off my makeup. Now, five hours later, I can barely open my eyes.

  “What do you mean?” I clear my throat and fight off a yawn.

  “Just ten minutes ago, I received this Google alert from Us Weekly: ‘Evie Jones Is in New York, and She’s Got a New Look and a New Guy.’”

  I’m definitely awake now. “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes.” Kerri continues to read, “‘After avoiding public appearances for months, last night Jones was first spotted at the Aliens Attack Earth 4 after-party, revealing a new short bob cut and a new beau, whom we’ve identified as Milo Williams from the indie band Doves Have Pride. They were later seen kissing at a diner in Times Square.’” Kerri pauses. “I just sent the article to you.”

  I pull my phone away from my ear to open the link. Sure enough, there’s Milo and me, running down the street, hand in hand. I’m facing forward, and you can only see the back of my head, but Milo is looking at the paparazzi with wide eyes. Then there’s the photo of us kissing at the diner. Even with Milo’s back to the door and his jacket covering me, you can still see my face angled toward his as we kiss. His arms are wrapped around my waist and mine are looped around his neck. It was supposed to be a quick kiss where neither of us moved. Obviously, we got way too into it.

  “Oh no,” I repeat. It seems to be all that I can say.

  “I’m already trying my best to do damage control and get these pictures down from other sites. And I just had a lengthy phone call with your parents, assuring them that everything was fine.” Kerri sighs deeply. “Evie, didn’t we agree on no public appearances? And a James Jenkins party, no less! I know you’re tired of being cooped up, but you’re really not doing us any favors here.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Kerri. Really.” Please don’t quit.

  She sighs again, deeper this time, if that’s even possible. “What does your grandmother think about all this?”

  “Nothing! She’s not upset.” She doesn’t know I was there, so at least I can assume this is true.

  “And what’s the deal with this musician? How long has this been going on? And when, exactly, did you plan on telling me?”

  “There’s nothing going on, Kerri. He’s just a friend.” I wince. A friend?

  “Well, he’d better be a squeaky-clean little Boy Scout,” Kerri advises. “We don’t have time for playboys or partyers who can’t seem to keep themselves out of jail or rehab.”

  “He’s not like that,” I say, more defensive than I mean to be. I think back to last night and how long Milo and I talked at the diner. How I opened up to him in a way that I haven’t opened up to anybody in a long time, and I’m not even sure why I did so. Maybe it’s because all he wanted to do was listen. “He’s decent, I think.”

  “Decent,” Kerri repeats. “Hmph. And I’ve never even heard of his band. I watched that YouTube video, though. ‘Leather Pants.’ Cute. Who represents them?”

  “No one yet.”

  There’s a knock on my bedroom door, and then Milo pops his head inside. He holds up his phone, showing the Us Weekly article. Eyes wide, he asks, “Have you seen this?”

  “Who is that?” Kerri asks, alert. “Is that boy with you right now?”

  “Um, yes,” I say as Milo walks farther into the room until he’s standing at the foot of my bed. He’s dressed for work. He glances up at the ca
nopy draping and smiles.

  I pull my knees up to my chest, suddenly feeling embarrassed for him to see me wearing pajamas with my hair wrapped. But he’s already seen me this way, and I didn’t care before. Why do I care now?

  “I thought you were staying at your grandmother’s house,” Kerri says. “Is that where you are?”

  I hesitate. “Yes…”

  “I don’t like the sound of this, Evie! Do I need to fly out there tonight?”

  “That’s really not necessary,” I say quickly. The last thing I need is for Kerri to come to New York and discover that Gigi is nowhere to be found. I still have a chance at handling this on my own before everything blows up. I just need to find a way to get in touch with James Jenkins. “Sunday morning still works. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

  “We had an agreement, Evie. Please, no more traipsing around the city, okay?” She sounds frustrated. “I know these past few months haven’t been the best, but things are going to change for you soon. You are an intelligent young woman. I trust you to make intelligent young woman decisions.”

  “I will. I’m sorry.” I turn away from Milo so that he won’t see the guilt on my face. I hate disappointing people in general, but I particularly hate disappointing Kerri because she always goes to bat for me. My stomach sinks.

  “No need to be sorry; just remember what I said.” She pauses again. “Are you sure you don’t need me to fly out today? Because I will be on the next flight if you need me.”

  “I’m okay,” I say, hoping that it sounds true.

  After a long beat: “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me if you change your mind.”

  When we hang up, the notifications I missed early this morning start rolling in. Four missed calls from my dad, seven from my mom. Great. Kerri said she talked to them, but I know they’re expecting an explanation from me as well. I turn my phone over, and Milo sits quietly at the edge of my bed.

  “Are you in trouble?” he asks.

  “Kind of.” I scoot a little closer to him, then wonder why I’m scooting closer. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet! But if I scoot back, it will look weird, so I freeze where I am, not too close but not too far away either.