Celia

23 Can't Do This Anymore

Celia

"Celia, come on in. We've been waiting for you," my dad greets me.

He's on the couch with Alex's dad, Aram. They've been friends long before Alex and I were born. He has cold blue eyes like his son. But there's a spine-chilling creepiness to his calm. His lips are always curved slightly up, like he's amused by things that others find uncomfortable.

"Celia, you've grown so much..." he says, resting his forearms on his knees and inspecting me from head to toe. "You look just like your mother."

I grip the sides of my skirt, rooting my feet between them and the kitchen, where my grandma is cutting fruits with a poker face on. "I'll go help Marilyn—"

"Come here, sit down." My dad pats the sofa beside him. "We have some really good news to share."

Slowly, I sit and wait for them to speak. The two look at me, waiting to start a polite, small talk. When I don't, my dad exchanges a look with Aram, who smiles at him reassuringly.

"Right, Celia. Let's not waste any time," my dad begins. His features soften into concern, even his tone becomes gentle. "I know you haven't been happy here for a very long time now."

They wait for me to react. I don't.

He silently taps the arm of the couch, moving on. "I take partial responsibility for that. I haven't been able to... be there for you because of my other duties for this town." He looks at me for a moment. "I want to make up for it."

I try to predict the cards he's playing. My stomach grows uneasy, all my muscles are tense.

Aram smiles. "I heard you want to be a lawyer! Excellent choice. I know many in LA who live in mansions. They love their jobs."

"He has connections." My dad raises his eyebrows. "Connections in New York."

"New York?" I realize, shaking my head. "I already told Alex no—"

"We know," my dad waves me off. "We already know you don't love him and we don't expect you to marry someone you don't love."

"All we're asking for is open-mindedness," Aram says, gaze serious under his lashes. "You guys are childhood friends, you grew up together. You need to look out for each other."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"We want you to get engaged and live together." My dad leans in his seat, arms open. "Consider it a trial period. You can define your relationship however you wish. All we ask is that you go to school together and see where it takes you in a couple of years."

"We already go to school together," I frown.

"Not here," Aram's eyes sparkle like he's sharing a secret. "In New York."

"Not just in New York." My dad shakes his head with a slow grin. "I was there this week. I managed to do something for you. Something that I know will mean the world to you."

"What?" I ask.

Dad reaches over the couch to lean closer. "Celia, I found the apartment your mother used to live in before she moved here. I rented that place for you."

"What?" My voice is so soft, it's barely audible.

He smiles wider. "You can be near her. You can go to the same school she went to, visit the same museums she visited. It's the closest I can bring her to you."

"But how? How did you...?"

I picture a cozy, intimate apartment. Wall-length mirrors for her dance routines. Oil paintings of meadows and sunsets. Open windows with sunlight seeping in. I picture her slender figure with an apron. The aroma of her pastries. The melody of her voice as she sings to herself.