[completed] Nova Carter knows exactly what the next few years of her life will look like: she will work harder than anyone else (as she didn't get into New York University to slack off); she'll be keeping her head down and prioritizing getting her a...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
Chapter Eleven | Everything Has Its Place
♫Everything Has Its Place by Young Mister
"Hey." I'm still so shocked, it's barely even audible.
"Sorry I'm calling. This is weird, I usually text people. Calling is for doctor's appointments." Milo's voice sounds crisp coming from my phone, but it's nice hearing his voice again. "Are you busy right now?"
"I-" I glance at the car. The back windows are blinded, so I can't even see Atlas or Rosie. All I know is that they're waiting for me. "What's up?"
"So, when I got this place I might've forgotten that part of moving somewhere is furnishing. I bought dinnerware and this monstrosity of a couch and surprisingly I got my bed here without my evil father trying to stop me. But then I was at Walmart for curtain rods and bought potted plants because they looked really healthy and vibrant, and I got a rug and paint for my walls and for some reason, fucking placemats. And then I returned home to a great big box in my apartment. Now, I'm thinking there's a live tiger inside. It's going to say, "This is from your dear ol' Dad" in the voice of Christopher Walken and then rip me to pieces and then ship the bed back to my father's place."
"Why Christopher Walken? How would a tiger ship back the bed?"
"You're supposed to disagree with me."
I let out a short laugh. "Sorry. It's unlikely that there's a tiger in there. And if there is, it's unlikely that it'll tell you who sent it, much less in the voice of Christopher Walken. Do you need me to come over and open the box with you?"
"Yes." Is all he says.
Milo's not one for retail therapy— I mean, placemats? Really?— and I can definitely imagine this to be much lonelier without Maxwell there. Or anyone at all, if he's really been isolating himself.
"I have to figure out how to get there first," I say, pulling my phone from my ear and exiting the call screen so I can find the route. "But I'll text you when I'm on my way."
"I can send you the route from Weinstein Hall. That's your dormitory, right?"
"Yeah, but I'm not on campus. I'm at Central Park."
"Oh. Okay. I'll—"
"Milo," I interrupt him. "Relax. I'll be there soon." When he doesn't respond, I hang up the phone and turn back to the car, getting into the passenger seat.
"Is he okay?" Atlas asks from behind Michael. His hand is in Rosie's, who's fallen asleep in her car seat.
"Yeah. He just needs some help with something. I'm heading there now," I respond, giving him a tight smile. Our eyes meet briefly and I feel actual entities in my stomach. When will he ask me again? Will he even ask me again? Maybe he took me answering the phone as a no, but he told me to answer it. Milo's as much his friend as he is mine.
