15…Challenges…

I take a deep breath when I hear Em's "Hello?" from the apartment's open front door. Her one word sounds like a plea.

"In the kitchen!" I stack some serving platters on the kitchen island. I don't know what kind of food they're bringing, but Em insisted that I let them get it after I insisted we have dinner here at The Rambler. I turn to the built-in banquette under the kitchen windows and busy myself adjusting the already beautifully-set table. I put a tall silver ice bucket next to the table.

I don't know why this is just occurring to me now, but this banquette almost perfectly mirrors the one at the restaurant last night—different fabric on the upholstery and without the wall where Em sat, but the same kind of setup. Weird.

When I hear them enter the kitchen behind me, I take another deep breath, steel myself, and turn toward them.

Emory, coming in first, is smiling a plea. Her expression looks like her tentative hello sounded. James follows her, both of them putting their food bags—from The Gotham restaurant, I see—on the island.

Leif comes in last, carrying heavy bags from a wine shop. As soon as I see him it's like every molecule in my being starts oscillating. I flash to the church garden.

Luckily, Em doesn't give me time to be overcome with my reaction to Leif, wrapping her arms around me, whispering I'm so sorry! before she takes my arm to lead me to the island.

"Ellawyn, I'd like you to meet a very nice English boy." I have to chuckle at this. When she said "do-over," she really meant it. "James, I'd like you to meet my best friend in the world, Ellawyn."

I half roll my eyes, but play along as I take James' extended hand as he says, "Nice to meet you, Ellawyn. I'm James." And just like last night, except minus his drunkenness, he pulls me into a hug, this time adding quietly in my ear, "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." I whisper back. "Nothing at all."

He gives me a grateful smile. "And may I say this is the best kitchen I've ever seen." He releases me and I follow his gaze around the huge gleaming black and white and brass and silvered space as he admires it. I've turned only the under-cabinet lighting on and have candles lit on both the island and the banquette table. The effect is lovely, I have to admit.

"My grandmother designed it before I was born, only updating some of the appliances along the way. And it still looks perfect and…" I borrow Em's new favorite word, "…fresh after all these years. I would never change a thing." I am hyper-conscious of Leif standing just behind James. I have tomake my eyes not go to him through sheer force of will.

James turns around toward him and my eyes move to his face. "And may I introduce you to my great friend, Leif Vincent. Leif, this is Ellawyn." Ahh, so that's where the "Vince" name comes from. A nickname—I'm certainly well-versed in those.

"Nice to meet you," he nods, distantly, almost sternly. His face gives away nothing with none of the tenderness from the church garden. He does not offer his hand, but turns back to the island, taking bottles out of the bags. For a second, I feel bereft.

"Where should I put these to keep them chilled?" he asks, holding up a couple of the bottles. That voice is a caress.

I point to the ice bucket I put by the banquette first, then the fridge.

Em comes up behind me, taking my hand, leading me to the kitchen door. To James she says, "Why don't you go ahead and put the food out. We'll be right back."

"There's a warming drawer just to the right of the stove and the platters are okay to go in there. I've already turned it on," I explain before Em drags me out the door and down the long hallway to my room, not saying a word. It is only after she's pulled me inside and shut the door that she whips toward me with an incredulous look on her face. "Leif Vincent? As in Vince, the elevator guy!?"

Now it's my turn to look incredulous. "Yeah. I thought you knew. I figured he would've told you and James or you'd figured it out yourself." Em and I didn't talk earlier setting this up, only texting, so I never asked her.

"I don't recall ever hearing his last name and Leif didn't say a word about it. Only texting James last night that he saw you home." She's shaking her head.

"That's all he said?" I ask.

"Yes."

I'm relieved to hear that he didn't mention the church garden and only right now, in this moment, do I know why I feel this way and why I wouldn't talk about it to anyone, not even Em. It's that it's mine. Some beautiful secret delicate moment. And I can't imagine talking about it—sullying it—like I did with the elevator incident. I needed to talk about that so I could laugh it off with Em and then Bea, and I don't even mind having told Granddad, but not this. I feel too proprietary about it. It is mine.

"We just met up with him a few minutes ago in front of your building and came up together. James and I swung by The Gotham and picked up the food and Leif got the champagne from some wine shop." She closes her eyes, shaking her head. "Now that I know I can't believe I didn't see it immediately. He does sort of look like a sea go…"

She stops herself, opens her eyes quickly, scanning my face. Seeing what she said at the restaurant last night in a new light. "Oh Elle, I am so, so sorry. About everything! I teased you last night about…" she gulps, "…not knowing it was... " Regret is etched on her face. "And you kind of liked him, or at least were attracted to him it seemed, when you were talking about the elevator. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay, Em. Seriously. I don't…I'm going to be working in the office with him and I am not looking to…Just don't worry about it. What's done is done." I'm choosing to be compassionate, choosing to let go of the foibles and humiliation of last night and I feel better for it. "Tomorrow you can tell me all about your awful week, okay? When we can take some time and I can really listen, alright? But I'm starving and you brought all this food and we shouldn't keep them waiting."

And I don't say this out loud, but I feel pulled to go to Leif. Leif…who's in my kitchen right this minute! I almost feel giddy.

"Alright," she says, looking so vulnerable and young, The Coordinator and Controller nowhere in sight. "Maybe we shouldn't mention it to James just yet, you know…after he said that about Leif last night ruining his relationships. I need to ask him about that again later, but I don't want to worry him tonight."

Yes, I think. Ask him about that and report back to me! That's for another time, though.

"You know I'm certainly not going to say anything. But what if James brings it up? About the elevator guy, I mean."

"If he does, I'll deflect him," she declares. "Same if Leif does." I have to smile at this. The Coordinator still lives and breathes. "By the way, this outfit you're wearing is perfect. You look very Rosamunde tonight." That is the highest compliment Em could give. My grandmother was Em's fashion hero.

"You look very pretty, too," I say, opening the door. She has a colorful printed wrap dress on.

"You think so? It's not too flowery?" she asks tentatively, patting her dress at the waist, and again I think that this is the new unsure Em I caught a glimpse of last night. She's always been flowery and proud.

"You look beautiful. You always do." I lead her down the hallway.

"I slept half the day to recover from my hangover, but I still feel like something that crawled out of the Okefenokee Swamp."

"Let's both go have a little hair of the dog."

When we walk in the kitchen, James immediately whisks a platter out of the warming drawer. It is full of the scallop starter we didn't get to try last night. There is bread and salad on the table. Leif is at the table pouring a champagne that I would guess is the same one we had last night. No doubt Em coordinated this as part of the whole do-over.

"Ladies, have a seat." James pulls out a chair for me that would put me in the same table position as last night.

Enough with the do-over! I'm thinking, but dutifully sit down.

Em takes her place kitty-corner from me, like last night, but before James can sit across from me, Leif slides into the banquette next to Em.

Whoa. I thought sitting next to him last night was difficult, but sitting across from his is going to be way harder. Already my eyes flick to his and he half smiles.

As James sits next to me, Leif lifts up his glass. "A celebratory toast." Again Em has to prompt me. I am staring dumbfounded across the table. I pick up my glass as Leif says, "To meeting for the first time."

He takes a sip of his wine, his eyes on me the whole time. I have to stop myself from chugging my glass in defense. Instead I blurt out, "Please, let me pay my share for all this. Who do I give some money to?"

"Do not insult us." Leif looks at me, disgustedly. Em does too, for that matter, but her face softens quickly as Leif adds, "And I hope you found your money from last night in your coat pocket."

I hadn't.

Em, passing around the scallops, says, "Elle, I haven't asked you once since you got back from China if you were still doing the vegetarian thing, so I ordered plenty of squash ravioli and salad and the chef was kind enough to give us plenty of side vegetables, okay?"

Before I can reply, James asks, "You're a vegetarian?"

"No. Not really. I mean…well, sometimes. It's just…" Those eyes are on me, scattering my thoughts. I need to pull myself together. "When I went to China, I knew I couldn't eat every kind of meat they do, so I said I'm a vegetarian. Then I could get my own food and no one would have to worry about it."

"So you lie to them?" Leif asks, his eyes drilling into mine.

"No! Declining food your hosts offer is a big deal in the Far East and I just didn't want to offend anyone, especially the family I was staying with, and this seemed like the best way to avoid doing that. I am, was, a strict vegetarian the whole time I was there, so it wasn't a lie."

Why do I feel so guilty now? I did not lie to the Songs, dammit!

"So you're not adventurous," he says, not as a question, but as an accusation.

"I was traveling by myself through China. I've been to every continent on the planet," I say by way of an answer, getting my ire up a little. I do not like that I sounded as if I was bragging, but it's like he's trying to find fault with me. This is the elevator guy, not the one from the church garden. I liked the other one better.

"Even Antarctica?" he asks, like he doesn't believe me.

I look at him with challenge. "I said every continent." Seriously, what is his damn problem?

"I meant with food. You're not adventurous with food." He says this dismissively.

I put a scallop in my mouth, looking down. Scallops are about as exotic as I get, meat-wise.

Thankfully, I don't have to answer as James says, "What you did makes good sense. It would be difficult knowing you offended your hosts." He looks at Leif, admonishingly I hope, then back at me. "Do they really eat snake over there?"

"Not that I've seen, but I did try not to get too close to the food stalls at the markets after I saw some things there that made my stomach do flips."

Em says, "In parts of the South where I come from, they serve snake and squirrel and possum and alligator and pigs feet and chitlins and brains and all kinds of god-awful stuff. And there's something called souse, which is like this lunch meat kind of thing that I can't even stand to look at." She shudders delicately.

"I hope to go to the South one of these days soon," James gazes across the table at Em. "But maybe not for the food," he chuckles.

Her answering smile is almost shy—the new Em.

"You're from the South, too, right?" I ask James. "The south of England, I mean."

"Yes, from Exeter! How did you know?"

"We lived in London for a while and I got to know the British accents."

"But you're not from there, right?" he asks.

"I'm not really from anywhere in particular." I start to try to find a way to explain that statement, but Leif is staring at me and I can't find the words.

Em says, "Sometimes she sounds almost English. They moved around a lot. That's how Elle knows languages of all kinds; she speaks a hundred of them."

"And you don't exaggerate at all," I mutter, popping another scallop in my mouth.

"Speaking of things Ellawyn knows, that reminds me." James turns to face me smiling brightly. "I was hoping, since you are her closest friend, that you could tell me all of Emory's deepest, darkest secrets."

He says this in so charming a way that I have to smile back at him. I glance over at Em and our eyes meet. She looks just a teeny bit worried, which she never would have been before; she would've been sure of me, sure of herself. I have to admit, for just one quick second, I think about all I know, all I could tell. Payback is a word that comes to my mind.

"Let's see…where to start…" I am drawing this out a bit, watching Em's darkening expression, which is not very nice of me, especially since she's seemed so down the last couple days. Of their own accord, my eyes move to Leif's and I see him smirk. Smirk, as if he would enjoy watching me embarrass Em. As if I would actually do that! I quickly glance back at Em to allay her fears with my kindest smile. When I see the relief on her face, I turn to James.

"Well…she will coordinate the hell out of you. In fact, I'm sure she already has."

Em blushes sweetly.

James says, "Oh, I'm pretty sure I'm thoroughly coordinated."He's giving Em an intimate look; at least as much as I can see of it sitting next to him. Now it's my turn to blush.

"And I'm pretty sure I'm talking about something else entirely," I mutter, grinning a little.

"I should hope so," James says cheekily, still looking at Em.

"You won't even know it at first—that you're being coordinated. But then you'll find your life is a little easier, smoother, more beautiful, better for it. Normally, her Southern accent is very slight, sometimes barely noticeable. But when it becomes more pronounced, watch out!—you're about to be Coordinated. The Coordinator is one of the nicknames I gave her; her primary one from me, at least. We're big on nicknames in my family." I make no mention of its evil twin, The Controller.

"What does The Coordinator do?" James asks.

I think for a few moments before answering. "It's mostly all good. She is generous to a fault." I narrow my eyes at Em thinking of the outfits she bought for Henry that she has continually refused payment for; we've argued about this all week. "You'll find a car is waiting for you at the airport when you need it most. When you've had a bad day, your favorite foods will magically appear for dinner. When your computer crashes, before you've even had time to worry about whether that paper you wrote is lost forever, a genius computer sciences student at Stanford will be over at the house repairing it that evening. And he will take care of it because he's trying to impress a certain Coordinator."

Em smiles at this memory. This happened twice while we were at school.

"You'll find you're dressing better," I say. "That tie you were wearing last night? I would bet all the cha in China that Em bought it for you and suggested you wear it. And the shirt you have on right now? Same thing. I know this because for one, it looks lovely on you, and two, it complements what she's wearing." His blue shirt does perfectly bring out one of the colors in Em's flowery dress. "She does not like sartorial discord."

James says, "Helping me dress is a good thing. Leif has said to me more than a few times…" He mimics a stern Leif. "'You're not going out wearing that.'"

Em says, "Well, he can rest easy that I'll be doing that now, but I'll be nicer about it."

I laugh. "She has said things like that to me, too, but it's true, she is nice about it. It will come in the form of a suggestion."

We have already finished one bottle of the champagne, so I get up to retrieve another one from the fridge.

"Speaking of which," Em watches me as I return to the table with Leif taking the bottle from me to open. "I noticed you and Leif matched last night with your lavender dress and his lavender tie. And tonight even more so. You have an almost exact girly version of his clothes on."

How did I not see that? I sit down fast. Leif's inscrutable mask slips for a moment and he looks as disconcerted as I feel.

"You have a charcoal colored skirt. He has charcoal colored jeans. And you both have on white shirts and brown belts and brown shoes," she says happily. "Even his cuff is similar to your watch."

I glance at his wrist as he's opening the bottle and he has on that same brown leather bracelet that I glimpsed on the elevator. Now, I see, it has some kind of metal insignia on it that I can't make out because Leif moves his arm. It does sort of look like my grandmother's watch with its leather band.

"You're right!" James exclaims. "I hadn't noticed, but they do match!"

Okay, I so need off this subject. I scan my mind for something. Anything!

"And another thing about Em, she has her own language that I call Southern Gothica, and if she ever says, 'Bless your little heart, you don't know enough to come in out of the rain,' as precious as she'll make it sound, it is a total put-down. But that said, I've never heard her cuss. Ever. She doesn't even like the word 'cuss,' although 'curse' is okay."

"What about you? Do you curse?" Leif has that challenging look on his face again that makes me bristle.

"Like a sailor," I meet his stare. "I just tend to do it in other languages, so most people don't know what I'm saying. Such as pendejo. Or, say, kusottare." I add, which roughly translates to the same thing, only in Japanese.He smirks again as if he knows what that means.

James laughing, "I don't know any foreign languages to speak, even though I took Latin in secondary school, but I sure learned some colorful Portuguese profanity from Leif that first summer with him in Massachusetts."

My mind puts it all together…Massachusetts…Portuguese. I look at Leif, blurting out, "You're Cape Verdean!"

"Half," he nods.

"What's Cape Verdean?" Em asks.

"Cape Verde is a Portuguese-speaking island country off the western coast of Africa. There's a huge community of Cape Verdean immigrants in New England," I explain.

Leif tilts his head, looking at me, almost…impressed, I think.

"What else should I know about Em?" James asks.

"Let's see…She likes old movies. And she has a favorite everything. Favorite color, favorite smell, favorite meal, favorite fruit, favorite flower, favorite everything. You've probably already learned some of them, but that's another thing I'll leave you to find out for yourself."

"Sounds like fun to me," James smiles delightedly at Em, before turning back to me. "You two met at college, I know, but how did you both come to choose Stanford? It's all the way across the country for both of you."

The fraught look is back on Em's face. She told me soon after we met that the reason she chose Stanford was that she wanted to sow her wild oats—find out who she was—far, far away from her Southern family.

"She chose it because of the good business school," I say quickly, only answering the question for Em, not myself, glad to see the relief in her face. I'm not lying; that was one of her reasons, albeit secondary. "And she is very serious about the fashion business she wants to start. She wants the world to be more beautiful."

Em must now confident enough of me not to say anything too embarrassing about her, because she picks up our salad and appetizer plates—we've all finished the starters—and gets up from the table. She is so different tonight than she usually is. She would normally be owning the conversation, setting its course, leading it. But so far she is pretty much sitting quietly, passively; sort of like how I usually am. This role reversal is strange. Or maybe it's just that we've been talking specifically about her.

"I'm so sorry. I'm being an awful hostess!" I start to get up as well. I think of my grandmother, who would do all this so effortlessly.

"No, you stay. James and I will get the dinner," she calls out from the sink.

"So my girl likes beautiful things," I see James join her at the sink, giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Frivolous things," Leif qualifies quietly.

I turn back to him my ire all up again. It's one thing to try to find fault with me, but I won't let him do it to my friend. A groundswell of protectiveness for Em overtakes me.

"I have to say that I've always enjoyed watching when someone, anyone—although it's usually boys," I emphasize the word dismissively, but keep my voice low, "underestimates Emory because she wants to go into fashion. Or because she's blond and pretty and Southern. They quickly learn she's not just some delicate flower."

I meet Leif's eyes in challenge, my smile going caustic. "She is very smart and very serious." I glare at him. "And if I gave the impression that she just likes beautiful things, I misstated. She wants to make the world more beautiful, which is a very different thing. Change people's lives through empowering them, and the form that that will take is through a fashion business."

I am on a roll now, determined to wipe that smirky, self-important look off his face…his beautiful, compelling face.

"But that's not all—it's not just the people who will buy her clothes one day. She wants to elevate the lives of the people who will work at her company. She's already researched insurance programs and childcare and thought over the vibe she wants to create in her business."

"The vibe?" Leif snorts smugly.

"Yes, the vibe!" I snap, albeit with a low voice, glad Em and James, busy with the food, can't hear us. "She wants to create a positive work environment, wants people to be gratified in every possible way to work there. And she's not waiting for when she can start the business to help people create this in their lives. She and her mother both have long-since volunteered at a battered women's shelter in Atlanta, helping women in peril get back into the world, get jobs. Helping them dress for success, for empowerment. There is nothing frivolous about that! And even if it was, and it isn't…can you tell me what's wrong with frivolity? Are you part German or something? Must everything in the world be heavy and fraught and humorless?" Like you apparently are, but I don't actually say that. "Hmm? So, tell me? What's wrong with frivolous?"

This is an argument Bea has made to me too many times to count when I dismiss some hot new song as frivolous, but now I've switched sides. She is always askingwhat's wrong with frivolous. I used her usual question to me and I know she would laugh to hear me parrot her words. Leif doesn't reply, just like I never do when Bea asks me. The suppressed snarky humor I see in his face just fuels my anger.

My smile turns falsely sweet as I keep going. "You seem to really enjoy fashion, too, Leif. What with your leather bracelet and your perfectly-cut clothes. And your…" I can't remember the designer of those boots, so I ask Em, who is now setting platters on the table. "Who was the designer of Leif's boots?"

"Alexander McQueen," she says, heading back toward the oven. "I really like them. They're beautiful."

"Right," I snap, "your Alexander McQueen boots. So you certainly seem to think it important to spend a ridiculous amount of money on shoes. Are you frivolous?"

"You're right," James is putting another dish on the table—gosh, how much did they get from that expensive restaurant? "Our boy is always so well turned out." He hadn't heard most of what I said to Leif.

"You seem to pay a lot of attention to my boots," Leif smirks at me. I only realize now that by bringing this up, I had tacitly admitted to having talked to Em about those ship-embossed boots that he's wearing again tonight.

I don't say anything back. For a moment, I'm aghast that I scolded him like that, but am glad that both James and Em do not seem to notice that this conversation has turned into some kind of weird contest between Leif and me. I really need to drop this thing now, get my equilibrium back and quit letting him get under my skin. Somehow, even with him being a pendejo, I still feel that tidal pull to him and this realization bugs the hell out of me.

"One thing I learned is that Emory has a real advocate in you," James says to me, handing yet another bottle of wine to Leif to open—we are going through this wine like water. "That's always good to have in a friend."

"That's because she is so good and kind and a true friend. My first real girlfriend, or…you know…friend who is a girl, I should say."

Em beams at me as she sets yet another platter on the table. She has cut all the entrees into quarters for us to share. "Go ahead and start filling your plates. I just need to grab one more serving spoon."

James passes the ravioli to me. "This all looks so gorgeous."

Leif is filling everyone's glasses again. His piercing stare is back. "You don't have many friends."

It's really more of a statement than a question, but this time he doesn't seem to be issuing a gauntlet. He actually seems interested.

"Not my age," I answer truthfully. "I didn't grow up around a lot of kids and was really only in proper school for about two years prior to college." Plus, my grandparents were always my best friends, but I'm not about to say that; I don't want him digging further into my family.

"Emory is your only good friend your age?" he asks, kind of nicely.

"I have one other really close friend from the short time I was in high school, but he's in college in France, so we mostly write to each other now."

"He?"

I nod. "As I said, Em is my first real friend who is a girl. I mean great friend. I have other school friends in study groups and…you know…" I trail off, disconcerted again by the change in him.

"He's a boyfriend?" Leif asks, his eyes drilling into me again.

I guess he doesn't remember what Em said last night about never having had one. Dammit if my face doesn't turn pink just thinking about that.

"You must be talking about Ito," Em slides back in the banquette. "I've only met him once when we were sophomores, but I think he'd like to be her boyfriend, although Elle would disagree with that."

Emory winces at the look on my face, realizing, I think, that she has come dangerously close to the embarrassing things she said about me last night. She mouths "I'm sorry," across the table at me as she passes one of the platters around.

I mouth back, "It's okay." And truly, it is because I'm choosing to make it be okay. I concentrate on filling my plate with all this wonderful food, taking quarters of the chicken and steak and fish, but I can't help but think that I would never have told Ito about the elevator incident—at least not the full version—like I told Em. But maybe it's just easier to tell stuff like that to a girl-friend then a guy-friend, I'm not sure. I don't have a lot of experience with friends.

We all dig in to dinner, silent for a while.

Em says, "I've learned some about James in the three and a half dates we've been on so far, but now I think Leif has to tell me all of James' deepest darkest secrets. It's only fair." Honestly, if Em were her usual self she would've ferreted everything out already after one date.

"I would hide nothing from you," James replies easily. They share another intimate smile before he turns to Leif. "So, have at it, man."

Leif is quiet a moment, cutting into a piece of steak. "He is the best natural analyst I know. He can put numbers together into a viable investment plan like no one else."

We wait. He doesn't say anything else, quietly chewing, his face hidden behind that inscrutable mask.

"That's it? Seriously!?" Em protests. "Boys, I swear! They do not have the sense God gave them." She shakes her head in exasperation. When she starts giggling, I cannot help but smile. "Obviously, I'll have to lead them out of the desert by the hand." She takes a deep breath, turning to Leif. "Okay, we'll start with the basics. Um…How old were you two when you first met?"

"When we met, James was thirteen and I was twelve."

Em exclaims what I'm thinking. "You're younger than James?!"

James shrugs. "I know. No one ever believes that, but I am nearly a year older than he is."

No way! I look between the two boys…men. Leif looks so much older. I remember Emory telling me that James was twenty-four. That means Leif is…

"You're only twenty-three!" I practically hiss at him. An immediate flash from last night comes to my mind when Leif said that about my being a teenager in the same accusatory way. But gosh, he looks twenty-six or seven, maybe even older.

He pierces me with his stare. "If you want to find fault with me, surely you're intelligent enough to do that using something more imaginative than how long I've been on this earth."

It's like a slap. I've never seen such arrogance! There's a fault right there. Seeing my hurt expression, he looks momentarily contrite. But then the mask comes over his face again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see James give Leif a harsh look. Em, not noticing, continues. "If I remember correctly, you two met at school, right? But you seem like you're each from different worlds."

I'll say! The nice Englishman and the haughty, pompous, compelling, self-righteous, disdainful…little…overweening…proud…jaku…narcissistic, snobby, beautiful, jerky…bad boy tingju from the other side of the tracks who probably doesn't eat so he can buy expensive shoes!

Well…there goes my nascent attempt not to let him get to me.

It is James who answers. "I'm afraid I'll have to tell you the story, because I know Leif won't do it properly. He will be too kind to me."

I make an unfeminine snort. "Too kind?" As if. Leif narrows his eyes at me.

James doesn't catch my sarcasm. "Yes, he is always too kind to me," he states. "He will just say that we met on a beach in Massachusetts to make me look good, but it was more than that. It was actually prior to being in school together that we met."

I see Leif give a subtle shake of his head to James who says, "But perhaps that will be a story for another day. I will say that we were friends immediately, even though we are, as you said, from different worlds."

"Elle and I were the same way, even though we're so different in so many ways."

Leif asks, "Such as?"

"Well...she always wants to walk everywhere. Me, I would drive down the block if I could." She giggles as she turns toward Leif, "In fact, I know James said you showed her home last night and I bet she balked at taking a cab."

Leif is staring into my eyes with a silent question that I somehow know is, You didn't talk to your friend about the church garden?

I shake my head just a little in answer to Leif. Em seems to take that as acknowledgement that we walked. "See! You walked. She drives me crazy walking all over town by herself in the dark. Every morning before sunrise she walks in the dark up to her grandfather's!"

I look down as Em continues. How in the hell did this conversation come back to talking about me?

"But that said, I've never once seen her stumble or fall, ever. She can even run in high heels. It's kind of crazy, actually."

I immediately turn red. I know what she's trying to do in saying that—let Leif know that I'm usually pretty graceful—but all it does is bring up the elevator humiliation again. In a purely defensive measure, I down my glass of champagne, looking anywhere but across the table.

"And I've never seen her drunk. She is definitely not a party girl. "

Leif raises an eyebrow after just watching me chug back my whole glass…and seeing it last night, too.

"In fact, the only way I ever got her to go out at school was via dragging her by the hair. Or, as she would say, coordinating her."

"I dragged you out sometimes, too!" I did. I remember it well.

"Yes, but only to special lecture events like that one we went to about the Greenbelt movement in Africa, when your granddad was visiting. Or that documentary on that Afghan interpreter…what was his name?"

"Ajmal Naqshbandi. That film was fascinating, though, wasn't it?" Okay, this is solid ground. I can handle this.

"Actually, it was. And even more so were the stories your grandfather told afterwards about some of his own experiences. But what I'm talking about is going out for anything purely social. You know…with actual students, where you drink cheap beer in plastic cups and talk loudly over the music and dance and stuff."

"I just don't find much in common with kids," I mutter, mostly to myself.

"Ellawyn is shy?" Leif asks Em, his eyes on me. I am conscious of the way he says my name. I want to hear it again from his lips.

"No. I wouldn't say shy. Just quiet. There's a difference." Em ponders this, before adding. "When she knows people well, is within her family or close circle or whatever, she is talkative. But until then she's quiet. And observant. It took me awhile to get her to open up to me when we first met."

"Such different personalities and yet you were fast friends," James says brightly. I love the fact that he's always putting such a positive spin on everything and everyone. So unlike his friend.

"You're right," Em says. "I think we became friends because we just accepted who each other was. Elle didn't see me as just a frilly southern deb like most people do. I didn't see her as just some quiet girl from nowhere and everywhere. I remember meeting her for the first time and just knew that she would accept me no matter what I became."

It's funny, but if I were to describe why we became friends, I would do it in a completely different way. I would say that she Coordinated me right into it. I didn't have any experience with girlfriends and one day she introduced me to a girl in one of her business classes as "my best friend, Elle." I remember wondering if I'd passed some kind of best friend test or met a set of strict criteria that I wasn't aware of. Either way, I can't deny two things: one is that it made me feel accepted, and two, just like I told James earlier, my life is better for it. I just hope hers is, too.

"I think that very acceptance is why Leif and I became such good friends, as well. He wasn't just the poor bastard from down the way and I wasn't just the poncy Viscount. That acceptance is invaluable."

James is a Viscount? Em didn't tell me that, or maybe she didn't know. She might not even know what that is. But my mind really grabs onto the word James used to describe Leif. Did he mean bastard literally? As in, a boy without a father? I want to ask, but can't seem to find a way to do it delicately. I should get The Coordinator to ferret it out later. Or better yet, The Controller. As annoying as Em can be in that mode, she is also relentless. I file it away among the many other questions I have about him.

"Yes! When I cry at movies, Elle just hands me a tissue and lets me do it without judgment." She obviously doesn't remember the time I snickered at her when she cried during that frivolous movie, Step Up. "But I've never seen her cry once, at anything! Or cause drama. Or raise her voice. Or get mad."

Again, I know what she's doing. She's trying to let them know that my drama queen moment from last night was an anomaly. But all this does is bring it to mind again and embarrass me, although tonight I can handle it better after the talk with Henry. I will lean in, even though I'm not really sure how.

Maybe the most unsettling thing about this is that Em is always socially pitch-perfect—she would normally understand all the more subtle ramifications of what she was saying. But not tonight, and not last night either. I really need to find some alone time to talk about what's going on with her.

"Oh, wait a sec!" Em adds. "I have seen her really mad once, but you almost wouldn't have known it. She just stomped around our townhouse in Palo Alto and got really quiet—more quiet than usual."

I have no idea what she's talking about.

She looks at me, "Remember? When you got an A-minus on that one paper in that international relations class because the professor said one small point of historical fact you'd made was incorrect?"

Oh.

"And you knew he was wrong, so you went around to the history department and got two professors to write up something that proved you were right, remember? That's the bull-headed Taurus in her."

Still looking at Em, I can feel those other eyes burning into me.

"He had to change her grade!" she says admiringly. "Elle can take more classes than anyone I know and still make all A's. Some quarters she would have to get permission from the advisor for her extra load of classes."

When Em pauses, I try to find something to say to lighten up this subject; to put an end to this. Even though it's not as bad as last night, it's still strange having someone talk about you like this. I've never much thought about how I'm viewed from the outside, until last night and now. Until I'm hyper-aware of this man sitting opposite me.

"You make me sound like an over-bearing, unemotional robotic automaton." I try for breezy, but I'm not even close.

"I don't think so," the silken voice says from across the table. I won't look at him. Well, except for that long moment when my eyes moved to his face of their own accord. I'm flummoxed because I think all I see in them right now is…acceptance.

"Not at all," James adds. "Leif was similar in school. It just shows that you're hardworking and serious about what you do."

"She is!" Em exclaims. "When she graduates, she'll have several minors and probably two majors with her diploma."

Oh, merde! I've not told Em yet. I'm going to have to ease into this, explain. I'll wait until we can talk alone.

James says kindly, "Your parents must be very proud."

My eyes go to Em and she looks dumbstruck, too. She obviously hasn't said anything to James or Leif about my parental status.

She starts, "Well, um…"

I give her a subtle shake of my head, shutting her down, not unlike how Leif stopped James. I just really don't want to go there right now—my parents seem to be coming up all the time now.

Em says soberly, "Her family is very proud."

I take another big gulp of wine. Over my glass I see Leif's eyes burning into mine.

That reminds me. "Oh, I almost forgot…my grandfather asked me to invite you all to lunch tomorrow, but I'm sure you're all busy on a Sunday afternoon and I told him so."

"I'm sorry, I can't," I hear Leif say to my utter relief as I take his empty plate. I note that following hard on the heels of that relief is also a little disappointment that I won't see him tomorrow. But mostly, it's relief. I think.

"We'll go," Em says. "I'd like James to meet my unofficially-adopted grandfather, who also happens to be my favorite grandfather." Em still has all her grandparents.

"See," I smile at James. "This is one of the other things The Coordinator does; accepts invitation for you without asking first." Now that I know Leif can't come, I'm fine that Em and James are.

Em shoots me a look, but I see the humor behind it. "Would you mind going tomorrow, James?" Her Southern accent is in full swing.

"Of course. I'd love to," James says prudently before turning to me. "I trust he's doing better?" His face is full of real concern.

"Every single day," I say smiling.

I take another big gulp of champagne just for something to do. Over my glass I see Leif's eyes burning into mine.

"Like drinking stars," I declare, just for something to say as I put my glass down. He looks perplexed. "My grandmother told me once that the inventor of champagne described it as, 'Like drinking stars.'"

Em and Leif's eyes lock on something over my head just as I hear a familiar voice behind me, "Truer words were never spoken about my favorite elixir!"

I turn around in my chair, smiling, as a tall thin man in his sixties saunters in. He is dressed in tight yellow jeans, a sparkly yellow shirt and a green scarf around his neck. He has on lavender ballet flats. The bottle blonde of his hair matches his shirt.

"Hey, Patrick! I didn't know you were back!"

"Last night. And, it's Patrice now."

"We've missed you as our doorman since you've been on your grand tour!" I get up to hug him. "You look very…springy!"

"That was exactly my intent. I am channeling daffodils."

He looks at the three sitting at the table, "Hello Miss Magnolia," he says to Em, who looks almost pained. She brings a smile to her face with effort. I don't understand this at all. She and Patrick have always enjoyed each other.

But I can't think about it further because he takes my attention. "I see it's date night at The Rambler."

"James, Leif, I'd like you to meet our downstairs neighbor…uh…Patrice?"

"I'll settle for Pat for now."

James stands, holding out his hand, smiling his sweet smile. "James Ransdell. Nice to meet you, Patrice."

"A young English prince! Don't you and Ella go well together!"

I wince. "James is Emory's boyfriend."

"Oh," he says, turning to Leif, "So this handsome young man must be your…"

I interrupt him, "Leif is James's friend." And once again I feel my face go aflame. I slide back into my chair.

Leif half stands on his side of the banquette, reaching his arm over the table, "Leif Vincent."

"Like a young god!" Pat exclaims as I gulp. So it's not just me. "Leif, is it? What a wonderful name. Were you made for dancing?" He sees our baffled expressions, adding, "Sorry. A seventies song reference. That's what happens when you hang out at Aunt Bea's all night." Pat turns to me.

"Listen…I've been sent to bring you all over because Bea has long since finished her radio show and will not let us cut the cake until you arrive. The twins and an NYU friend of theirs are over, as well as Mrs. Babushka and more are expected, apparently. And if you don't come soon and dance with me, I swear I will not be able to stop myself from holding Mrs. Babushka down and forcibly waxing off her mustache. I can barely contain the urge now, that thing is its own country."

Patrick reaches over to the ice bucket, picking up the bottle to look at the label. "Oh, this is good stuff! If you have any more of this, bring it and we'll drink stars together. You might also want to bring any leftovers for the starving college students, too. I'll give you five minutes, which should be enough time to explain me as soon as I've gone. Just make it good."

I smile up at him, "But Pat, you defy explanation."

"Merci, sweetheart." He leans down to kiss me on the forehead, then gazes around the table. "So much beauty in all of you! Oh, to be young again." he says wistfully and turns to go, taking the bottle with him. "I mean it! Five minutes or the mustache is gone!" he calls out as he breezes out of the kitchen.

After a beat, Leif and James' eyes turn to me, questioningly. Seeing their faces, Em starts laughing and I have to chuckle, too, as we get up to clear the table.

"Patrick was the most buttoned up, conservative and quiet librarian you've ever seen. He and his widowed father lived on the second floor of this building for ages. Grandmother always called him a 'confirmed bachelor.' When Patrick retired from the library, he used to sit at that desk in the lobby, our unofficial doorman, just to get some space from Mr. Murphy, I think. He probably never even told his father he'd retired and after Mr. Murphy died last year, we started noticing Pat was painting his nails. Pink and lavender and gold and silver. Then he started wearing bejeweled flip-flops with his suits and then that morphed into the flower you see now." Em winces again.

"He still sits at the lobby desk a lot of the day, reading, but he's been on a grand tour of Europe for the last couple months."

I take the plates that are in each of their hands, putting them on the island. "We'll leave all this here and I'll clean up later. Better not keep them waiting."

"So he…came out of the closet, as they say?" James asks.

"Well, no, not really. He's never said and we try not to classify him. He's just Pat…or Patrice, now." I chuckle at this and add, "Funny you should mention coming out of the closet, though, because the Murphy's old apartment was just a one bedroom, but it had a big closet off the kitchen, like maid's quarters or whatever, and that's where Patrick slept. As soon as one opened up, he moved to a different apartment on the fourth floor. It's very…uh…bright."

"Well he seems like a fine character," James says so sincerely and once again I'm struck by his goodness.

"He is. I think he's still figuring out who he is and who he wants to be. I guess he just couldn't be who he truly was until his father was gone."

I retrieve another couple bottles of champagne from our wine closet, putting them in the fridge. "I'm going to put some more champagne to chill, because these last bottles you guys brought will go fast if we take them next door. And you know you three can stay over if you want. We have plenty of guest rooms."

The thought of Leif sleeping here is instantly both unsettling and thrilling.

"Elle," Em says, consolidating the considerable leftover dinner onto two platters. "Should we explain Mrs. Babushka to them as well?" she asks, chuckling. "Or just let these boys fend for themselves?"

I look over at James guileless face, then to Leif's. He's got that challenging smirky expression again. I turn back to Em with my own snarky smile, which is my only answer.