The weekend before I leave, I have a send-off party.
Everyone is having the time of their lives. Mabel and Bingham. The country club kids. My friends from school.
Miss Mary invites the boy’s family too, and they show up in full force, parents, his grandmother, who’s always around and lives with them most of the time, his extended family, and cousins. They sit together under a tree in the garden.
I like them all, even if they’re Not Like Us.
I shrug off my sadness and ask if anyone wants to DJ.
George, a boy from school, volunteers.
We dance all afternoon. It’s a riot. Balloons everywhere. Sweaty fourteen-year-olds screaming and joking.
The dance party is packed into the living room before spilling into the garden and pool area as the afternoon turns into evening.
It’s sweltering, the summer heat wrapping around us.
I reach dizzying heights of romantic love as I watch the boy dance, joke, and laugh with his friends, and then with me.
I thank the heavens for sending him to me, or me to him.
Mabel is annoyed that she has to find a new best friend and can’t think of a single person who matches her strict criteria and also plays tennis to her level.
“Not okay,” she says every time I see her during the party. That’s how she starts any conversation with me today.
We all promise to stay friends forever and to write every week. We pinky swear.
Miss Mary leans down to a sad little boy who’s wandered off from the crowd, having settled himself alone on a sun lounger.
She tells him he can come over whenever he wants, that he can watch films as often as he likes, as long as he lets her know in advance.
Later, he tells me about the conversation.
“Can I hang out in your room too?” he whispers.
“Sure.” I say. “As long as you don’t break anything.”
“I’ll be careful,” he swears.
“Mi casa, su casa.”
I hug him. He kisses me quickly, without anyone noticing. We have secrets, him and I.
Mabel pulls me back onto the dance floor, and we talk about the future.
She wants to be a tennis pro. Or a model. Or a golfer. I tell her to go for it.
I don’t know what I want to be. I’m somewhere else in my mind and can’t concentrate on anything but the boy.
Since I arrived here I have started taking all the brightness for granted.
I think I already have everything.
I’m sure good things will come my way. I summoned it when I moved to America.
I painted an outward life with my red paintbrush that I’d only used to paint stories inwardly before.
Instead of building rooms in my mind, I just kept rushing forward and painted everything I wanted onto the real world. Love, adventure, friendships, and doors to new beginnings.
As long as I keep moving and keep rushing through these new doors I keep drawing onto the world, all will be okay.
—As long as the boy stays in the picture.
My World of Interiors 