I got up, plugged it in the charger, and phoned Red. When she didn’t answer, I called my apartment. No answer. I tried again. No answer.
“She’s not answering. She must be in the shower,” I said, returning to my seat. “I’ll try again in five minutes.”
“Where did you meet her?” Beatrice-Rose asked after a moment.
“Red?” I leaned back comfortably in my chair, smiling at the thought of her. “At a club.”
“Oh.” She paused. “How long have you known her, Cal?”
“A few months.”
“That’s not very long.”
I shrugged. “Long enough.” It didn’t matter to me if I’d known her for a day, an hour, or only a moment. I was hers.
“Will you stay with me tonight?”
“Until you fall asleep,” I replied.
“No, Cal.” She held her hand out. “Stay with me.”
She took my hand in hers, squeezing. I squeezed back but didn’t answer.
“Tell me about her.”
Thinking about Red made me feel good. “She’s…different. Tough, very independent, a good heart. Difficult sometimes,” I added, grinning.
“You say that as though it’s a good thing.”
“I love it when she gives me a hard time.”
Silence.
“Where does she live? Is she in college?”
I ignored her first question because I was sure Red wouldn’t appreciate me telling anyone she lived with me. “She attends the same college. Lost both her parents as far as I know. She didn’t grow up as privileged as us, had to work hard for everything.”
“Being able to afford anything doesn’t mean things are easy, Cal. You of all people should know that.”
I looked around me, noting that her room looked just like the rest of the house—not a thing out of place. She didn’t even have books on her night table like Red did. Or a colorful blanket that showed her personality. The colors in her room were different shades of beige. I found it…boring. I didn’t before. Since Red, I needed color. Color was interesting. It gave life.
Everything in Beatrice-Rose’s room looked like it was ready for a photo shoot. Yes, she and I did have the luxury to buy anything we wanted. That didn’t guarantee happiness, but not having to worry about money sure helped a lot.
“You know it’s still easier than for most people,” I said. “Red had a rough childhood.”
“Does she hate me?”
My mouth opened in shock. “What?” Why would she ask that?
“She seemed unfriendly. She gave me the fork from her mouth, Cal. How rude was that? She hates me.”
I laughed. “That was your fault for dropping that bomb about introducing her to my mom. Way to beat me to it. I was waiting for the right time to ask her.”
She curled her small mouth into a snarl. “She knocked my glass out of my hand on purpose. I just think—”
Irritation filled me, and I cut her off. “She’s not like that. Why would you say that?”