Page 58 of Us in Ruins
By the time they made it through the door and into the squashed alleyway, Margot had been dashed with powdered sugar, and Van had a linguine noodle sliding down his cheek.
“Did you see where he went?” Van asked.
“No,” Margot said, chest heaving. “Did you?”
Van rolled the tension out of his neck. “No.”
They could try to get a better vantage point, another bird’s-eye view, but by then it would be too late. It already was. Enzo had vanished into the city center, the shards vanishing with him.
19
Margot was going to go full meltdown mode in T minus thirty-six seconds, whether Astrid left the bathroom or not. Losing Enzo, and then finding Enzo, and then losing Enzo again really put Margot’s emotions through a Laundromat spin cycle.
In a few hours, her father would realize that she had not gotten on that plane, and Dr. Hunt would probably get an email back from Radcliffe finally confirming that Chad Vanderson didn’t exist.
Right now, she was ready for a seventeen-step skincare routine and as much sleep as her body would give her. Assuming she could squash the mass amount of residual adrenaline racing through her veins and sleep at all.
She banged her fist against the molded paneling three more times, praying it really was the magic number.
“What are you even doing in there?” she asked. “Do not, under any circumstances, try to give yourself a perm.”
The door swung out from beneath Margot’s midair fist. A cloud of rosemary-scented steam wafted out of the bathroom. Astrid frowned in the midst of it. “I have a date.”
The sentence shocked Margot’s system enough to dam the oncoming tears. Margot had daydreamed about dates more than she’d actually been on them, but based on every rom-com in the history of the universe, she could definitively say Astrid was underdressed.
Her white-blonde hair disappeared beneath a terry-cotton towel, presumably and fortunately unpermed. She wore one of the hotel’s complimentary robes with a white tank and soft cotton black shorts underneath. Her eyelids had been painted a heinous shade of blue, rimmed with an equally insulting amount of black liner.
If forcing her voice to stay level was an Olympic sport, Margot at least deserved silver. “I didn’t know you cared about human emotions. Is this some kind of body snatcher situation?”
“Relationships have their perks,” was all Astrid said before she returned to the double vanity with absolutely no regard for why Margot had been so keen on breaking and entering.
At the edge of Astrid’s bed, Suki pulled a perfume bottle out of a wad of rose-colored tissue paper. “So, that’s why you bought this.”
Astrid tilted her chin higher. “My mom said every woman needs a distinct scent.”
Suki spritzed the perfume. Sniffed. “And yours has top notes of elderberry and hypocrisy.”
Some spiteful part of Margot appreciated Suki’s willingness to stand up to Astrid—until now, Margot honestly hadn’t been sure if anyone had the guts except Dr. Hunt—but another, louder part of her knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of those jabs. The kinds of bruises they left.
Margot sighed, sagging against the doorframe. “Do you need help getting ready?”
“All I have with me are cargo pants, and I tried to go shopping today, but I have no idea what color lipstick to wear.” Five lip stains rested in her palm, brand-new. Salmon, baby pink, fuchsia, a horribly out-of-season plum, and Margot Red.
Margot softened like butter. Maybe it was that Astrid was so helplessly clueless or the fact that she was looking at Margot without a hint of disdain, but the calcic shell around her heart shattered. Dr. Hunt did say she wanted them to figure out how to work together.
Margot smiled at her surly roommate. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Inviting herself into the bathroom, Margot examined Astrid’s makeup haul—there was a blond eyebrow pencil, a tube of mascara (notably not waterproof; Margot could never), and the notorious nine-shade eye palette, all cool blues and silvers. She’d also scrounged up a mostly empty tube of tinted SPF, which would have been great if it weren’t nearing eight p.m, and a cream blush with a healthy amount of shimmer. Margot could work with that.
She ripped open a pack of makeup removers. “First things first, this isn’t 1985.”
“But I thought—”
Margot shook her head. She nudged a wet wipe into Astrid’s hand. “You thought wrong.”
While Astrid scrubbed off her makeup and shook her hair out of the towel, Margot called out, “Suki! Will you grab the jumpsuits in my suitcase?”
“Plural?” she heard Suki ask. Moments later, Suki appeared at the doorway with three options piled in her arms. One was linen, one was ruffled, and one could only be described as Plumber Chic.