CHAPTER SIX
WALKER
Flynn is sitting at the kitchen table when I get home, this time without the solace of her headphones to keep her company. The sound of the door clicking shut behind me causes both her and Fish to perk up. “Hey,” I say, tossing my keys into the bowl by the front door. Fish meows in greeting, weaving in between my legs. “No headphones today?”
“Forgot to put them on the charger last night,” Flynn says, turning her laptop towards me when I approach the kitchen table. “Will you come to this with me? It’s tomorrow.”
I lean down and read the poster open on the screen for the campus gallery’s student showcase before lifting my eyebrow at her. “Why do you want to go to an art gallery?”
Her cheeks warm almost immediately, giving me all the answer I need. It has nothing to do with the art gallery itself and everything to do with the cute barista at The Roast House. The mere thought of her turns Flynn bright pink. “Devon’s friend is in it, and I may have talked a big game to her when she invited me. I obviously know nothing about art, but you do, so I need you to come and make me look good.”
“How exactly am I supposed to do that?” I ask, settling in across from her at our farm-style kitchen table. For all the calm Flynn brings to a room, she turns into an utter mess when it comes to Devon. I’ve watched her work up the nerve to talk to her for over a year, and despite them being friendly now, she still hasn’t pulled the trigger and asked her out.
“By pulling out that Southern charm and teaching me the fancy art lingo you picked up from your mom. Or at least, talk me up to her,” she says, pouting her bottom lip. “Please?”
The pleading look tugs on my heartstrings. “Okay.”
“Thank you!” She practically squeals while pulling her laptop back towards her. Truthfully, I’m not sure I could have said no even if I wanted to. “So, get propositioned for sex today?” she asks, effectively changing the subject.
“No, but I did see Sonya.”
And fuck did it make me want to take my answer back.
“Yeah? How was it? Fuck everything up by turning her down?” she asks, a knowing look in her eyes when she looks up. She reads me so easily, it’s like she’s inside my brain. Or maybe it’s simply because we’ve spent so much time together that it’s just that simple for her to see right through me.
“No, we’re fine.”
She hums. “But…”
“But…” I say, confirming her suspicions but not wanting to voice them. Acknowledging it out loud means I’m giving it legs, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I’m not sure I ever will be. “Fuck,” I mutter, pulling my glasses off and setting them on the table to run my hands down the length of my face. “She mentioned Dylan leaving her bed this morning, and for a split second, I thought maybe she went to him after asking me, and I just—”
“Wanted to strangle him?” she asks, a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you jealous, Walk?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Fuck, yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
She shuts her laptop, folding her hands over it. “Break it down for me. When you thought she might have slept with Dylan,” she says, and just the idea makes my skin crawl. “What were you thinking?”
“I was mad.”
“At her?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.”
“Okay, then you were mad at Dylan.”
“No.” I bite down on my lip before sighing. “I was pissed at myself for saying no when she asked me. I’ve been pissed at myself since last night.”
She nods her head. “I figured when I heard you angrily making breakfast this morning. You know, you can change your mind. You are allowed to do that if you want to say yes.”
“I can’t say yes.”
“Why not?”
For a million different reasons, but the main one is that I’ve spent the last year and a half saying Sonya wasn’t an option. She would never be an option, and I was okay with that. But now she’s here on a silver platter, and sure, we could have sex and keep things casual, but when that ends, I’m not sure I can go back to just being friends with Sonya.
I’m pretty sure it would be impossible, but instead of saying that, I say, “We’re friends. We’re only ever going to be friends.”
She nods her head, absorbing my words, but instead of letting that be it, she reaches across the table and takes my hand. “With benefits?”
I roll my eyes, pulling my hand out from under hers, when my phone starts to vibrate. “You’re the worst, you know that?” I ask, fishing the device out of my pocket. “I’ve got to take this. It’s my mom.”
Flynn’s laugh follows me down the hall to my bedroom, telling me to say hi between them. With a groan, I step into my room and shut the door behind me.
“Hey, Mama,” I answer the phone, bringing it to my ear when I push off the door and head for the queen-sized mattress in the middle of the room.
Aside from the artwork hanging on the wall above my bed—courtesy of my mom—my room lacks color. My dresser, bed frame, and bookcase are all black-stained wood, while the white duvet is the one bright spot in the room. A decision I made when we moved into this place, not because I don’t like color, but because I can’t be bothered to coordinate them together. Neutrals are safe, and I like safe.
“Hi, Peach! Is now an okay time?” Her voice is like a warm blanket wrapping around my body, settling whatever anxiety might be lingering in my chest.
“Yeah, I just got home,” I tell her, running my fingers through my hair as I plop down on my bed. “How are you? How’s the gallery?”
“I’m good! Gallery’s good! How are you? It feels like I haven’t talked to you in forever.”
“I’m okay,” I tell her. “Just busy with the start of the new semester. You know how it is.”
Being away from her has been hard. It’s always been the two of us against the world, and there’s nothing I want more than to make her proud. The same way she’s always made me. She had me at only nineteen, and no one believed she had it in her to be a single mom and successful, but she pushed through. She went to night classes and eventually graduated when I was six before becoming the art curator for Ashmore’s one and only art gallery and turning it into the small-town hot spot destination it is now.
“And how’s Flynn?” she asks the way she always does.
“She’s good. She says hi,” I tell her, falling back into my mattress. “We were just talking about going to the campus art gallery tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah? I didn’t know you had a campus gallery. Do you go often?”
“They built it a few years ago. I haven’t been yet,” I say, tucking my arm under my head.
If she’s disappointed, she doesn’t say. She’s always had an eye for art, and while I’ve spent more than my fair share of my time in art galleries growing up, I spent my time people-watching, studying them and their body language. I got to see people in all different walks of life, and it made me realize while art wasn’t my interest, people were.
I wanted to work with them more than anything, but it wasn’t until the summer before my senior year, when I worked in the town lawyer’s office, that I realized how I wanted to work with them. There wasn’t much going on in our small town, but I saw how people flocked to Mr. Richards for help. They trusted him, and I wanted to be that. I wanted to be someone that people could find comfort in when they didn’t think they had any, someone to have their back when they’re at their lowest. I wanted to be an aid in finding someone’s light again.
“Speaking of art galleries, Mr. Richards came in the other day. He says hi.”
I smile at the mention of my mentor. “Yeah? How is he?”
“He’s good! Was asking about you and what trouble you’re getting yourself into.”
At the mention of trouble, my thoughts drift back to Sonya. Trouble is the last word I’d use to describe her. At least it was until yesterday. Now, my head is a mess, and it’s all her fault.
“I don’t know about trouble.” I let out a light laugh. “Haven’t gotten into much of that.”
Except maybe wanting to fuck my best friend, but I’m not about to voice that to my mom. That will stay firmly planted in the back of my mind where it belongs until I eventually press it into dust and can finally breathe again.
“Peach? What do you think?”
“Yeah, sure. That sounds great,” I say before realizing I haven’t heard a word of what she said. Sonya is taking over all the empty corners of my brain.
“Really? Great! I’ll let Mr. Richards know you’re up to interning with him again for the summer. He’ll be so happy to hear.” The excitement in her voice feels like ice water running down my back. I zoned out and agreed to something I didn’t mean to, something I can’t agree to because I’m already looking for internships, and not one of them involves Ashmore.
“Wait, I didn’t—”
The sound of a bell on her line brings me to a pause before she cuts me off herself. “Sorry, Walk. I have to get back to work, but we’ll talk later, okay? I’ll let Mr. Richards know. I’m sure he’ll reach out with more details.”
“Mama, wait, I didn’t—”
“Love you, Peach!” she says before ending the call, leaving me to sit with the abrupt end of our conversation. I let out a low curse and toss my phone onto the bed next to me.
Not only did I let my thoughts drift back to sex with Sonya after effectively deciding we are just friends, but I agreed to spend my entire summer in Ashmore. Something I had planned to do for a week, maybe two, if I could swing it with an internship for a firm focused in family law on this side of the country.
Now I have to break my mom’s heart, and I’m still thinking about Sonya and sex.