15. Teeny
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Teeny
NOW
My kitchen island looks like the drapery and paint department at The Home Depot came together, weathered a run through a wood chipper, and spit out all the shreds in a confetti mess of colors and patterns right onto my counter. Fabric swatches and paint samples and backsplash tiles are everywhere. It’s taken me about four hours to sort through every option to present to Eric for our next meeting, ready to move toward a decision with a color scheme for El Cielo’s lobby. But it’s good. Busy and active and hectic are good.
I realized that my way of coping with things—Sadie being away from me for over a month, my pending divorce, Everett—is to keep myself busy. To occupy myself with work instead of trying to mend all the fragile pieces of my life. To avoid the reminder of how close to rock bottom I am.
My phone buzzes on the counter just as I’m matching up small squares of upholstery fabric to wallpaper samples. My face lights up when I look at the screen and see Sadie’s name flash on the screen.
“Hi, baby!” I squeal into the phone.
“Hi, Mommy!”
“How’s camp? How’s the music going? Are you making new friends?”
“The music’s happening,” Sadie tells me excitedly. “And some of the girls from last summer are here, so I’ve been hanging out with them a lot.”
“Oh, that’s good, Sadie!” I’d been nervous about her making friends, especially with her being away from her usual tight knit friend group here, so it brings on a wave of relief knowing she isn’t feeling out of place while being away from home.
“We’re actually doing a showcase in a few weeks. I got grouped with two other girls here, and family and friends are allowed to be here. Can you and Daddy come?”
“Yeah, of course, baby. I’ll have to make sure Daddy’s available, but I’ll be there.”
“Is he going to be busy?”
“Um, I’m not sure,” I tell her, hesitating. “I—I have to see how things are with Uncle Javi?—”
“Mom.”
“Yeah.”
“I talked to Dad on the way here.”
My heart sinks. “Uh—um. What did he say?”
“That he did something that you aren’t happy with, and he has to give you some space. And that he’s really sorry.”
My throat tightens. “He didn’t have to tell you that,” I say hoarsely.
“I’m glad he did. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me. And I’m not mad at you guys.”
I laugh a watery chuckle, too disappointed in my life and the remains of my marriage. And the person I cherish most in the world who’s in the middle of it all. Being pulled in different directions while Leo and I try to navigate a new relationship status. “When did you get so big, Sade.”
I can practically feel her roll her eyes. We’re interrupted by a loud call on her end, some distorted announcement through a speaker system probably calling all camp members for the next group activity. “I have to go.”
“Yeah, we’ll talk again next week.”
“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you,” she adds hurriedly, “Mina texted me. She wants me to sing at the wedding. She picked out a song for the first dance with Uncle Josh.”
“That’s amazing, Sadie! You’re doing it, right?”
“Yeah, I told her I would. I’m going to practice here during my down time.”
“Well, don’t work yourself too hard. It’s still summer. Remember to have fun.”
“I am!” she calls. “Okay, I really have to go. Bye, Mom!”
“Bye!”
I shove away the twinge behind my ribcage in my kitchen surrounded by my quiet home and look at the clock on my microwave. It’s already past ten. I’m scheduled to meet with Eric in half an hour, and I finally feel like I have enough material to present to him to move forward with some concrete decisions. My phone buzzes again and I answer it, my attention on the mess in front of me.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Teeny. It’s Roberta.”
“Hi Roberta. Thanks for calling me back,” I respond, itching to knock yet another item off my checklist as I move forward with this hotel revamp. “I know you mentioned that you and Lisa were going on that vacation soon, so I wanted to catch you before you two leave. You still have some of the furniture pieces from the last staging I did? For the open house?”
“Yeah,” she answers. “I also have some new pieces too. I’ve been a little busy-bee in my workshop so I can enjoy Australia while we’re gone.”
“Ah, perfect,” I tell her. “You know how much I love the woodwork you put into your furniture.” I do a quick mental calculation. With her trip roughly two weeks away and her beautiful selection of furnishings in her Downtown LA showroom, I need to make sure to secure the pieces I want for El Cielo.
“So, I have an opening this afternoon,” she tells me, skipping all the gratuitous shop-talk and getting straight to the point. “If not, you may have to wait until I get back from Australia. And I know you usually like your clients to tag along. You think they’ll be available this short notice?”
Today. That is short notice. I’m not even sure if Eric will be available beyond our meeting. “I actually have a meeting with him today. I’ll see if he’s available to head up there with me after.”
“Great,” she responds. “Just give me a call and let me know if anything changes. Hopefully I’ll see you today.”
“Yeah. Thanks again, Roberta.”
We hang up, and I finish gathering all of my materials before walking out the door. It isn’t long before I’m sitting with Eric in a secluded corner of the bar at El Cielo, a large mess of color swatches and fabric samples in front of us.
“I really like the use of gold with the turquoise and navy,” Eric says, his hands running over the rough fabrics and strips of paint samples. “I think it would make the space look really airy and open.”
“I was thinking the same,” I tell him. “With the use of the sheer drapes to open the windows to the view, it’ll tie in well with the oceanic theme of this location. I have another client who’s currently working on a restaurant redesign, and they’re using similar color schemes. It’s going to look stunning, and you really couldn’t have picked a better place with the large windows.”
He nods with an approving smile. “I know Everett’s involvement is merely on the financing end, but his input has been really contributive. I didn’t know he had such an eye for interior design. Would it be okay if I run these by him before we make a final decision?”
My body tenses at the mention of Everett. “Sure. Of course.”
“Great.” Eric pauses to check his phone. “He should actually be here in a bit.”
“Oh, I didn’t know he’d be joining us.”
He smiles kindly, maintaining a professional facade while the dregs of my past keep rearing its ugly head in the form of my new client. “I asked him to join us. I hope you don’t mind.”
I offer a purse lipped smile and shake my head, hoping to shift our conversation away from the boy who broke my heart all those years ago. “I also wanted to let you know, the carpenter has an opening this afternoon. She’ll walk me through her showroom, show me some pieces she’s working on to see what we can use to fill the lobby.”
“Already?”
I nod. “She and her wife complete a lot of the work themselves, so to get the pieces we want, we need to choose them in advance. Plus, they’re going on a month-long vacation to Australia in a few weeks. It’ll be best to meet with her sooner than later.
“Would you be available? I know it’s really last minute.”
His brow furrows. “I have plans,” he explains. “Birthday dinner with the in-laws.” He pauses before adding, “Would you mind going alone?”
“I mean, as long as you’re okay with it,” I tell him after a thoughtful pause. “I do prefer to have my clients join for input, but I understand if you’re unavailable.”
“I’d appreciate it. You’ve done a great job with the color schematics, I’m sure whatever you choose will fit perfectly for the space.” An echo of footsteps, ones that sound sure and confident, interrupt us. “Oh, perfect. Everett’s here.”
Curiosity getting the better of me, I turn to look in the direction of Eric’s gaze only to find Everett walking toward us. And, of course, he looks like he’s stepped out of a freaking GQ magazine. He’s dressed in a gray suit tailored to fit his body perfectly. He’s in the middle of shrugging his jacket on, making the entire look that much more effortless. His hair is perfectly coiffed without a single strand out of place with a light smattering of stubble lining his jawline.
When I was sixteen, I knew he was the cutest boy in school. The girls in my class expressing their keen interest in my boyfriend never let me forget it. Always eyeing him like he was fresh meat and throwing jealous sneers in my direction. And now, twenty years later, he’s aged parallel with every single thing I would find attractive in a man.
“I hope I didn’t miss too much,” Everett announces as he takes the empty seat between myself and Eric.
“I just made some final decisions on the wallpaper and paint, and Christine was just telling me about the furnishings.” Eric gestures to me, silently letting me fill Everett in on our latest developments.
“Oh, uh, yes,” I stammer. “I was just explaining to Eric that I have a meeting with the carpenter this afternoon.”
“Where’s this carpenter?” Everett asks, his tone businesslike.
“Her showroom’s in LA.”
“Everett,” Eric cuts in. “If you’re free, maybe you can tag along. Christine asked me to go, but I have that dinner with Connie and her parents.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I start to argue at the same time Everett says, “I’m free.”
“Perfect,” Eric responds, satisfied that our plans have deviated into a productive afternoon of furniture shopping.
I have nothing. Nothing other than the fact that I don’t want Everett with me for longer than necessary. Especially not for a three-hour drive.
“Great,” Everett responds with a smile that almost seems taunting. “I’ll drive.”
“No, no. You—that’s okay. I don’t have to be there until three.”
“But with traffic and all.” Everett flicks at his wrist, looking at the face of his watch wrapped in solid titanium. “We should leave now.”
I start to panic. “I really don’t want to keep you from anything. I’m sure you’re plenty busy.”
“Nope. Free as a bird.” He stands from his seat, buttoning up his jacket once his chair is neatly tucked under the table.
Eric clasps his hands together and grins. “Great! I’ll catch up with you tomorrow then,” he tells Everett. He then turns to me and adds, “Thank you for your time, Christine. Let me know if you need anything from me, but in the meantime, you’re in good hands with Everett here.”
I silently watch Eric stand and walk away, leaving me alone with Everett. How did this happen? In one swoop, I’m spending my afternoon with the last person I planned to.
“You need help with those?” Everett asks, gesturing to the mess on the table.
“No,” I blurt out curtly. “I got it.”
I stand and smooth my skirt out. It’s curve hugging, stopping at my knees with a slit running up the back, and I’ve paired it with a silk blouse that’s light and airy to withstand the glaring summer heat. I’m hovering over the table, gathering everything and tucking things back into my large binder and bag. My hands move with unease, unsure of where I’m putting things and just shoving them so I can get out of this situation sooner than later. When I’m done, I take a step back to push my chair in only to stumble my back right into Everett’s chest.
“Umph,” he groans. His hand grips my waist to stop me, and the familiarity of his touch has my entire body buzzing.
A soft gasp slips through my lips, and my hand instinctively covers his. “Sorry,” I whisper, nervously stepping away from him.
He accepts my apology with a polite smile and a dismissive shake of his head. “Ready?”
“Everett, it’s really not necessary that you come with me.”
“I want to be involved in this,” he explains. “Eric’s been great, but he’s done plenty, and I’d like to help him out when I can. Plus, now that he’s gone over the color schematics with you, I think this is a good place for me to step in. Have a fresh pair of eyes.”
I sigh, not bothering to hold back my indignation.
“I’m parked right out front.” Before he turns to walk out of the hotel, Everett extends a hand toward the bag slung over my shoulder. “I’ll take these for you.”
“Oh, you don’t—” Everett ignores my protest and takes my tote bag, hooking it through his fingers and gently placing a hand on my lower back to guide me to his BMW. It’s shiny and new and black, just like his old one. The one with the cushy passenger seat with my strawberry lip gloss and country apple body spray tucked into the glove compartment and my scrunchy wrapped around the gearshift.
My fingers still on the handle of the passenger side. Suddenly, I don’t recognize the woman I see in the reflection of the polished window in front of me. I only see the sixteen-year-old girl, too eager to hop into her boyfriend’s fancy BMW, ready to be swept off her feet.
“Everett.” He’s at the back of his car, placing my bag in his trunk, when I call his name and he stops, looking up to face me. “I think I should drive my car.”
He scowls, closing the trunk with a light thud. “Why?”
I close my eyes and try my best to hold back the grimace twisting my face. How do I tell him that I might crumble into a million little pieces if I slide right into this passenger seat that’s no longer mine? How do I tell him that I’m not ready to sit there and watch him drive with the cool coastal breeze blowing through his hair and his wrist lazily slung over the steering wheel as if it hasn’t been twenty years since I last saw him like that? How do I explain the grief already slashed into my heart at the mere thought of it?
I look at him, one hand braced on my hip and the other trailing over my chin to hide the shakiness of my voice. “I, um,” I say, that wavering stammer too strong for me to hide with anything other than silence. Everett cautiously makes his way toward me, his hand resting on the frame of his car. He eyes me, letting me work through my words. “I just think that…” I pause, looking at him with the words caught in my throat. The truth resting there where it’s been held back for so long. “I can’t get in your car,” I finally tell him, my voice hoarse. “I don’t know if I can…”
He gently hooks his hand over my wrist, my fingers still creating this wall of defense to safeguard all the hurt so visible on my face. His index finger trails over my pulse point for a second before he drops his hand, creating this emptiness I’m all too familiar with.
“Okay,” he finally answers. “That’s fine.” He swallows, and a shadow casts over his features, making him look grave and somber. He walks back to his trunk, popping it open to retrieve my bag, and I lead the way to my car.
An hour later, as we sit in the thick of Southern California traffic, Everett and I fill the silence with talk radio. I let the concentration necessary to navigate through stop-and-go traffic fill my already preoccupied mind and do my best to ignore Everett’s presence along with the big pink elephant sitting in the back seat. Everett’s doing a much better job at ignoring the burgeoning metaphorical mammal behind us, busying himself with the same swatches and color samples I showed Eric earlier.
“I like the gold with the bluish-green color,” he comments, his gaze still focused on everything spread over his lap.
“That’s what Eric said.”
He responds with a low hum. “And I think a really large focal piece like some artwork or a really out of this world chandelier would go great with what you picked out so far.”
“Yeah. I’m already looking for light fixtures that I think might work, and I booked a meeting with a local art gallery for Eric to pick out some pieces.”
“When?”
I turn to quickly glance in his direction only to see him patiently wait for my answer. “Most likely in a week or two. They have a show in the coming week, so they wanted to get that out of the way before having any potential buyers in.”
“I’ll meet with them.”
“Eric already agreed to?—”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts. “I’ll tell him I’ll do it. He’s got a lot on his plate with hiring new staff and rolling out the new booking software. I told him I’d take on anything I can help with.” I don’t respond with an answer. Instead, I remain silent, bypassing a slow moving semi. “Have you talked to Josh recently?”
“I called him a few days ago,” I answer. “Why?”
“I had dinner with him and Mina last night. He mentioned something about a bachelor party in Vegas?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re doing this joint bachelor-bachelorette party. Mina told me about it too.”
“It’s still a while before the wedding.”
“I know, but Mina’s maid of honor is visiting, and it kind of worked out,” I explain. “Otherwise, we’d be squeezing in an overnight trip the day before the wedding.”
“So, you’re going?”
I smirk in his direction. “I think I’m a little too old to be out partying with the youngsters.”
“If you’re too old then what the hell am I?”
I laugh. “I don’t even know if I can get the time off. I’m working on a few other projects. And with this hotel renovation, I’m up to my neck with deadlines.”
He smirks a playful simper. “I think I can persuade your boss to give you some time off.”
“You know, I don’t even remember the last time I took some time off for myself. I spent the last fourteen years raising Sadie.”
“Well, now’s your chance.”
I scoff. “And the gambling capital of the country is the place to go?”
“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”
I peer over at him, wondering how serious his question is. Is he just making conversation? Or does he really want to know? Does he even care to know? “France,” I finally say. “Specifically Paris. Maybe a weekend to the French countryside.”
“Paris?”
I nod. “This might seem totally touristy and cliché, but I want to see Versailles. And the Louvre. And the Eiffel Tower at night with the sparkly lights. And eat a croissant with a latte.” Everett doesn’t say anything, and I suddenly feel embarrassed. I’d told Leo I wanted to go to Paris for our wedding anniversary last year. I told him everything I just told Everett, and he responded with a disparaging scoff. He told me no one goes to Paris anymore. That it’s too cheap and tacky and full of American tourists as if he himself weren’t American. He’d convinced me somewhere like Dubai or Singapore would be much more glamorous than plain old Paris. It didn’t change how much I still wanted to see Paris for all its beauty. “But you know, Vegas is good too. They have their own Eiffel Tower.”
I glance over at Everett, just as we merge onto the 10, and he looks at me with a soft smile that’s somehow comforting and sad at the same time. “You should go to Paris, Teeny.”
“What, like now?”
“Now, next week, next year. Whenever. You should go.”
A joke or some self-deprecating comment about my social life, or lack thereof, sits at the tip of my tongue, but when I look at Everett, the earnestness in his words and the look on his face stops me.
I continue driving, exiting the freeway and taking turns down one-way streets, before we finally pull into the back lot of a large warehouse style building. It’s eerily quiet here. The lot is mostly empty aside from one car parked closest to the back entrance.
“This is it?” Everett asks, peering up at the building.
“Yeah,” I answer, exiting the car.
“Looks a little creepy.”
“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise her work is amazing. You really aren’t going to find more original work like hers.”
“Well then,” Everett says, gesturing a hand ahead of him. “Lead the way.”
I knock on the large metal roll-up door, the hollow metal clunking against my knuckles, before it opens with a loud clank. It rattles as it rolls up, and I’m greeted with Roberta’s bright face.
“Teeny! You’re early!” We embrace in a tight hug, and she grips my shoulders in her hands. “How is it that you get more stunning every time I see you? Did you do something to your hair?” She lightly tousles it between her fingers.
“Just trying something different.” I fluff my hair and give her a pleased smile with my shoulder turned up. “Roberta, this is Everett. He’s the client I’m shopping for today.”
“Well, client with all the money, please follow me.”
I giggle a small laugh in Everett’s direction, and he smiles warmly, making this entire exchange feel less professional and much more like two people shopping for furniture together. And it’s so unexpectedly intimate.
“So these are some of the large items I finished last month,” Roberta announces as she steps farther into her showroom. “I focused a lot of my attention on making these pieces more modern than traditional. I stuck with more neutral colors for the upholstery, but if you’d like to try different fabrics, I can show you some samples.”
Everett studies the sofas and armchairs Roberta’s walking us through and runs his hands along the rough fabric. “And these will withstand wear?”
“Depending on the fabric you choose, yes,” Roberta answers. “Teeny mentioned your selections are going to be for your hotel? It would probably be best to choose linen. It’s the most durable and moisture resistant.”
There’s a pause in conversation as Everett peruses his options, and Roberta eyes me with an inquisitive eye.
“What do you think, Teen?” Everett asks, looking at me with a fascinated gaze. He has one hand tucked into his pants pocket, and his head is ducked low. As if eager to know my opinion.
“Yeah,” I answer, searching for the right words. “Roberta’s right. Linen would be a good choice, and it won’t look tacky or cheap. And we’ll have plenty of color options to match with the wallpaper designs and drapes.”
He takes a cautious step toward me, his hand moving over his jaw as he muses over my answer. “Yeah?”
I nod. “If you want to run it by Eric before you decide, we can do that. I can take some pictures of a few potential pieces and go from there.”
“Sure,” Everett says. “Mind if I look around a bit?”
“Yeah! Of course,” Roberta answers, the sudden intensity in her voice echoing around us. “Actually, Teeny. Can I steal you for a minute? There’s something…my office. Some new end tables I—Maybe you can look?”
I shoot a confused look in her direction, and she wildly gestures toward her office. “Are you okay here on your own?” I ask Everett.
He looks up at me and smiles a crooked smile. His eyes soften after a bemused scowl had taken over his features over the different fabric options. “Yeah.”
I feel Roberta’s hand hook over my wrist, and she practically drags me away. Once in her office, behind the closed door, she shoots me an accusative glare. “Okay, who is he?”
“He’s a client,” I tell her.
“Clients don’t look at you like that.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re so dramatic. He doesn’t look at me like anything.”
Roberta scoffs. “Are you kidding me?”
“Fine,” I say, lifting a hand in a surrendering gesture. “How does he look at me?”
“Girl, like he’s mesmerized by you.”
“He does?”
She nods aggressively. “So, is he still ‘just a client?’”
“There’s…history,” I finally tell her. “But that was ages ago. We were kids.”
“Well, it’s a shame that you’re married because if someone from my past looked at me like that?—”
“We’re getting a divorce,” I blurt out.
Roberta looks at me with a blank stare, flashing morse code like blinks asking me if she heard me right. “What?”
“He cheated on me. Some twenty-something with perky tits and probably no gag reflex,” I say sardonically. “But um, I kicked him out.” I don’t know why I’m telling Roberta all of this. Maybe it’s the idea that if I’m garnering even a hint of attention from Everett, it wouldn’t be toward a married woman committed to her husband. It would be toward a woman scorned.
Roberta grabs me by my shoulders and guides me to one of the matching armchairs in her office, a set she designed and made herself. She sits opposite me, peering at me with concern and sympathy. “Are you okay?”
“You mean aside from the fact that I’m about to be single for the first time in what, fifteen years?” I blow out a sigh. Fifteen years. That’s an entire lifetime. And it’s gone. Poof! “Jesus,” I say to myself in shock. “Fifteen fucking years.”
Roberta stays quiet, her brows raised in agreement.
“I’m way too old to be starting over,” I say, a whoosh of breath following my words. “I’m going to be this old divorcée filling my time planting begonias and marigolds and watching Friends on repeat while Leo goes and marries someone half my age.”
“Okay, now who’s being dramatic?”
“It’s the truth!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air. “We women only get to age and wrinkle and sag while the men around us get to fuck anything with long legs and tight skin.”
“You could always join the other team,” Roberta suggests jokingly. “We never leave the toilet seat up.”
“I like dick too much,” I mutter. And we both burst out laughing. I cower forward at the same time my eyes mist over, and I don’t know if they’re tears of joy or misery.
Roberta looks at me, her face serious now that the laughter has subsided. “Teeny,” she says, firmly calling for my attention. “You’re going to be fine. It’s going to take some time, but you are going to be fine.”
I nod, a wave of betrayal returning full force with a golf ball sized knot in my throat.
“Now, come on,” she says, nodding toward the door. “Let’s get back to your handsome client.”
Roberta and I walk out of her office, her giving my hand an encouraging squeeze, and we reach Everett as he’s looking over a row of coffee tables. He’s examining Roberta’s handiwork, focusing on the carvings she carefully whittled into the wood.
“So, see anything you like?” I ask just as Everett sees us. His eyes brighten, rounding into big sparkly spheres as if he’s clinging to my every word. I feel Roberta elbow my side, but I ignore it.
“I picked out a few chairs and sofas over there,” he says, pointing a finger to the living room furniture portion of the showroom. “But I like some of these coffee tables. I think they’d look nice with the furniture I was looking at.”
The phone trills from the other side of the warehouse. “I’ll let you two do some browsing,” Roberta announces, already turning back to her office. “If you need me, just holler.”
Roberta walks off, leaving Everett and me alone. I take a few cautious steps toward him, Roberta’s words burning a hole in my head. I stop in front of the table he’s hovering over and stoop down to run my hand over the material, my fingers tracing the grooves and glossy finish. “I really like this one,” I say in a low voice.
“Yeah?”
I nod, smiling softly at him. “I asked Roberta to carve the same design into my desk at home.” I pause, focusing my movements over the curves. “See the waves at the edges? That was a special request by me. And she started incorporating it into her other pieces.”
Everett’s fingers start following the patterns I’m drawing. “It’s beautiful.”
His face drifts closer to me where I hear a soft sigh exhale from his lips. I get a deep whiff of his cologne. It’s not the Calvin Klein he used to wear, a bottle always kept on his nightstand next to his retainers and wallet. It’s something more masculine, formidable. Something that’s a part of this new Everett. The one I’m getting to know all over again.
His hand moves from the wood surface to my wrist, grazing against my skin in careful strokes. We both stand upright, his fingers sliding up my forearm. “I think it would look amazing at the hotel.”
“I think so too.” My voice is a whisper, and I don’t even know why.
Why my words feel like they’re caught in my throat. Why my heart is racing like I’m on a stage with a crowd full of eyes on me.
Why it also aches like someone is squeezing it in their fist.
His palm lightly cups my elbow. “I think we’ll go with this one.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. I get sucked into his gaze, and it’s hypnotizing. Like I’m in some trance, transported into an alternative universe where the thought of Everett doesn’t include pain. Where my heart was never broken and left whole for the last twenty years. Where I was always just…happy. And that thought, the idea that I could’ve been happy, makes me instantly sad. Like I’m mourning over a life I could’ve had. Should’ve had. “We should get going. With the traffic, it’ll take a few hours to get back.”
“Yeah.” He lets go of my arm, and my body gets sucked back to reality.
I turn to Roberta’s office and find her and her wife, Lisa, walking out into the showroom. Lisa, pixie cut hair with denim coveralls and working boots, breezily links her arm through Roberta’s, and the two walk toward me with knowing smiles.
“Hi, Lisa!” I greet her, pulling her into an embrace. “I’m so glad I caught you before I left.”
“Hey, Teeny,” she says, pulling away from me. “I wouldn’t miss a chance to say hi to our favorite designer!” She takes a quick glance at Everett before extending a hand in his direction. “Hi. I’m Lisa.”
“Everett,” he responds cordially. “Nice to meet you.”
“I think we’re just about finished,” I tell the pair. “We have enough options to choose from within the next few weeks.”
“Great!” Lisa says, eyes ping-ponging between me and Everett. “You need to make it out here more often. Bring us more business.”
I laugh. “You know you can always count on me for that.”
“Are you two heading out?” Roberta asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “We got a long drive back to San Diego, and the rush hour traffic isn’t going to be fun.”
“You know,” Lisa says with a thoughtful hum. “If you want to wait out the traffic, there’s this amazing French bistro around the corner. They have the best burrata and french onion soup.”
“Oh, no. I don’t?—”
“That actually sounds amazing. I’m famished,” Everett interrupts me. “We should check it out.”
I throw a “what the fuck” glare at both Lisa and Roberta, to which they smile smugly. “I’ll text you the address.”
Finding that the restaurant is actually within walking distance, Everett and I opt to leave my car in Roberta’s lot and trek the two blocks to Le Petit Paris. Sitting between a plate of burrata and two glasses of chardonnay, an awkward silence lingers in the air as does something much more palpable. Something alive and beating with the reminder that Everett isn’t just a client, only strengthening Roberta’s point, and I’m not just someone Everett hired to make his hotel look pretty.
“How’s Sadie?”
I look up from poking at my french onion soup, Everett watching me over the rim of his wineglass. He’s taken off his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair, and he has his sleeves rolled up his forearm. He looks lax, a little undone. Even the way he watches me, pensive and observant, looks like he’s just taking me in rather than watching me with intent. And I wonder if he too notices the changes in me that I notice in him. The few strands of gray hidden in the waves of my hair. The fine lines fanning out the corners of my eyes.
“Good,” I tell him. “Settling in at camp and all. She just told me Mina asked her to sing something at their wedding, so that’s pretty exciting.” I smile softly, remembering a time when Sadie’s determination to learn how to play guitar and piano left me and Leo walking around the house with foam plugs shoved into our ears and how now, her music is sometimes the only thing that brings me solace.
Everett smiles too. “She must be really talented. You know, to be performing in front of that many people.”
“She’s amazing. She has this showcase at camp, and I can’t wait to see what she’s come up with.”
“She writes her own songs?”
I nod. “She’s getting more comfortable with it, and it just sort of flows out of her. I honestly don’t know how she does it. Or where she even gets it from.”
“You’re an artist too, Teen.”
My lips twist to one side. “Yeah. I guess I was.”
“You don’t paint anymore?”
“I haven’t. Not for a long time. I don’t think since college.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I guess I’ve just been too busy. At first, at least. And then, I just didn’t see the point, so…”
“You should again.”
“For what?” I wave a hand in his direction and roll my eyes as if to brush off this need to do something that used to breathe life into me. Something that used to breathe life into us . Everett and I bonded over my art. His obsession with watching me paint and him unexpectedly becoming my muse. We thrived on it. On what it meant for us, how our love used to translate into my work. Through the brushstrokes and the little details of us I used to paint into my work. And those details were only for us.
We stay quiet, continuing our meal through the awkwardness that’s settled over us like a fog. A thick mist of the unknown that feels comforting for some reason. Until Everett speaks.
“You know, my therapist tells me it’s good to have a hobby. Something to keep your mind grounded and level.”
“You see a therapist?”
“Yeah,” he tells me, avoiding my eyes by fixating his gaze on the table. “I started seeing one in college. After I left, I had some friends who…they thought it would be good to see someone.”
“Why—I mean, what?—”
“I wasn’t…okay, I guess. And talking to someone helped. The meds helped even more.”
“You never told me this.”
“I couldn’t…”
My heart twists inside my chest imagining Everett all those years ago. All alone with the aftermath of us being so much more to take on, on top of the grief of losing what we had. He wasn’t okay, not by a mile. The realization cracks a chink in my chest.
“I wanted to, though, Teeny.”
“Wh—”
“I wanted to call you. I wanted to?—”
“Everett.” I say his name firmly. It’s an objection. And he roughly runs his fingers through his hair, his face hardening with restraint and frustration. “I just…It’s fine. You don’t need to say anything. I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he says hoarsely.
We continue to eat, the need to say something tickling the inside of my mouth. I want to tell him that I think the pieces he chose in Roberta’s showroom are a few of my favorites and ones I always beg Roberta and Lisa to have on hand. I want to tell him that I’m craving dessert and would love to split a brownie sundae after this with him. I want to tell him that I have an unopened package of watercolors and a few blank canvases sitting in my closet and that I wish I could take it out without having to think of all the pain in my heart every time I pick up a paintbrush. I want to ask him what he would’ve said to me if he’d called. I want to talk to him about his therapy. I want to talk about all of these things, filling our time with the same pillow talk that would keep us pushing the boundaries of my curfew when I was sixteen, as if no time had passed. But that’s the thing. Time has passed. Time that I thought was the remedy to all the hurt he slashed into my heart. But time has done nothing but show me how much I missed him. How much I loved him.