CHAPTER 13
Sybil
That afternoon, I sat in the library with Dr. Cat. She had her therapist hat on today.
I’d made her a cup of green tea, and she was trying to get comfortable in one of my two round oversized reading chairs but was failing famously. The chair almost swallowed her, designed so someone could fall into a story and stay there—not designed for someone trying to be elegant and sip tea.
Both chairs sat diagonally facing each other and the floor-to-ceiling shelves beyond, with the windows behind us.
My studio on the other side of the room was still a mess despite my efforts to clean it.
There were rags and paper towels thrown about.
I’d slid the doors closed to avoid her assessing gaze.
She’d settled in with a sigh of success. “Well. I’m happy and proud that you messaged him back, Sybil.”
I’d dutifully filled her in on Bill’s new best friend, and the fact I reciprocated. I was eager to hear her praise of the matter. As expected, Cat was pleased.
She went on, “I think starting a text chat with him is the right approach. It’s the perfect transition into whatever comes next.
I always enjoyed penning letters; writing allowed me to say and accomplish so much.
This is a great opportunity for you to do the same and open up a little—get comfortable with him. ”
I nodded. “And when he wants to hang out?”
She shrugged. “We’ll get there when we get there. I think for now, talking over text is enough. We can explore further when we meet next Friday and plan your next step.”
I liked that. It felt like a challenge I could handle.
Cat set her cup down, reaching for a book on my coffee table that I’d left open.
She assessed the cover, which included a very handsome Montana cowboy and an exquisite, scantily dressed, buxom brunette leaning over him on a bar sipping bourbon.
He was looking at her ample cleavage with a hungry gaze.
Cat’s brows rose, but she didn’t comment on the cover. “Separately, I think it’s important to maintain your identity with PERL. I wouldn’t share that with him at any point short of a marriage proposal. We should keep that a secret for the sake of the brand, so to speak.”
I choked on my tea at the word ‘marriage’.
Cat turned the book over to the page I was on, reading for a moment as her brows arched impossibly high. Fanning herself, she set the book back down, taking up her tea again.
She took a moment to gather herself and recover. Knowing the scene she’d walked into—since I’d read and reread it myself last night—I could guess what she saw was pretty intense, especially for her.
She cleared her throat. “I realize that keeping a secret seems counterintuitive in our journey to get you out in the world, but in this case, I believe it’s become an important part of the PERL identity. The reclusive unknown artist aspect of your art is alluring.”
I was nodding. “I agree. So, how do I keep Nash from noticing I’m colorblind? It’s easy to mess that up; he will eventually find out.”
She tilted her head from side to side. “You’re a smart girl, Sybbie. I’m confident in your ability to find smart ways to hide it. I don’t stumble upon colorblind people every day, despite its commonality. However—”
“He was at my show, and seems to know PERL,” I filled in helpfully. “It wouldn’t take a genius to put my involvement in PERL together with my colorblindness and come up with an answer.”
She nodded. “Yes, quite right. So just tell him your friend made you go, like it wasn’t your idea and you don’t enjoy it. That fits considering you never look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
I frowned at her jab. “And if he finds out?”
“Well, it’d be in his best interest to keep it a secret because of his family business.”
My brows knit together. “What do you mean? What family business?”
Of course, I didn’t know what Nash did; I didn’t know the first thing about him. For all we knew, he could be part of the New York mafia or a member of the underground cockroach fight club.
She smacked her lips in satisfaction of what she was about to divulge. “I did you a favor and looked into him.”
I tilted my head, fingers going to my forehead. “Of course you did,” I murmured.
She shrugged. “You don’t think I’d just push you on some stranger without getting a background check first, do you?
I am still your guardian, after all. I need to keep you safe,” she scolded in her playful, meddling way.
“Nash is a fairly rare name, and putting that together with contacts in the art world, it turns out he’s the son of Mr. Jeffrey Beaumont. ”
“Beaumont?” I questioned, that name rang several bells. “Of the Beaumont Auction House?” I sat forward.
“Yes, Nash is a modern art specialist there.” She crinkled her nose.
“He will certainly know a lot about PERL because of that; that’s for sure.
” Her gaze rose to my studio doors. “I suggest we get a lock for that room and make sure he doesn’t see it if you ever let him in your house.
Hide all evidence at all costs. And don’t mention that you’re a painter.
Pretend you don’t even like art if you have to. ”
“Well, fuck,” I swore under my breath.
Dr. Cat stared daggers at me. She was old-fashioned, and I loved that about her. It was fun to ruffle her feathers with a well-placed swear word.
She clicked her tongue at me in reprimand.
“So, this is tricky, but I don’t see it being a reason to avoid Nash.
He knows the value in keeping PERL a secret, and it affects any future auctions that may happen pertaining to your art, which could affect his father’s company and his legacy.
He wouldn’t want to risk that. Besides, I kind of like this romantic prose for you—art auctioneer meets secret artist.” She was eyeing my book again, a sly smirk on her face as she touched the cup to her lips to hide it. “Delightfully kismet.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re acting like this is a done deal and we’re getting married.”
“Mark my words—” There was condescension in her response, “—I know what a man in love looks like, Sybbie. The way he looked at you the other night at the show. I saw it. Looks like that don’t happen every day.
Besides his dedication these past few weeks?
” She sighed, adopting a wistful look. “It’s so incredibly romantic.
I’ll bet my practice on you two ending up together one day. ”
“How very fairy godmother of you, Cat.”
She winked.
“Did you learn anything else about him other than his name and occupation?” I pushed.
She glanced away demurely. “He’s single, never been married, thirty-five years old with a degree in art history. No criminal record, only a few parking tickets—all paid.”
I could tell there was more she wasn’t telling me, but I wasn’t in the mood to pry it out of her. It would be about as fun as pulling gum out of the carpet. I loved the woman, but her wit and devious ways gave me a lot to be wary of.
She leaned forward to get up, ending any further conversation on the matter. She had to rock forward a few times to gain momentum. I could tell she was trying her best to be graceful about it, despite the cushions.
I jumped out of my seat. “Here, give me your cup,” I offered, reaching and taking it from her hands. I set it on the coffee table before turning back and helping her to her feet.
Mr. Beans was lying across the back of her chair. He yowled in protest, having enjoyed our quiet conversation, and mad that he could no longer lord over us.
“Sybbie, I won’t always be here,” she threw out.
I scoffed. “You’re still in your sixties, Cat—and healthy.” She was always self-deprecating in this way.
She laughed. “Yes, I know I will yet be here for some time—but someday, you’ll need more than me. I’d like to see that come to fruition while I still have lots of time to enjoy it.” She nudged me with her elbow, adding a playful wink. “Maybe be a grandmother?”
I gave her a doubtful look. “Procreating probably isn’t a smart move. My genes don’t need to pass down to another generation,” I quipped, then turned the tables on her. “And what about your love life?” I ventured.
“What about my love life?” she challenged with mirth. “I still get around; I just don’t tell you about it.”
My laugh echoed. “Well, you should! You might give me some pointers.”
“Ha!” she barked, jabbing a finger toward my coffee table. “I learned more skimming over a single page of that book of yours there. I’m not sure my pointers would be up to your expectations.” She stood straight, flattening her shirt. “Now, give me a hug before I go.”
I leaned in and wrapped my arms around her, remembering a time when hugging was a challenge for me. It was difficult to get used to hugs, or even accepting a compliment—a lot of things were.
She squeezed me with as much strength as she could muster. A delicious flood of happy dopamine rushed through me at the sensation.
I wondered then what a ‘Nash hug’ might feel like. He was so tall and built—he could swallow me whole. The idea was enticing.
Cat released me, stepping back to give Bill a scratch behind the ears so he didn’t feel left out. “Must I still exit through the back alley?” She frowned.
I gave her a pleading look. “Please?”
She shook her head, appearing disappointed. “Fine, but if I get mugged back there, you’re going to feel pretty awful about it.”
I laughed. “Your driver is still out there waiting for you, Cat. Don’t make me feel guilty; I’m rather immune to it at this point.”
Cat gave me a sly smile. “I’ll see you next week, but call me in the meantime, Sybbie.”
She turned and headed to the spiral stairs. I followed her, seeing her out through the back garden. I let myself enjoy a moment in the fall air before going back inside.
My fingers brushed over the petals in one of my flower pots, picking off the dead flowers. The summer blooms were almost all spent, and I needed to order some fall flowers and clean out the other pots for winter.
I enjoyed my little garden—this small slice of nature and happiness. It was the perfect size for me. I classified and organized the flowers based on their scent, since color meant little to me. Every flower smelled unique, each complementing the next in a blended bouquet of perfumes.
When I later went inside, I moved to the front room to look out at the darkening evening sky over the buildings and eat a few Skittles. I slid down onto the couch there, looking over the back of it and out the window. Mr. Beans quickly took his customary spot on the sill.
I loved Skittles. Their motto, ‘Taste The Rainbow’ meant more to me than most. It was hard for me to differentiate several of the colors, so it was like a mystery bag of flavors.
A woman walked down the sidewalk opposite, and I sat up a little, identifying her.
It was Betty, Nash’s sister.
She had a large Birkin bag slung over her shoulder, an exquisite long tweed coat, and from what I could tell, leopard print tights under a flowing calf-length dark skirt. Her heels were sky-high, and my feet ached just looking at them.
Her beauty was the timeless sort, like Audrey Hepburn.
I couldn’t help but envy her a little. Clearly, Betty had places to go, people to meet—dressing up mattered.
Clothes for me were all about comfort, and that alone.
There was no point unless Mr. Beans was going to care what I wore, and I rather think Mr. Beans enjoyed my oversized sweatshirts.
He loved burrowing into my sleeve, loving the compression and warmth.
I pulled out my phone, downloading the Nordstrom app just for the fun of it.
Browsing all the clothes, I started adding fake ideas to my cart.
I ventured through the lingerie pages. Holy cow, there were a lot of beautiful things.
There was an all-black lace duet of bra and panties, and I tried to imagine myself being brave enough to wear something like that, let alone someone else seeing me wear it.
Those went into the cart; it was a fantasy wardrobe after all.
I added fancy coats, pants, and designer jeans—not a single sweatshirt to be found. Patterns and textures that piqued my interest, all those went in. Scrolling through the entire haul, I was impressed with my taste. In the end, though, I ended up abandoning the cart and closing the app.
I set my phone down, curling my knees up and into my giant sweatshirt.
“Someday,” my inner voice said.
Despite my melancholy, I felt opportunity on the horizon for the first time in a very long time. Maybe I would have a reason to dress up. I could see it happening, I could feel what it would be like, and that was a promising start.