Chapter 1 #2
“Because you didn’t let it,” Rachel replied. “You could be married to a billionaire now.”
Kaitlyn rolled her eyes. Money didn’t impress her. It was nice to have, of course, but if she’d wanted to make real money, she wouldn’t have followed her dreams.
“There’s no money in art unless you painted a tin of soup and got lucky. Or put a shark in formaldehyde,” someone had once told her.
They’d been right, of course. Kaitlyn was respected for her art, but she wasn’t a “name” that anyone knew. She created what she wanted and was proud of her work, but, with the cost of the gallery and life in San Francisco, there were some months she barely broke even.
“I don’t think so. He probably hasn’t thought of me since the last time I wrote to him. That’s ages ago now. Besides, he’s probably married,” Kaitlyn replied.
But Rachel shook her head. “I asked the executive assistant if there was a plus-one. She said Mr. Lancaster would come alone. That means you’re still in the running.”
“I don’t want to be in the running! We’re different people now. It never happened,” Kaitlyn said, feeling a slight sense of frustration at Rachel’s insistence over the possibility.
“I’m putting him next to you. He’ll have to remember you then,” she said.
Kaitlyn glared at her, but Rachel’s mind was made up, and there could be no persuading her otherwise.
The seating plan was sacrosanct, and Kaitlyn had to admit she was at least a little curious to know what Alex had been doing for the past eleven years — twelve since they’d actually seen one another.
“I don’t know what I’ll say to him,” Kaitlyn said, looking down at the name placed next to hers.
“Just talk about old times,” Rachel replied, shrugging her shoulders.
Kaitlyn knew it wouldn’t be as easy as that.
In truth, she’d been upset at her drifting apart from Alex.
She knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. At least, that’s what she’d told herself at the time.
But his lack of contact had left her wondering if she’d done something to offend him.
At the prom, he’d talked about them being serious, and she’d been the one to dismiss him. What if she’d said yes?
It doesn’t matter now. We’ll sit next to one another, and we’ll talk about high school. He’ll probably tell me about how rich he is, and he’ll look sympathetic when I tell him my mom just died and that I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever get back to my art. Then we’ll go our separate ways.
Kaitlyn had left Rachel to it at the store.
She’d been able to offer very little help when it came to the seating plan, though Rachel had seemed grateful for her presence.
Back at her mom’s house — Kaitlyn was trying not to call it home anymore — she took out the old albums. There was one labeled “Prom Night,” which showed the aftermath of the evening, when Kaitlyn’s mom had waited outside for the return of Betsy.
“You didn’t wait long enough for me to take any proper photos earlier on,” she’d said, and Kaitlyn and Alex had stood dutifully by the car as Kaitlyn’s mom had taken endless photos on her old reel camera.
Nowadays, everything was snapped on a phone and no one kept albums. But Kaitlyn’s mom had been meticulous about it, and Kaitlyn was grateful for the memories.
There she was, in the blue, ankle-length gown, looking somewhat disheveled after the night.
Alex was still in his tux, though the bow tie had been loosened.
They looked happy, their arms around one another, smiling at the camera as they leaned on Betsy’s bonnet.
Those had been such carefree days. It seemed extraordinary to think how much time had passed since then — how much had changed.
He will have changed. I bet he got rid of Betsy.
Kaitlyn smiled to herself, remembering how she’d seen Alex’s mom recently in a pink convertible, presumably the result of the resort deal in Florida.
She deserved it, of course. And so did Alex.
He’d worked hard for what he had and had been successful.
With a sigh, Kaitlyn closed the album and put it away, returning to the kitchen countertop and the half-finished ceramics.
She was painting an abstract underwater scene on a bowl, in blues and greens, trying to create the effect of light shimmering on the surface.
Usually, such things came naturally to her, but she was struggling, her concentration elsewhere, not helped by thoughts of Alex.
What’s he going to be like? Will he even remember me? I wish I’d never agreed to sit next to him.
Putting down her brush, Kaitlyn pushed the pot away, knowing she’d never manage anything creative with so many other thoughts circling her mind.
It’s no use. I’m going for a walk. Perhaps I’ll be able to concentrate then.
It felt strange to have her thoughts so distracted by one man, a man she hadn’t seen in years, and who surely wasn’t giving her a second thought.
Kaitlyn felt angry with herself for allowing him to get under her skin.
She still had the plastic ring he’d fashioned for her out of a drinking straw; it was in an envelope in a box upstairs.
A box of memories. And that’s all it is.
Sighing to herself, she left the house, determined to walk off these unexpected feelings. But try as she might, there was something comforting about them — a reminder of a happier past, one that had so easily slipped away.