Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
VIOLET
OCTOBER | COLUMBUS, OHIO
“Kitty?”
I stared at my friend on my phone screen over my mat of diamond art.
My incredibly frustrating and pointless diamond art.
Kitty had a break in shooting the TV show she worked on, so she called me from her trailer to catch up.
Her image was so frozen that I thought our connection was bad. But then she spoke.
“Since the last time I talked to you, you’re telling me you’re not only reading the romance novels with Colton, but acting them out with him too?”
I picked at my nails. “You know I have trouble with sex. You were the one who said he’d be a good person to do sexy stuff with.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did say that. I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it. What does your therapist have to say about this?”
I lifted a shoulder indicating far more nonchalance than I felt. “People have friends with benefits arrangements all the time. This isn’t a new concept.”
Kitty nodded slowly and narrowed her eyes. “Yes. They do. Maybe ask Annie how that went.”
I wrinkled up my nose before picking up a beige “diamond.” “Weren’t you in her wedding this summer?”
“Yeah. To her friend with benefits.”
I growled as I accidentally placed the beige diamond on a gray diamond spot. “Motherfucker.”
“I mean, you ending up with Colt isn’t that bad, is it?”
“No, it’s this fucking diamond art. My therapist told me to try a calming hobby, and allegedly, this is it. It’s actually some advanced form of torture. Do you know how many of these little things I have left?”
I held up the plethora of bags filled with tiny pieces of colored plastic.
“You have your fantasy leagues,” Kitty tried.
“Yeah, you know what my therapist said about that? That I need to have a broad array of hobbies to choose from! I think maybe she thinks I’m a little toxic when I get competitive.”
She grimaced. “I mean, you do get pretty intense about winning. Maybe try yoga?”
I pulled at my cheeks. “Why does everyone want me to do yoga? It’s boring and makes my mind race even more.”
“I think that’s kinda the point,” Kitty said. “You have to work through your shit. Be at peace with your mind.”
I planted her with a look. “This, from the least peaceful person I know.”
She held up her hands. “I’m not saying I do yoga. I’m saying that’s why people like it.” She examined her nails and blew on them. “It’s not our fault we have a more expanded emotional capacity than the rest of society. We feel things bigger.”
“Ah, but see, there’s the difference between you and me,” I said.
“Your parents let you have emotions. I had them, but I was not allowed to show them. That’s why you get paid the big bucks to be a walking emotion, and I get paid the sorta-big bucks to remove emotion from things and focus on the facts. ”
“That’s such a sweet way to talk about us. We really are made for each other,” she said with a simper. “Oh! You used to like running! That’s both aggressive and relaxing, right? And you could just put on your shoes and go!”
“I did for like . . . a month junior year. Mostly because I had a crush on the head of the running club. Then I figured out boys run faster and are fucking annoying about running.”
Kitty looked smug. “I think somebody’s making excuses. Go now.”
I moped at the dark window next to me. “It’s dark out. Also, ew, why are you picking on me?”
“Because there was a time when you picked on me for being sad.”
When Kitty broke up with her eventual husband, I took it upon myself to manage her emotional recovery.
Why? Probably because I wished someone had done that for me when I dumped Colt.
But, you know, an upbringing full of stuffing down emotions so other people could thrive didn’t let me accept that sort of care even when it was offered to me.
Who could have known that I was sad? I was just now letting myself lean on others.
Mostly Colt, because he was forcing me to.
Okay, maybe it felt a little nice to be cared for.
I got back to my bickering with Kitty.
“Excuse me, I also ate junk food, listened to breakup songs, and watched bad romcoms with you,” I objected.
“And you made me go to parties sometimes, and go be brave when I really didn’t want to.”
I pointed at her with a diamond in my tweezers and, annoyingly, it tumbled onto the sticky mat below. “It was good for you.”
“Yeah, and maybe I’m telling you what’s good for you now,” Kitty argued, then looked up at the roof of her trailer. “They’re paging me. I gotta get back on set. Talk again soon?”
“Yes, please. Love you.”
“Love you too, bestie.”