Chapter 22
twenty-two
AMANTHA
Afew days later, Blythe’s frazzled curls poked out her office door. “Amantha? Can you come in here? I’d like to chat before we all leave for the weekend. Close the door on your way in.”
A stab of fear froze my typing fingers. Close the door?
Does she know about the painting? Or is this about Val?
Either way, I felt criminal.
Kate’s worried expression followed me as I crossed to Blythe’s office.
The heavy door clanged shut. Were it not for the rising trepidation, I would have laughed at the fresh layer of sticky notes wallpapering Blythe’s desk. With all the blood pooling in my cheeks, I may as well have one stuck to my forehead with “guilty” written on it.
“Have a seat.” Blythe’s usual jubilant expression had changed to stone.
I sat.
“New information has come to my attention concerning your professional relationships here.”
Blood froze in my veins as Val’s phantom lips crushed against mine, the illicit taste of him burned in my memory forever.
“What information?” I blinked innocently.
“It seems your relationship with—” Blythe puffed a blonde frizzy strand off her cheek. “Stirling was a huge factor in him choosing us for his first exhibition.”
The rivers of ice in my body resumed their liquidity. “What do you mean?”
“He told me that after only a few meetings with us, your personal concern for his art was why he felt so confident partnering with the museum.” Her stoic expression softened, and her eyes began to twinkle from her ruse.
“You genuinely care about his success and he can tell. We all can tell. So when Stirling asked if you could be put in charge of his account, I wholeheartedly agreed.”
“What?!”
Blythe’s smile broke like the morning sun as she beamed with pride. “You’re the new lead of Stirling’s account.”
Shock garbled the words bouncing in my brain. Laughing, Blythe warded off my stuttering protests with a wave of her hand.
“I’m still going to be listed as the curator, so I’ll get my fifteen minutes of fame. But you’ll be in charge of the opening soirée. I’ve already approved it with Kendra.”
“I get to plan Stirling’s opening soirée?”
Blythe nodded with a laugh, her animated freckles dancing. “The whole enchilada.”
“Oh my gosh! Thank you!” I jolted to my feet and flapped my hands excitedly. “I won’t let you down. Thank you for the opportunity!” I rushed around to hug Blythe.
Blythe laughed openly, patting my arm. “You’re welcome, Amantha. I’ll announce it to the department on Monday.”
I hadn’t even made it to my desk before texting Val.
AMANTHA: Blythe made me head of Stirling’s account!
From my chair, I spied through the panes of Val’s office. His rugged face split into my favorite smile, crinkling his eyes. He risked a glance toward me before he typed.
VAL: That’s incredible! I’m proud of you.
Warmth filled my chest. I felt proud of myself too.
VAL
On Saturday afternoon, I unlocked my gym locker and checked my phone to see if Amantha had texted. She had left yesterday after work to visit her mom but was planning on coming over once she got back. I wiped the sweat from my face with a towel while I read the text I’d missed.
It wasn’t from Amantha.
It was my only sibling, Camilla.
CAMILLA: Good afternoon, butthead.
I laughed and responded.
VAL: Hello to you too, nosy brat.
CAMILLA: I’m only nosy because you can’t make good life choices on your own. You neeeeeeed me. Are you coming to Nonna’s tomorrow?
VAL: Duh. Mom and Dad coming too?
CAMILLA: Yup. My boys and I will be there, but Daniel has an investigation. Cons of having a sexy cop-turned-detective for a husband.
VAL: Gag me.
CAMILLA: I’ve been trying to, but the duct tape won’t stay on your stupid face.
I laughed again. Camilla was a spitfire. Two years younger, she was shorter, feistier, and even more stubborn than me. She protested my overprotectiveness as often as I complained about her nosiness. Thankfully, Daniel was great, so I didn’t have to follow through with my threats if he hurt her.
VAL: The duct tape won't stay because my face is too good looking to cover up.
CAMILLA: Gross. Are you coming to Leo and Matteo’s football game tonight?
I withdrew my duffel bag and water bottle and left the gym. Saturday meant leg day. If my quads could talk, they’d be screaming.
As obsessed with my nephews as I was, I hated having to miss a game.
But to bring Amantha would be like throwing her in the lion’s den—the lion being Camilla and the den being all her psychotic questions and inevitable friendship bracelets.
But since Camilla would be safely tucked away at the football game, I decided to bite the bullet.
VAL: Can’t. Have a date.
I counted less than three seconds before my phone began to ring. Rolling my eyes to the sky, I answered it.
“Hel—”
“You’re only telling me this now?” Incredulity grated at me through my phone’s speakers. “Who with? That waitress that wouldn’t leave you alone? Or did you get a girlfriend and not tell me?”
“Um, sorta the last one.”
Camilla paused, then slowed her words to a lethal pace. “Let me get this straight. Not only have you been keeping a secret girlfriend, but I have to tell my boys you can’t come to their football game?”
“Fine. Put Leo and Matteo on the phone and I’ll tell them.”
“No way. I’m not letting you off that easy! Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
“Because you’re already too nosy.”
“You are such a prick!” Her voice turned whiny, assaulting me with all-too-vivid memories from our childhood. “C’mon, Val! I’ve been telling you to date for forever, so I’m entitled to know!”
She had encouraged me to find someone after Stella. In fact, she never shut up about it.
So I caved. “What do you want to know?”
I had to snatch the phone away from my ear at Camilla’s shriek.
“Is she hot? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? Is it serious?”
“First thing, lay off the caffeine.”
“Bite me.”
I bypassed a construction zone on the sidewalk, contemplating my response. “Yes, she’s hot, we met at work, and things really started up about a week ago.” I decided to omit our awful interview. Camilla wouldn’t hesitate to deck me if she knew how rude I’d been. Not my finest day by a long shot.
“You didn’t answer my last question. Is it serious?”
“Will you ever stop being so nosy?”
“No.”
“Fine.” My chest deflated with a long exhale. “We’re both trying to not overthink things, so I’m not sure if it’s serious yet.”
Camilla’s voice sounded thoughtful as she asked, “But do you want it to be?”
Each cell of my being resounded without hesitation. “Yeah. I really do.”
My speakers were in severe peril from Camilla’s dog-whistling squeal.
“Val! I’m so excited! When can I meet her? Is she going over there tonight? I’ll stop by. No big deal, I swear—”
Click.
A satisfied smirk twisted my lips. Maybe that would teach her to butt out of my business. I’d rather have my pristine apartment ripped to shreds by Mr. Fluff Buttons than to introduce Camilla this early.
CAMILLA: You jerk! Fine, I get it. Don’t be stupid and mess this up. Love you.
VAL: Glad to see you got my message. And love you too.
I survived the sweltering trek back to my apartment building, unlocked my apartment, and stepped inside. The silver watch on my wrist announced that Amantha would arrive in less than an hour. I felt so giddy it was downright asinine.
After kicking off my gym shoes in the coat closet, one of them knocked a few others from the neatly arranged shelf. I eyed the mess, shrugged, and closed the door.
Standing in front of the refrigerator, I scanned a faded pink receipt fastened to it. The furniture store employee I’d met with last night had ripped it from his notepad and told me to present it to the delivery team on Sunday.
I bought Amantha a couch identical to mine.
While Amantha had left the city yesterday, I had gone to the furniture store. Picturing her bare apartment, albeit temporary, with only a bed to relax on felt wrong somehow. After all, the woman’s couch obsession was loudly professed anytime she was within a ten foot radius of mine.
I slipped the receipt into my pocket to give to Amantha as a wave of anxiety rushed through me.
Would she think the couch was overbearing? I didn’t want the gift to be misconstrued as some patriarchal act, suggesting her femininity made her incapable of buying her own furniture.
I grazed my gym shorts with my sweaty palms as I went to shower off. The scalding water rained down from the shower head, doing nothing to calm me. In fact, the steamy atmosphere only sped my thoughts.
Everything felt significant now.
Foreign, though nothing had felt more familiar.
The rousing sensation in my chest was hot and exhilarating—like winged fire. With each beat of the wings, the scorching heat branded me further.
Branded me for her.
I knew, without a doubt, that I was in love with Amantha.
Vapor beaded on the cool mirror as I stepped out, dried off, and wrapped a towel around my waist. Slicking my wet hair back, I padded into my room.
The summer sun streamed through the window, glinting off Stella’s silver picture frame.
After stepping into a pair of cotton shorts and yanking a fitted black shirt over my head, I stopped to admire it.
Gosh she’s beautiful.
I grinned, recalling what a nervous wreck I had been on our wedding day too. Falling in love always contained a fine print of my insecurities. Could I make her happy? Would I be enough? Was I enough?
While Stella’s picture didn’t cause the agonizing pain it used to, I still ached for her—always would. Over the years, the harrowing grief had softened into a hollow pit. An empty void. A literal removal of her presence.
“I miss you.” My whisper condensed across the glass of the picture frame.
Despite her smile, it felt like Stella’s eyes bore accusingly into mine, as if she knew I had fallen in love with someone else. Guilt pressed hard on my stomach.