Chapter 43 #2
She placed both of her hands over mine and looked me straight in the eyes.
For a moment, I thought she was only going to stare at me, or that she was finding the words to scold me.
Then she picked up Abi’s drawing. “Are you worried people are going to make the connection that this is you?” She pointed to the brunette stick figure.
I shook my head, a sob building in my throat, anticipating that when I spoke again, it would release with my words. She had warned me. And I was so close to disappointing her, betraying my grandmother, and had potentially already put my candidacy at risk.
She stood, went to the door, and locked it with a clatter of her keys.
It wasn’t the normal “locking hours,” but I appreciated her granting me the privacy.
“We broke up,” I stated. “I broke it off with him. I was too scared.” The words came out with a burst of agony.
Each time I said it, it struck harder and harder, and I buried my face in my hands.
She wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “It’s been an emotional few days, Cienna. You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself. No one expects perfection, so please give yourself some grace.”
“If I can’t live her vision, I don’t deserve to lead it.”
With a final pat and quiet sigh, Karen stood, handing me the envelope she’d been holding, before she walked out.
I let my head fall, tucking the envelope near me on the desk.
The sobbing was done, but my face was wet and slippery against my arms as I crossed them under me and let myself fall onto them.
I breathed there for a moment, sheltered from the room and everything beyond it.
In the little sanctuary I made, it was dark, and I could only hear my breaths. I could get lost in that space.
Not sure how much time had passed, I finally sat up. Feeling disgustingly wet and raw, I wiped at my face with my sleeve. I was thankful for having a change of clothes ready for a “rainy day.” Though I never expected that day to be raining from my face, or to truly feel so gloomy and gray.
I pulled out the fresh shirt from a hidden basket underneath my desk.
Thankful for the camisole I wore under it, I slid my ruined shirt over my head, tugging at the already hot mess of a bun on top.
As I pulled on the fresh one, the envelope caught my attention from where Karen and I had sat.
“Cienna” was scrawled across the top in Karen’s handwriting, a notable mix of cursive and print that reminded me of my grandmother’s penmanship.
As I got closer, I noticed “photos” in small handwriting under my name and paused, not sure I was ready for such contents. But the emotional battering I bestowed upon myself could only get so much worse.
I opened the seal and pulled out a small stack of pictures.
The first was a photo of me, tucked away at the makeshift desk my grandmother made for me in her office.
The glorious highlighters were scattered around me.
One was in my hand as I drew, hyperfocused on whatever it was, tongue dipped out of my mouth in concentration.
To a regular person, it was a cute image of a five- or six-year-old kid drawing. To me, it was a glimpse into my grandmother’s heart. That desk. Those highlighters. That office that still stood. Had she hoped then that I would move from my little desk to hers?
The next one wasn’t in the office, but rather at home in my grandmother’s kitchen.
I was standing on a chair, leaning over a birthday cake with lit candles, and my grandmother stood next to me, bracing me from the side.
She beamed, happiness oozing from her crow’s-feet and turned-up mouth, and my eyes glimmered from the candlelight.
Behind where I nearly fell in the cake were the decorations my grandmother hung all over the kitchen walls.
Odd-shaped baskets, weird feathery things, and fancy frames.
This picture felt like home—the one my grandmother made, the place beyond her beloved school.
I flipped to the next in the pile. My grandmother and I were wearing Halloween costumes, posing together, me in a lavish blue princess dress, and her in a hooded fairy godmother shawl.
I was in the pre-twirl position, and she held her wand over my head.
The picture practically bounced with enchantment in my hand.
The final picture was of us in a swimming pool.
She was grinning from ear to ear as she held me afloat.
I could practically feel myself bobbing in the water, her hands barely holding me.
Though I couldn’t remember which resort we were vacationing at, I remembered that day clearly. She was teaching me to swim.
We blew bubbles, kicked, ducked, and I ended up making it from one side of the shallow end to the other. In celebration, we ordered chocolate cake from room service and ate it in bed that night.
I tucked the stack back in the envelope and took a deep breath, trying to gather some sense of calm. The closest I got was the reminder that the last committee meeting was soon.
It’d be hard having short, guarded interactions with Reed, with Abigail being in my class.
But tonight would be the bittersweet end to any more ties we had outside our parent-teacher relationship.
I could handle this. I latched on to Karen’s permission to give myself grace.
I’d move past this lapse in judgment, he’d easily move on to one of the many options he had once he was interested in dating again, and Abigail would have the stability in her life that she deserved.
She deserved the person who’d get her from one side of the pool to the other. Each and every time.