Chapter 9 #2
I rub my cheek against his hair and breathe in his fresh baby smell. Baby powder and milk and that indefinable something that's innocent and intangible and yet, so evocative.
"He likes you," Summer says in a soft voice.
I glance up to find the two of them are standing. "Oh please, sit down. Sorry I didn’t ask you to make yourselves comfortable. Little Matty distracted me."
"You’re good with kids." Summer takes a seat on the settee.
"I took care of my sister, after my mother passed," I murmur.
"I’m sorry; that must have been difficult for you." Her tone is sympathetic.
I shake my head and slide my finger into Matty’s little fist. "It was a long time ago."
"Where is your sister?" Zoey wanders around the apartment. Most of the furniture was left by the previous occupant, and the rest of the stuff belongs to Felix. Except for the paintings on the wall and the overloaded bookcase I rescued when my neighbor threw it out.
"She’s at the Royal Ballet School."
"She must be very talented," Summer says with a smile.
"She is." I tickle little Matty’s stomach, and he laughs. I can’t stop myself from laughing with him.
"This is striking." Zoey comes to a halt in front of the painting on the wall next to the bookcase.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
She shoots me a glance over her shoulder. “Did you paint it?”
I nod. “I created it in one night.”
Zoey gasps. “That’s incredible.”
“Not really. I like to mull over the ideas in my head, until one day, I know it’s time to put it on canvas. Then, I can’t stop until it’s done.” I bounce Matty on my knee, and he giggles. “I don’t get much time to do that though, because of my job at the pizza parlor.”
“It must be difficult to work a day job and also paint,” Summer says.
“It is.” I hand Matty to her. “At least I’m not a waitress anymore, so that’s something.” I shrug.
“Managing a team isn’t easy,” Zoey adds without turning around. She seems to be entranced by my painting. A flush of pride squeezes my chest. I’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone respond to my art.
“It isn’t. Most days, by the time I finish, I’m emotionally drained. I end up coming home and falling into bed, then getting up the next day and doing it all over again. It’s the nature of the job.” I choke out a laugh. “Sorry, I don’t mean to overshare.”
“Oh, you’re good.” Summer smiles up at me.
Lizzie is my closest confidant, but with her, I’m in the role of her bigger sister, the one who takes care of her and pays her bills.
I can’t allow myself to show weakness with her.
I need her to know she can depend on me and trust that I have everything under control.
Then, Felix entered the picture, and he was my best friend.
He’s the only one who knows about the money issues I have.
And now, I’m not sure where I stand with him.
I’ve never had a strong circle of girlfriends. Looking from Summer’s sympathetic face to Zoey’s engrossed one, I realize what I’ve missed.
Zoey turns enough that she can meet my gaze. “I’m a book editor; I get to meet a lot of authors. And many of them work a day job while writing at night, and I've seen, up close, how difficult it can be to juggle both.”
“It is.” I nod. “And I’ll be the first to admit, I haven’t been painting lately.
” Of late, I haven’t been able to look at my paints and my canvases without feeling sick to my stomach.
The more time that passes between painting sessions, the harder it's getting to find my muse.
It's like some muscle inside of me is weakening with disuse.
“I've often wondered if there isn’t an easier way to earn enough to pay my bills”—and take care of my family— “while keeping in touch with my art.”
I stand up and join Zoey to take in the abstract she’s turned back to. "That's the last one I did."
"Do you have more?" she asks in a considering voice.
I nod. "A few."
"Enough for an exhibition?" She shoots me a sideways glance.
"Oh, no, no—" I laugh. "I’m nowhere near ready to exhibit."
"Would you mind if I took a picture of this and showed it to a friend of mine who runs a gallery in Soho? He’s always on the lookout for emerging artists."
I quash my budding excitement and pretend a nonchalance I don’t feel. "When I was younger, I’d send pictures of my creations to agents. I was so hopeful." I sigh. "Eventually, when I didn’t hear back from them, I gave up.”
Of course, that was before Dad’s ALS worsened and any spare time was gobbled up with caring for him.
The baby becomes restless, and Summer rubs circles around his back. He calms, then begins to warble again. Then, he waves a hand in my direction.
Summer laughs. "He’s trying to tell you how much he loves being with you."
"I love him, too." I walk back to her and kiss Matty’s forehead.
Zoey takes a few pictures of my paintings, then walks over to stand next to us. "Are you coming to watch Quentin’s match tomorrow?"
"Match?" I rub my fingers over Matty’s downy-soft hair, then laugh when he wrinkles his nose at me.
"He’s fighting Ryot, who happens to be an accomplished boxer, himself."
"And is Quentin a boxer, too?”
"He used to be but hasn’t competed in a professional capacity in a while." Summer lays the baby down on the settee and pats his tummy. "Which is why my husband tried to talk Quentin out of it, but Q feels he owes it to Ryot."
"Why's that?" I glance up, my curiosity piqued enough that I tear my gaze off of the little mite to look at her.
"Oh, that’s not my story to tell." Summer meets my gaze.
“I respect that.” I look between them. I could do with some guidance right now.
Maybe they can give me some insight into Quentin that’d help me decide on how to respond to his proposal?
“Somehow, the fact that you won’t share the details of his story gives me the confidence to share how he and I met. ”
Zoey sits down on the other side of the baby. "Why? Did you have an interesting meet-cute?"
"You could say that." I chuckle.
"Ooh, tell us, please," she begs.
I sit down in my armchair and cross my legs.
I’ve just met these women, but something about them inspires confidence in me.
They don’t seem like the type who’d take advantage of my sharing with them.
Also, my head’s whirling from everything that's happened so far.
Perhaps talking about it will put things in perspective.
"I was supposed to marry his son, but he stood me up at the alter.
Enter, his father, who offers to marry me.
" Hearing the words from my mouth makes it all feel real and also, so very unreal.
Can this be happening to me? Am I going to go through with this?
"What?" Zoey looks at me wide-eyed. "You were going to marry his son?"
I nod.
"Now you’re going to marry his father?"
"Oh, no, no, I haven’t agreed to anything. Besides, this only happened three days ago."
“Three days?" Zoey bursts out. "You two have known each other for three days?"
I manage a small smile.
Summer’s features take on a contemplative look. "When Quentin called me, it didn’t feel like he’d just met you. In fact, he seemed very concerned about you."
"Not surprising, considering he and his son lowered a double-whammy on me in one day.” I toss my head.
"Woman, all this happened and you’re still standing?" Zoey rises to her feet. "Speaking of, now would be a good time to open that bottle of wine." She reaches for her satchel and pulls out a bottle of red.
I rise to my feet, head to the kitchenette, and grab the wine opener from the drawer. When I turn, I find that Zoey has followed me. She takes the opener from me, and waves toward the living area. "Go on, take a seat. I’ll bring you a glass."
"You’ll find them on the top shelf on the far right." Leaving her to deal with it, I return to my position on the chair.
"This must be a lot. First Quentin and his son, then us,” Summer mutters in sympathy.
"I suppose…" I pull my feet up under me. "I should be freaking out more, but maybe… I’m numb?"
My phone buzzes. I pull it out from the pocket of my jeans and read the message.
Lizzie: I’m coming over!
Shit, I forgot to text her.
Me: Noooo. Sorry. Sorry. I’m good. Summer and Zoey are sweet. I’m hanging out with them. Talk later
Lizzie: *Heart emoji"*
I slide the phone into my jeans’ pocket.
The baby starts to fuss again. Summer takes him in her arms, then nods toward the pram.
"Can you get me his sippy cup? It’s in the bag hanging over the handle.
" I head over, fumble around in the bag until I find the cup, then walk over and hand it to her.
She uncaps it, and the baby reaches for it and latches his mouth around the spout.
"Gosh, you’re one thirsty boy, aren’t you?" she coos.
"Here’s our sustenance." Zoey hands me a glass of wine and places a glass of water in front of Summer. "She’s the designated driver," she explains, then takes a sip from her own. She sighs. "I needed that." She sits down in the chair next to mine.
I take a small sip from my glass. The taste of plums, cherries, and a hint of pepper underlain with the tannic taste of red wine coats my tongue. "Wow, I’ve never tasted anything like this."
"It’s from Sinclair’s personal collection." Summer laughs. "After not being able to drink while I was pregnant, then breastfeeding this boy, he insists I drink the best.”
"And since she’s driving" —Zoey waggles her eyebrows at Summer—"I get to drink her share, too. But coming back to the subject at hand…" She turns to me. "How do you feel about everything that’s happened so far?"
"Truthfully?" I rub at my temple. "I’m still making sense of it." I look between the women. "Also, I’m not sure I should be sharing all of this with you two, considering we just met, but—"
"Oh, honey, it must be so disorienting for you to be faced with such a decision." Zoey touches my shoulder. "I can only imagine how confused you must be feeling."
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I blink them away.