Chapter 4 #2
But Rachel leads me to a set of double doors, bright with lights from inside, and I follow her into the gallery.
People mill around everywhere with a buzz of talk and laughter floating beneath the high, beamed ceiling.
I survey the giant paintings hanging on white walls as we take off our coats and hand them to a woman who greets us. Then we head straight to the bar.
Glasses of prosecco in hand, we drift over to one of the paintings. I study it. I think it’s a lone bird trying to keep up with a flock in the distant sky, but I’m not 100 percent sure of that because on closer inspection the bird actually looks like a lobster. It’s called Left.
“Interesting,” I murmur.
“Mmm.” Rachel studies the painting, her expression suggesting her brain is being twisted like a pretzel.
We move on to another wall displaying a series of paintings, all of which include a window of some sort.
The couple standing next to us are talking about the paintings.
“Windows are a symbol of isolation,” the man says. “You can see other people and they can see you, but you’re alone.”
“Brilliant,” the woman says. “I love how he plays with psychological profundity.”
I nod, biting my lip.
“I like this one,” Rachel says, shifting to her right. I follow. It’s a woman looking out a window at an apartment building with rows of windows, each showing another person—some laughing, some eating, some gazing back out. In one window, a vulture sits.
“What about the vulture?” I whisper, pointing.
“Oh. Um. I don’t know.”
I turn to look around the gallery and sip my prosecco. It’s nice so many people are here for the opening of the exhibition. Where is the artist, though? We’re here because Rachel wants to meet him.
My gaze runs over the clusters of people, looking for the man whose picture Rachel showed me earlier. “Is that him?” I ask, moving my head to gesture.
She looks across the room. “Oh! Yes, that’s him.”
The wiry man wears dark-orange pants, a blue and orange flowered shirt, and a tan fedora, and is talking animatedly to a group of people.
“Well, let’s shuffle that way,” I say.
We start moving, rounding a wall in the middle of the gallery that divides another area, and then I freeze. I grab Rachel’s arm.
“What?” She halts and turns to me.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my lips stiff. “It’s Carson.”
And the worst thing is, he’s with a woman.
A beautiful woman, blonde—like me, only her hair is long and wavy—taller than me, nearly Carson’s height in the stiletto heels she’s wearing, and dressed in wide-legged ivory pants cinched at her tiny waist and a black halterneck top.
As she lifts a glass to her mouth, chunky bracelets on her wrist sparkle in the light.
She smiles at Carson and says something that makes him laugh.
I’m going to vomit.
Who is she?
My stomach goes so tight, it hurts. Thoughts roll through my head like a TikTok video at 10X speed. What should I do? Should I run? Get out of here before Carson sees me? Go over and casually say hi? Pretend I don’t see him?
Why am I freaking out? It’s not like I haven’t seen him since we separated. He came to fix the garage door when it broke, and to pick up more of his things, and to help me move the big outdoor pots and… Well, I know why I’m freaking out. It’s because he’s with a woman.
Is he dating her? Is she his new girlfriend?
More nausea rolls in my stomach.
I should go over there and say hi.
And then probably puke on his shoes.
I need to stop staring at him. I blink a few times and toss back the rest of my prosecco. “I need another drink,” I mutter to Rachel.
She takes my arm and leads me to the bar. “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not okay.” I swallow. “But… I don’t get it. I know our marriage is over. We’ve been separated for nearly a year.”
“It’s hard to see your ex with someone else for the first time. I remember after I broke up with Jacob, I ran into him and he was with another woman, and I wanted to punch her.”
“Yeah.” I pull in a breath and, with shaking hands, accept a glass of prosecco from the bartender. “That’s it. Should we leave?”
“No. You can do this. Easy there.”
I’ve gulped down half my prosecco. “I look like a clusterfrump compared to her. She looks exactly like a hockey wife should look. Long, blonde hair, glamorous.” I look down at my flat boots and loose sweater.
“You are gorgeous. Come on. I still want to talk to Xander.”
“Yes. Yes.” Unfortunately, he’s still standing not far from Carson. I keep my gaze determinedly focused on Xander as we walk up to him.
Rachel boldly approaches him. “Hi, Xander. Congratulations on the show. It looks like your work is very popular!”
He turns to her, smiling, drops his gaze down, then up, and his smirk broadens. “Hi… Ruth?”
“Rachel,” she corrects. “We met at the Foundation for the Arts fundraiser.”
“Right, right. I remember.” His gaze shifts to me and he does a similar inspection. Eeeew.
“This is my friend, Ayla,” Rachel says. “Actually my cousin, but also my best friend.”
Xander extends a hand and I shake it. He holds on a little too long. “Nice to meet you. Beauty must run in your family.”
Rachel giggles and I want to slap her. Come on! This guy is sleazy.
“Are you enjoying the show?” he asks.
“Yes!” Rachel nods. “We haven’t even seen everything yet, but I was really fascinated by the window series. Such a powerful symbol of isolation.”
I bite my lip. “I love how you play with psychological profundity.”
He beams at me. “Thank you. You’re very insightful.”
Uh huh. I eye him and he moves closer.
“Ayla?”
I turn at the deep voice behind me. “Carson!” I widen my eyes. “Hi.”
Carson frowns at Xander, then looks back at me. “Hi. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”
“Rachel’s very interested in Xander’s work.” I gesture to my cousin.
“Hi, Carson,” she says, her tone like cardboard.
His lips tighten fractionally. “Nice to see you, Rach.”
He and my cousin/best friend were also good friends, after the years Carson and I were together. But no more. Rachel’s on my side.