Thirty-Six
Winter
Sticking another cheese puff into my mouth, I crunch aggressively when I see Reign’s name come across my screen.
“Wuh?” I mumble, hindered by the crunchy, cheesy goodness.
“Are you still lying around moping?” she asks me.
“What else would I be doing?” I ask once I’ve swallowed and sipped a mouthful of my spiked lemonade.
“Hmm, I don’t know, maybe picking your ass up and getting your life back in order. Or hopping on the first plane back here.”
I make a noncommittal noise. Why would I want to leave the comfort of my plush couch and nest of blankets I’ve surrounded myself with?
The living room coffee table has one side where I’ve stockpiled snacks and one where I’ve been discarding my snack wrappers when I’m feeling too lazy to get up and throw them away.
She sighs when I don’t say anything, sounding like a disapproving parent.
“You hurt a lot of people, Win.”
“I didn’t mean it,” I say, like that makes any difference. “And I lost my job, Reign.”
“I’m not saying things have not been tough, but it’s been a week. Get your ass off the couch, throw away all the snack wrappers I’m sure you’re hoarding. Make some calls and get things fixed. You can’t hide in your apartment for the rest of your life. The world keeps spinning, buttercup.”
“Uhh,” I groan. “You’re not supposed to be the voice of reason. That’s usually Nora or Ella Mae’s job. You’re supposed to be the fun, carefree one.”
“The fact that I’m the one saying it should give it extra weight then.”
We only talk for a few more minutes, only getting off the call after I’ve made reassurances that I plan to get my butt in gear.
The first thing I do is climb off the couch, scoop up the trash from the table, and walk it to the kitchen. Unfortunately, I haven’t taken the trash out to the bins all week either, so the can is full.
Sighing, I drop the armful of trash onto the counter. It’s gross, but I’ll wipe it down with disinfectant. Probably the whole apartment could use a disinfection.
I change out the trash bag, relocate the trash to the new bag, and wipe down the counter. Then wipe down the table in the living room.
I walk into the bathroom, intent on taking a shower, probably the first in days, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Holy Moses, I look like something that crawled its way out of the cemetery. This process of getting my life together might take longer than I thought.
Taking a deep breath, I settle my resolve. First, I’ll take a shower—probably a cold one to shock some life back into me—then I’ll make a plan.
***
“I’m really glad you called,” Augustine says.
Augustine Callahan the third, suave as ever with his blond hair artfully styled and designer sunglasses covering his amber eyes that I know are streaked with striking gold and forest green colors.
He offers me a warm hug, but it’s short and polite, lacking any intimacy that might have once been there.
We spoke yesterday after my reality check and cold shower, and he agreed to meet me at this little bistro uptown that we used to frequent.
He smiles at me with perfectly white teeth that look like they’ve been freshly whitened. Dressed in a crisp designer suit, it’s almost as if he hasn’t changed a bit since we dated.
Several years ago, we dated briefly, but it ended amicably, with both of us agreeing that we were better off as friends. That arrangement has worked wonders for us, and our friendship has thrived. I was even a groomswoman at his wedding when he married his husband, Harley.
A waitress stops by our table and takes our orders before we can discuss further. Once she leaves, I start with the most pressing part of this conversation.
“I found you a whale,” I say as I slide my phone across the table with the photo app opened.
He picks up the device and gasps, seeing the photo I led with.
Hand on his chest as he looks at the image with a critical eye, he asks me, “Is that of you?”
I nod but stay silent, waiting.
“The colors are fantastic. The brush strokes. Hmm.”
“There are more,” I tell him, and he starts swiping through the pictures.
This was one of the harder parts of the plan I put together and required multiple people to assist me in pulling this off. Cypress was charged with distracting Saint, while Sandy infiltrated his art studio so she could take photos of some of his paintings to send me.
When Augustine finishes looking through the photos, he sets the phone on the table and sits quietly, with a thoughtful expression.
“You know I’m right, Auggie.”
He turns his head and narrows his eyes at me.
“You still won’t drop that dreadful nickname, will you?” He rolls his eyes in exasperation.
“Of course not. There will be at least one person calling you Auggie for as long as I live,” I vow.
He scoffs. “I never should have introduced you to my grandmother.”
I smile at his annoyance.
“The Callahan matriarch loves me. There was nothing you could do to stop our bond,” I tease.
“Fine.” He sighs. “And you’re right. This is just the thing I’ve been looking for.”
The waitress bringing back our order interrupts us momentarily.
I sip my coffee and try to hide my saccharine smile behind the porcelain cup.
“So who is the artist?” he asks.
“He’s from my hometown,” I say, trying to keep it vague, but Augustine sees right through me.
“He must have made quite an impression to have you pitching his work to me. You’ve never done anything like this before. I wasn’t sure you even knew what art was, since you’re always so deep into your books.” He smirks.
It’s my turn to scoff now. “Just because I prefer to spend my time with my nose in a book doesn’t mean I never experience life. I’ve been to museums before.”
He laughs loudly, causing some of the other diner patrons to look our way.
“That kind of art is for galleries, for bidding wars at auctions, not for dusty, stuffy museums.” He crosses his arms over his chest, unrelentingly staring me down, waiting for me to spill my guts.
Caving, I tell him about Saint, about falling in love, about my colossal mistake of leaving, and how I probably broke his heart.
Then, when he knows everything, I add, “What’s that phrase people say? Go big or go home. I figured I’d better go big and go home. Maybe he’ll be more forgiving if I show up with a grand gesture to sweep him off his feet.”