That’s always been our motto. I don’t know how I could have forgotten that, but I’m glad she reminded me. It means we’ll always have each other’s back. Even when we’re alone, we’ll never truly be alone, and that is a security in life that no amount of money can buy. “Right, well, I’m still happy we’re okay.”
“Me, too, J.” She sits up, her expression lightening. A wide smile that shows all of her teeth emerges and when she speaks, her whole body is animated. “Oh, you have to see this.” Getting up, she dances away.
I follow her into the single bedroom, and studiously ignore the queen-sized bed that sits unmade, as though she and Jason have just rolled out of it. That is not a picture I want in my head.
Annie directs my attention to an old wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room, nestled between the wall and long vanity dresser. It looks like a poster child for lead poisoning and is painted a pale yellow that’s cracked and peeling…everywhere.
“I picked it up at the flea market the other day for a steal. I thought I would paint it blue or pink, and do that whole shabby chic thing with it, then put it in the baby’s room. What do you think?”
I look at my friend, whose smile is positively lovely. Her shining blonde hair brushes the tops of her shoulders and she looks…happy. As much as I dislike the circumstances, I can’t help joining her. The chair is in rough shape, but with a little work, I know she’ll make it great. If anyone can do it, it’s Annie.
“I think it’s perfect. You could even make a little cushion to tie to the spindles, so your butt doesn’t fall asleep when you sit in it,” I add.
“That’s a great idea,” she says, clapping her hands together beneath her chin. Then she aims two fingers at me like a gun. “Hey, maybe you can come with me to pick out the fabric?”
My reply is instant. “Absolutely. We can make a day of it.”
“Want to go right now?”
Her exuberance says I don’t have much of a choice, so I nod just as eagerly. “What are we still standing here for? Let’s go!”
We end up spending the rest of the day out shopping. By the time we make it back to her apartment, it’s dusk. We made out well. Maybe a little too well. Both of our arms are loaded up to the elbow with goodies, and I help Annie carry the bags up the two flights of stairs, complaining the whole way about her only asking me along because she needed a pack mule. Her tinkling laughter carries through the hallway all the way to her door and is replaced by a warm smile when the door to her apartment swings open.
Jason is standing on the other side, his semi-muscled shoulders tensed and his cold stare trained on me. My good mood instantly evaporates. As he reaches out to take Annie’s bags, he leans down and gives her a lingering kiss.
Giving them their privacy, I look away. Now that the mood is significantly subdued, it’s time for me to leave. Jason holds the door and I shuffle inside, laying the rest of the bags on the dining room table.
“Okay, lady, I had fun today, but you wore me out,” I tell Annie as I stretch my fingers and arms, which are marked with deep grooves and tinged a deep shade of red from holding the bags. “I’m going to head home and veg out on some Mafia Wives.”
“Are you sure?” Annie looks disappointed as she returns my hug. “We’re ordering pizza tonight. You’re welcome to stay and eat dinner with us.”
She means it, but one look at Jason and I know that invitation is one-sided. I wouldn’t have accepted anyway. “No, thanks. I need to keep my figure up,” I say, patting my flat stomach. “Eat an extra slice for me?”
“You know it. Hey,” Annie says as she sees me to the door. “I know I already said it, but I think it bears repeating. If by the end of this class you’re still hung up on this guy, you need to give him another chance. It’s a tough situation, but it sounds like he really liked you.”
I almost regret telling her what happened between me and Ransom. Almost. The fact is, she’s good at dishing out advice, and I’d be stupid not to eat at her table. I take her words to heart, but I can’t be sure what, if anything, I will do with them. Only time will tell. “I’ll think about it.”
I wave as I slip past Jason, flashing him a tight smile on my way out. He mumbles a very unenthusiastic goodbye and I hear the door click closed before I reach the top of the stairs.
What she sees in him, I don’t know, but if she’s happy, then I’m willing to pretend I’m happy, too. Lord knows, I’m great at lying. What must it be like, looking at life through a pair of rose-colored glasses? And where can I find a pair?
***
The last few weeks of the semester fly by. Between work and school and spending time with my friends, I hardly notice it. Keeping busy is the secret to maintaining any level of sanity, especially during the tough times life hands out.
That’s how I got through my mother’s passing: I threw myself into soccer and friends and adopting the role of daughter and homemaker. It’s also how I got past my father’s death. Before you know it, time has skated by you and wounds that used to ache are beginning to scab over.
Ransom has shown up at the club a few times. He’s watched me dance, but I don’t watch him. He’s asked for me personally, but I decline. Then he left a number for me with Bernice—I assume, out of desperation—and even though I have no intention of calling it, it sits buried in my purse.
It’s a small source of comfort to know that I could hear his voice anytime with just the push of a few buttons. It’s also a big source of stress because each day that passes makes me wonder how much longer I can prevent myself from picking up the phone.
The problem has only grown deeper as my impending show approaches, and now that it’s finally here, I find my hand searching for that scrap of paper. I won’t call it, but I desperately want to. I spent a lot of time preparing myself for this night, but now that it’s here, all of my insecurities are jumping to the forefront of my mind.
Is this how I want people to see me? Is it really worth taking my clothes off for? Does this cheapen me somehow? It’s supposed to be art, that’s what Mrs. Jackson said, but blending nude art with education somehow feels wrong.
But it’s a paying gig, and that’s what ultimately has me walking into that room Wednesday night.
There are easels set up in a circle around the edges of the room, creating a stage for the table placed dead center. It’s draped with white fabric that I think was intended to make the space more inviting, when in reality it lends it a clinical feel. I hate it instantly and a voice inside my head whispers that it’s not too late to turn around. I’m the only one here, so they would just assume I never showed up, right?
The idea is blown to hell when I turn to find Mrs. Jackson approaching. She’s dressed in a long, flowing tie-dyed dress and she’s pushing a cart stacked with paint, brushes, and other supplies. And she’s looking right at me with a pleased smile. “Good, you’re here. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d show.”
As I move to the side to give her room to pass, I feel my brows pull down.
Even though she hasn’t seen my expression, she continues speaking. “You probably wouldn’t know it from the level of cockiness in your fellow classmates, but there are a lot of cold feet at this school, especially the boys. They’ll strip down and blaze a naked path through a football field on game day for a laugh, but they’re shaking in their sneakers if you ask them to get naked and take a load off so a few people can draw a picture.”
I laugh nervously as I set my purse down on a nearby table and follow her deeper into the room. She stops the cart midway and positions it near a large sink basin.
Before I forget, I fish the paper Ransom gave me from my pocket and hold it out. “I need you to fill this out. It’s a questionnaire and proof that I was here.”