Page 63 of Secondhand Secrets

Four silent and blank stares pointed her way before a shorter woman with red curls swept into a high up-do spoke. “As in, clay?”

Relieved to at least have something to respond to, Ally shrugged. “Vases and plant pots, mostly.”

“Oh, how delightful.” Angeline squeaked with an overly bright tone, her gaze darting between her friends, like she shared a secret Ally wasn’t in on. “I thought they had machines for that stuff these days, but good for you!”

“You’re right. Pottery has been very good for me.” Ally lifted her posture because, unlike in the past, she finally had a weapon to defend her life choices. “In fact, I’m in the process of signing a distribution deal with Argyles. Have you heard of them?”

A tall brunette to the redhead’s right gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. “Heard of them? I love Argyles. Congratulations.”

Maybe it was the show of enthusiasm, but right then, Ally decided the brunette’s face was much kinder than Angeline’s.

Ally took another sip of her champagne, her body far more relaxed now that she’d stood up for herself—for once in her life—finding a place in what was an otherwise ill-fitted situation. Enough to address the group at large. “And what is it that you all do?”

“Corporate law.” Angeline spoke and tilted her head to the redhead. “And Sandy here does tax law.”

The tall brunette gave a sheepish wave. “I’m in final year med school, hoping to specialize in cardiology. The name’s Andy, by the way.”

“And I’m Janice.” The fourth woman, one of Asian appearance and brave enough to wear color in her magenta pants suit, smiled and added, “Biochemist. I work in cancer research.”

Each woman’s life seemed so different from hers, each profession not something she would have ever considered an option. Not growing up in Harlow, where there were no lawyers, much less biochemists. The women here appeared to serve loftier purposes, their paths clearer-cut than her own.

Janice—in all her brilliant magenta glory—seemed to see Ally’s doubt and reached out, patting Ally’s elbow. “You know, I wish I had at least one creative bone in my body, and I do adore handmade art. Do you have a business card? I’d love to see your work.”

Ally bit the inside of her cheek. Why had she never thought to make business cards?

“Heck.” She gave an apologetic cringe. “Not yet, but I probably should.”

Janice giggled and swatted a hand. “Never mind, I’m sure I can find you on social—”

“Must be nice”—Angeline’s flat tone cut straight through Janice’s lighter delivery, obliterating Ally’s last doubt that this woman might like her—“spending your days quite literally pottering around.”

Angeline directed a little chuckle to her friends, all of whom now stared at the ground, their wide eyes saying, Here we go again. As though they encountered each other at these events at times, and this backhanded comment was Angeline just being Angeline.

Ally, unwilling to sink beneath the intended shame, rolled her shoulders back and made no effort to hide her frown. “Well, no, it is really hard.”

Janice shook her head. “Ally, don’t worry about her, she’s—”

But weeks, maybe years of frustration overflowed, and Ally had no desire to hold back now. “It’s hard working other jobs while living for the next chance to do what I actually want to do. It’s hard sacrificing what little money I earn for materials and equipment, all so people who don’t care to know any better can belittle me. So, they can bargain down the price of art that uses techniques that took me years to perfect. Oh, and it’s hard fronting up to conversation after conversation with people who imply I’m a few braincells short of a tomato and too damn ignorant to even notice their condescension. Or worse, those who compare my work to the mass-produced, unethically made items they probably saw on some iffy-looking website for less than the money they’d impulse spend on a takeout coffee.”

Though her eyes pricked, and her cheeks burned, she raised her chin and stared Angeline down, daring her to talk back now.

Thirty-One

If Ally’s weekend with Chip hadn’t already left her feeling like an inadequate burden, this woman, Angeline, with her crisp accent and legitimate livelihood, drove home the fact that Ally would never truly fit in. Not in this place. Not with these people.

Though some did accept her, others discarded her in harsh and dismissive ways. An enemy for choosing a life they hadn’t. As if she’d had a choice on where she lived and the personality she’d developed.

To them, she would always be unrefined country folk. A flakey-brained artist. A person with a path too meandering and vague.

And maybe she could ignore all the subtle criticism and learn to be content to never fully belong in Boston and this particular social circle. But Chip’s future lay with these people. So maybe, yet again, his future couldn’t be with her.

Her eyelids took on an uncontrolled flutter, and she felt her cheeks go slack, an automatic reaction to holding back tears.

“Ally.” Janice’s voice broke through on a soft whisper, awakening Ally to the whole group still staring. “Don’t mind Angeline.”

Angeline’s eyes flew wide before she pressed her lips into a hard line at Janice, as though she’d expected the woman to back her up.

Ally scarfed the last of her champagne in a sharp and hurried movement. “I’m fine, Janice, but I am leaving.”

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