Page 24 of Road Trip to Forever
“A compliment every woman wants to hear,” I say.
I turn my back on the conversation and inspect the pair of candlesticks sitting on the dining room table instead of answering her. They’re gold and gaudy, on pedestals carved with an intricate design. A gargoyle, maybe?
That can’t be right.
I snap a picture and send a message to Patrick.
Good news. The candlesticks are going strong.
He answers right away.
Is that a gargoyle?
I was going to ask you the same thing. You’re the one who bought them.
Kind of looks like it.
Those things are the best engagement party gag gift ever. Henry and Emma love them. How many years have to pass before I tell the couple I got them for a dollar each at a craft store that was going out of business?
You can tell them when I tell them the dish towels they use every day were regifted from my mom’s linen closet. They said cheap, and I went cheap. I’m a poor and struggling artist, after all.
Weren’t you in Rome two weeks ago? Struggling artist, my ass.
Yes, where I struggled to eat anything but gelato and pasta.
Stop. I’m in a meeting and you’re making me laugh.
What kind of laugh?
The wheezing kind, where I can’t pretend it’s a cough.
That’s my favorite laugh of yours.
He sends a blurry selfie in response, his chin in his hands and his eyes half-closed. A smile threatens to overtake his face. I can tell he’s trying—and failing—to fight it, the wrinkles on the bridge of his nose and the laugh lines near his mouth giving him away.
I grin.
The future of education in America, folks. Who let you be an elementary school principal?
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Should I slip the candlesticks into my purse?
Don’t you dare. I’m still paying interest on those heinous things.
They were a dollar! Fine. I won’t steal them.
Leave me alone, Clepto. I’m trying to learn over here.
Sorry for bugging you with stupid photos!!!
You never bug me. I love your stupid photos.
It’s silly to feel a swoop low in my belly when I read those words. It’s silly to read the message two, three,fourtimes in a row before I click my phone closed, yet I do.
I can’t help it.
Because Patrick loves my stupid photos. He answers my pointless text messages during important meetings. And two nights ago, my world upended when he called meloveand fell asleep beside me in bed. Strong arms wrapped around my waist and my head resting on his chest, the beat of his heart a lullaby in my ear.
