Page 96 of Crash and Burn
Although I couldn't deny there was a part of me — a small part — that felt bad for him. I knew his decision couldn't have been easy.
But Grant had been the one to break things off between us. If anyone had the right to feel wounded and aggrieved, it was me. And I did feel those things. I felt them all too well. Sometimes the ache in my chest was too much to bear and I'd have to run to the back room and compose myself before I burst into tears.
I didn't know how long I could keep doing this, how long I could keep putting up this front. Pretending to be okay was slowly killing me, day by day, minute by minute.
And then, one Sunday, Grant had stood in front of me, his shoulders hunched around his ears as if bracing for some kind of impact, his eyes wary and full of doubt.
"Do you remember what tomorrow is?" he had asked me without preamble.
"Monday," I'd replied, trying as best I could not to sound snarky. I didn't know how well I did.
"It's my gallery showing," he'd said, ignoring my tone. "I was—" he had paused, seeming to gather himself as he straightened his back. "I was wondering if you were going to be there."
"I told Evan I'd go," I had said.
"I just wanted to make sure you didn't change your mind," he’d said. “There’s something I really want you to see.”
"Why would I change my mind?”
Grant had opened his mouth, then closed it, looking stymied.
"I'll see you Monday," I'd told him.
He'd nodded, looking relieved.
And now it was Monday night and I was standing in front of the art gallery, mustering up the courage to walk in.
I'd been able to keep it together, mostly, while at work. This shouldn't have been any different.
But at the bar I had customers to distract me and keep me busy. This gallery showing thing was just me, Grant and a bunch of people standing around staring at art. I was probably going to have to talk to him again.
And I was probably going to be watching Alana cling to him again.
A sickness rose up in my stomach. Why had I agreed to this?
Because Grant had been my friend for so long. I couldn't forget all the times he'd supported me in the past. Even after everything, I still felt like I needed to support him, even if it did make my stomach twist over on itself.
Or maybe I was just a masochist.
With a steadying breath, I pushed open the doors to the gallery. I was immediately glad I'd worn a simple black cocktail dress and not one of my usual stylishly cute outfits, because everyone else there looked like they were on their way to a fancy gala for the rich and famous.
"I didn't know the dress code was black tie," I muttered.
"Looking good, Lizzy." Evan came up from behind me and threw an arm around my shoulders. "Beautiful, as always."
Evan wore black slacks and a button up shirt with a skinny tie. He was a good looking guy to begin with, but this getup made him look quite dashing.
"You clean up pretty well yourself," I said. "I'm just glad I didn't wear my bright yellow sundress."
"You would have outshined every other woman here," he said with a grin.
"Thanks," I said dryly at the pun. I looked around, taking in the space, bright white walls and oddly shaped black seating. "There's no art on the walls," I noted.
"This is just the lobby," Evan replied. "I'm guessing we'll be led to the actual gallery once they've said a few opening speeches or whatever happens at these things."
"Have you seen Grant?" I tried to sound casual, but it might have come off as pained.
"I talked to him a few minutes ago," Evan said. "He was pulled away by the gallery director to talk over some details."
