Page 126 of Fresh Canvas
I shook my head, eyes still fixed on the phone. “It wasn’t Ryan.”
“Well who was it?”
“Val.”
Mom stopped short, the door to the refrigerator frozen in her hand. “Val? And what didhesay?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t answer it.”
Mom removed a carton of orange juice, then closed the fridge one inch at a time. “Have you two… talked?”
“Not in so many words.”
I decided to omit my rant at the fountain. I felt ashamed that the night I had desperately sought answers had onlyresulted in misplaced rage—and the weighty realization I’d never be enough for him.
“I know it’s your business, and I try to stay out of it, but maybe hear him out?”
“I’m sorry, hear him out?”
Mom nodded with a small harrumph. “I know you still care about him, Amantha. For heaven’s sake, you haven’t been out to the pool in weeks. Now I’m not saying he necessarily deserves another chance, but you both at least deserve closure.”
“Closure’s not always that easy to get.” I fiddled with the cap of the orange juice while my mother filled her glass.
“I know Ryan dragged out the divorce like the devil incarnate, but Valisn’tRyan.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked quietly.
Sympathy lined Mom’s expression as her shoulders softened. “Oh, come on Amantha. Val deserves more credit than that, don’t you think?” She held my chin and booped my nose with her finger, something she hadn’t done since I was a child. “With Ryan? I watched youdisappear. But Val? Well, sweetie, he helped bring you back.” She winked and gave me a quick hug before retreating to her room.
The kitchen swam beneath my brimming tears.
Valhadbrought me back—until he decided I wasn’t worth keeping.
“Ugh, I’msosick of crying!” I muttered to myself as I swiped angrily at my cheeks and stalked to unpack the last moving box. I lifted the fragile items from the box one by one and set them on my dining room table.
Gauzy bubble wrap fell to the floor as my hummingbird portrait revealed itself. I fitted it to the nail still waiting on the wall, and the painting reclaimed its place as though it had never left. I unpacked my gifted wedding and divorce plates to hang beside it.
I stepped back to admire the collage: a piece of history, a piece of darkness, and a piece of light.
“We’re home,” I whispered. “We’re home.”
Later that night, Ryan finally did call. Anthony’s arm looked to be healing fine. Anthony even sounded psyched to have a hard cast his buddies could sign when he got home in August. Relief was an understatement.
I retrieved my laptop and retired early to my bed. Couches were overrated, anyway.
My recent devotion to self-love felt promising. I had a life to live—and a career to find. I watched the blank cursor blink in my open web browser, not sure where to begin. A few moments later, a small grin blossomed into an idea.
I stood and waded into the pools of unpacked clothing on my closet floor, promising myself I’d finish moving back in later. My only fancy purse still lay at the bottom of one of the boxes, probably thinking it wouldn’t see the light of day again. I fished around inside it until I pulled out a glossy card.
“Hello again,Barbara Gaines.” I beamed at the business card my old mentor gave me at the Felix Andreas gala. Barbara smiled back at me in the photo beside her phone number, email, and her website.
I fought my way back to the bed and typed the URL of her website into the search bar on my laptop. Once the page loaded, Barbara’s winning smile with her ever-present red lipstick greeted me. I chuckled. That woman held more confidence in her pinky finger than Ieverwould.
In addition to her impressive accolades, the website boasted several videos. Clicking on a video titled, “Why Museums Last Longer Than Fortune 500 Companies,” I smiled as Barbara came to life.
Her ebony skin glowed under a professional lighting kit, though the backdrop appeared to be her own gorgeous kitchen.
With a house like that, I’d work from home too.
