Rolling my eyes, I text: I got it covered. Literally. Lobster is served. I’m ducking out from this convo.
Rad: Speaking of the good life . . .
I’m still laughing under my breath when another message from Rad appears: Let’s get a plan together for the weekend. Maybe a game of basketball down at the gym. Have a good night, gentlemen.
I eye the plate set before me and the company around me. It’s a good night, but it could be great if the first thing my mind didn’t detour toward is that damn empty seat next to me again. I start eating and refocus on the conversation before me instead of what I’m missing out on.
Bennett raises his glass. “To our new venture and that it pays off threefold.”
Ethan says, “To Jackson. I have a good feeling about this investment and that there are more deals to come.”
Everyone follows suit toasting to me, but for some reason, it feels hollow without the one woman I want to celebrate with. I hold my glass up anyway. I’ve had a successful day and should celebrate this big step in the right direction for my career.
Doesn’t work, though. By the time we’re ordering dessert, I’m done and toss in the napkin leaving them to continue drinking into the late hours.
As I make a quick round to say goodbye, Natalie adds, “Don’t forget about dinner.”
“I won’t.” I find Ralph on my way out. Handing him my card, I say, “Cover the bill and thirty percent tip, okay?”
“Absolutely,” he says, grinning ear to ear. He runs the card and hands it back to me along with a pen. I sign, and he says, “Thank you so much, sir.”
“You’re welcome. But you make sure they’re taken care of. Got it?”
“I will.”
Glad the restaurant has cabs waiting for customers, I hop in one. I’m tempted to detour to Marlow’s like she did to mine yesterday. But we left things in a good place, and I told her I’d give her space.
Would it really be so bad if I went anyway?
10
Marlow
Exhaustion takes hold of me, and I lie back on the concrete floor.
Under most circumstances, I would never lie on a floor, but I’m hot, bothered, and tired. I check my watch. 11:38 PM. No wonder I’m so tired. I’ve been going nonstop since the gallery closed four hours ago.
Staring up at the industrial ceiling of the gallery, I feel my eyes grow heavy, and my body begins to sag against the unforgiving concrete. I roll my head to the side and wonder if I can get away with leaving the paint cans for Baker to pick up in the morning. I know I can’t. There’s no room for error with my eyes set on a promotion, so I shove myself back to my feet and start cleaning up the mess.
Painting the gallery is something I’ve never done, but I feel accomplished and proud as I stand in front of the wall that now sports the perfect shade of white. This is not how I’m used to spending my nights, but it feels good to be so productive.
It beats sitting at home and researching how much my bags will resell for.
I close the cans of paint and then lug them into the storage room one by one. Picking up the drop cloth, I wad it into a ball and add it to the pile in the back.
Now I can really appreciate the effortless beauty of Swan Lake White. Hope my boss approves of the change. Nicole prefers Stark White. I’ll give her that it has a time and place, but it’s dated, which is the last thing a gallery should be.
I grab my bag and hit the lights on my way out. After locking up, I walk down the block to a pocket-sized Japanese restaurant that sits in the corner of a large building full of legal offices. And it’s open, so I don’t have to rush.
After ordering, I occupy one of the stools at the bar and wait, trying to keep my thoughts focused on the moment—a couple feeding each other sushi, a man hunched over a table by the window, and a few college-aged kids lining the other end of the bar while sharing loud laughter and being boisterous.
During college and for the first years after graduation, Cammie, Tealey, Rad, Cade, Jackson, and I were busy getting our feet wet in the working world, hoping our hard-earned degrees would pay off. Call it ignorant bliss, but life felt wide open for me to conquer back then. My bills and credit cards were paid, and we’d party into the wee hours, laugh until our faces hurt, and dance until our feet ached.
I never felt happier, more protected, or safe than I did in those days.
Jackson always had girls hanging around him like he hung the moon. I don’t remember their names. Only him with his eyes on me. It didn’t matter if we were at a party or hanging out at Rad’s place. I would always catch those blue eyes aimed in my direction. I thought he was so annoying back then, but how could I be so blind to what was right in front of me this whole time?