“An avenue back to each other?” I snorted. “This isn’t some poorly written rom-com, Mom.”
“Don’t sass me, Adam,” she said with a note of warning that I knew to heed. “I never understood why you couldn’t see what was right in front of your face. But I told myself I wouldn’t interfere. That you would make your own choices. Even if they were poor ones.” Mom tutted. I knew what poor choice she was referring to. Chelsea took the prize for the worst choice ever.
“Okay, thanks for that, Mom. I’ve got to go now.”
I hung up with my mom and spent the remainder of the night picking up the phone to call Meg and then chickening out.
I even rehearsed in the damn mirror.“Hey, Meg. So it would be super awesome if you did this mural project. And maybe you could refrain from murdering me?”
In the end, I decided that having Lena call Meg was the best option. More cowardly perhaps, but better for all parties involved, but then I ran into Meg at my usual coffee shop and figured I’d get it over with. Bite the bullet, as they say.
So I had put on my most charming smile and presented it like the throw-away idea it wasn’t. No big deal, right?
And she hadn’t seemed particularly jazzed about the idea. In fact, she looked as if I had suggested she take up taxidermy in her spare time.
The only saving grace about the whole painful situation was seeing Skylar. But I got the sense that Meg had no idea that Sky and I were still in contact.
She seemed pissed off actually, which gave me a sadistic delight. Annoying Meg got me off apparently because I found myself cumming into a tissue less than twenty-four hours later, with her name in my mouth.
Like I said, I was pathetic.
“Okay, great. But if you have anyone else in mind, I would totally understand.”
Was she trying to talk herself out of the job? If she didn’t want it, why bother calling me?
“Look, Meg, take the job or don’t. It’s nothing to me either way.” I sounded touchy. I should probably rein that in a bit. Fuck it. Whatever. I wasn’t going to coddle Meg into accepting the job as though she were doing me a favor.
“No need to be a dick about it. Or should I say a knob?” Meg replied shortly.
There was a brief moment of silence, and then I couldn’t help it. I started laughing. And then she started chuckling on the other end of the phone.
It only lasted a few seconds before we devolved into weirdness again.
“Alright, well, if you’re sure, I’d like to get started on a design concept right away. Is there a theme I need to stick to?” Meg was now all business, which made the whole interaction much easier.
“I can email you over the ideas the previous artist had come up with that were approved by the committee. I’ll warn you now … our artistic director is a grade-A pain. She has very specific ideas about how she thinks the mural should look,” I warned her.
Meg snorted. “Let me guess. Your artistic director is Marla Delacroix.”
“How did you guess?” I asked dryly.
“She was our art teacher in junior year. Do you not remember how she made me start my self-portrait over three times because my style was, according to her self-professed discerning eye, too messy?”
“How could I forget? You fumed over that for months. We started the I Hate Mrs. DelacroixAnti-Fan Club for all of her terrorized art students because of that,” I cracked up.
“Ah, the I Hate Mrs. DelacroixAnti-Fan Club, now that’s a fond memory of Southport I could never forget.” Her rich, velvety laugh was genuine. “I might even still have a button around here someplace.”
“If you have a button, I want to see it.”
Of course, now was a perfect time for me to open my mouth and insert foot.
“She did the artwork for my wedding program. She and Chelsea had a full-on screaming match over it. Marla is one scary lady when she digs her heels in.” I was rambling, saying the worst things I could possibly say. Bringing up my soon-to-be-ex was like tossing a live grenade.
“Yeah, well, I’d better get started on this design.” Meg’s frostiness was going to give me frostbite.
Why had I mentioned Chelsea? Should I apologize? Would that be weird? What would I even be apologizing for? Daring to say Chelsea’s name? I may not be able to stand her, but she was still my wife. I shouldn’t have to say sorry every single time I accidentally brought her up. And I shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around Meg for the rest of my life. We were living in the same small town. We were going to have to interact with each other. If she couldn’t deal with my past, then that was on her.