“Patrick proposed. Isn’t it gorgeous?” I must admit it is beautiful. It’s enormous and a bit gaudy in size, but the style is really stunning.
“Oh, wow. You and Patrick, huh?” It feels like a million years ago that we were all forced to hang out together. I guess I had assumed that if Evan and I couldn’t make it work, certainly Patrick and his ridiculously happy lab partner would fail as well.
“Yes, he asked me in June.”
“That’s great, Chloe. Congratulations.” I look at her expectantly, wondering what the hell all this has to do with me. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe she’s just here to gloat.
“Thank you. Actually, that’s why I’m here. I’d like to hire you.” If this girl asks me to bartend her wedding, I will drag her out of here by her hair. Seriously.
“Oh?” I ask, trying desperately to suppress the paranoid anger building in my chest. To distract myself, I grab a barstool and take a seat next to her.
“I remember seeing your photos when you were, um, when you were with Evan,” she says, looking embarrassed. “You have real skill, Kate. I’d like to hire you to take some artistic photos at the wedding. We have a photographer coming to take all the regular wedding shots. She’s from Wilmette and is highly recommended,” she continues, looking so proud of herself, and I do my best not to roll my eyes. She’s such a snob.
I have to interrupt her or I think she might go on talking forever about every little detail of her wedding. “So, artistic shots? Do you have something specific in mind?”
“Well, we’re getting married at my family’s country club, and they have these amazing Christmas lights literally everywhere. It’s gorgeous. I remember seeing photos you took at Christmas time a few years ago.”
Just the mention of Christmas is painful. All I can think about are the holidays spent with Evan. Pushing him from my mind, I do my best to focus on Chloe as she continues. “I was hoping you could get some shots with Patrick and I with lights in the background. I remember you saying a long time ago how film cameras are able to give more texture and definition to the shots. And I don’t want to have any regrets about these photos. They’re the memories that Patrick and I will hold dear for years and years. I want them to be perfect.”
“It sounds like a really nice opportunity for me. But, you should know that I don’t have a photography studio. It’s just me, my camera and a makeshift darkroom in my extra bathroom.”
Chloe seems unfazed by this statement. She places her hands on the bar, lacing her fingers together, looking me in the eye. She looks determined. “Kate, I’ve seen your work and it speaks for itself. You’re talented. Please consider it. I’ll pay you, of course. Just name your fee.”
“I’d have to think about that since I’ve never done this before.”
“How about this? I’ll pay you the same amount that we’re paying our other photographer. I’ll base it on her hourly rate. We won’t need you for the entire time. Basically, the service, some time with us during cocktail hour and then a few shots at the reception. You’ll be free to go after that.” Acting as if I’m pondering this, all I can really think about is Evan. Is he still friends with Patrick? Will he be there? “We’ll also pay you for your photographs.”
“Chloe, I’m flattered. Seriously. But, I’m not sure if I should and it’s not about the money …” I raise my eyebrows at her, hoping she’ll understand the meaning behind those cryptic words. She nods.
“I had a feeling you would say that. Evan is fine with it, don’t worry.” My heart starts to pound in my chest just from the sound of his name. He’s fine with it? What the hell?
“Oh, okay,” I have to look away from Chloe, afraid she’ll see the disappointment in my face. The last thing I need is for her to report back to Patrick how upset I still am after all this time. I’d be mortified — especially if Evan is fine with it. Asshole.
“He’s seeing someone, so don’t stress over it.” That’s the last straw.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t,” I say sarcastically.
Chloe looks disappointed when I fire back at her. Why is that? Was she hoping for a big ol’ happy reunion for the four of us? If so, she can think again. Clearly, Evan’s moved on while I sit here and fight with the memories of him that consume my every thought. Damn him. Why did I let him walk away? He told me he wouldn’t back down. And now, it’s been two years and no phone calls, no emails, nothing. It’s like we never existed. Until now. Chloe’s bringing it all back. The pain, the happiness, everything. Anxiety builds in my chest and I realize that I can’t say no to her. I have to see him.
“I would be happy to photograph your wedding, Chloe,” I say, pulling myself together.
“Really?” she squeals, hopping up and down in her cute little Ugg boots. A tank top, short shorts and Ugg boots. Makes no sense to me whatsoever, but Chloe pulls it off. Before I know it, the exuberant bride-to-be is tackling me. She giggles as she squeezes me tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” I say, grabbing a napkin and writing down my personal information. “Here’s my email address and phone number. I’m guessing you didn’t have them since you came all the way down here just to ask me.”
“Thanks,” she blushes, “I figured it’d be better to ask you in person. I’ll be in touch with the exact details, but please mark your calendar for Saturday, December 1st.
“Will do,” I reply. “I really should get back to work now. Traffic is going to start to pick up and there’s a lot of stuff that needs to get done.”
“Sure,” she replies, putting her Dolce and Gabbana bag over her shoulder. “Thanks so much, Kate. I know you’ll do a fantastic job.”
“I appreciate the opportunity,” I say in a moment of emotional weakness. “Thank you.” Giving her a genuine smile, I tie my apron around my waist and make my way behind the bar. Chloe waves as she walks out the door, and I’m left wondering what the hell I just got myself into.
***
An hour later, Bree shows up late for her shift, looking ecstatic. I wish I could feel that way again.
“Just the woman I’m dying to see,” she says, walking towards me with determination, shoving a bright pink flier in my hand.
“What is this?” I frown as I read the text. “What is Blue Door Art Gallery and Studio?”
“It’s a local gallery here in town on Central Street, not far from your place. They’re hosting an exhibition for new photographers to discover new talent. You have to submit samples of your work for judging and then you’ll find out if you’re chosen to be a part of it.”
“I don’t know, Bree . . . ”
“You can’t be serious, Kate. This is exciting. And it’s two minutes from here. This is how you can get your photography discovered, start getting hired by magazines . . . you have to start somewhere.”
“I know, I know, I’m just not sure I’m ready. Maybe I can start taking some shots and do the next one,” I say, dodging her eye contact. But, she’s awfully persistent.
“Whatever, Kate. I’m tired of the excuses. You need to do this and I won’t take no for answer. You’re wasting your talent, keeping all your photos holed up in your apartment for no one to see.” Bree places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s time, my friend. No regrets, remember?”
Secretly, I’ve always wanted to do something like this, I just never had the guts. But, now holding this flier in my hand, fresh off my conversation with Chloe, I’m seeing things differently. Chloe wants me to capture the beauty of her wedding day. She could afford to hire anyone and she wants me to do it. And now, Bree is standing in front of me, practically turning red from excitement about the idea of me submitting my work. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is time. Time I stopped being so afraid to fail. Time I put my heart and soul into something for me, for my future.
Looking Bree dead in the eye, I say with purpose, “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 21
Evan
October
20, 2012
My intercom beeps, as I’m preparing dinner for Chelsea and myself. We’ve been dating for a few months now and I like her a lot. She’s a nice girl and I genuinely enjoy her company. We see live bands a few times a month and we’re never short on things to talk about since we have so much in common. But, that spark . . . that gravitational pull that you feel with someone who drives you crazy? Nope, not feeling that.
I wipe my hands with the kitchen towel and press the button. “Yeah?”
“It’s me, Evan,” I hear Chelsea’s sweet voice and buzz her up. Minutes later, she’s in my apartment, watching me chop vegetables as she sips a glass of wine.
“How was your day, Chels?” I ask as I chop.
“It was nice. I went shopping with my Mom,” she says. She’s been dropping hints like crazy about her folks. She finds a way to bring them up constantly. I know passive aggressive behavior when I see it. She wants me to meet them. And for some reason, I’m avoiding it like the plague. I love spending time with her, and the sex is decent, but meeting the parents is a really big step; one I’m honestly not ready to make. Funny, how I was dying for Kate to introduce me to her folks. I never did meet them, even though I wanted to.
“That sounds nice. Hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.” I wink as I scrape the onions and peppers into the frying pan. Steam rushes into the air as they hit the hot steel.
“You know us, crazy suburban girls on the warpath.” She giggles, sipping her wine again, her cheeks blushing. “What did you do today?”
“I got measured for my best man tux with Patrick.” I raise my eyebrows as I stir the marinara sauce bubbling on the stove.
“Ooh, exciting,” she says as she hops up on the counter. “Let me try.” She points to the sauce. Picking up the wooden spoon, I scoop a small amount of sauce and blow on it so it won’t burn her. She smiles wide, appreciating the gesture. I gently place the spoon right in front of her lips and she carefully takes the marinara into her adorable mouth.
“Yum,” she says, licking the marinara from her lips, “I had no idea you were such a good cook.”
“I’m not.” I laugh, walking to the recycling bin and pulling out the empty jar from the grocery store. Chelsea giggles as I place it back among the other jars and cans.
“Oh well, at least you’re honest.” She laughs. “Honesty is always better than cooking ability.” She’s right. I am honest . . . about most things.
“So, is Patrick getting nervous?” she asks, swinging her legs playfully as she watches me cook.
“Not really. He’s been in love with this girl for ages. I think he’s ready for her to be his wife, instead of the crazed Bridezilla she seems to be right now.”
“Planning a wedding is a ton of work, I don’t blame her for getting nuts. I’m sure I’ll be the same when it happens to me.”
Silence.
That’s another thing . . . she keeps hinting about commitment, marriage, all of that stuff. And, I’m getting the distinct impression that we’re in two very different places. But, I like her . . . a lot, it’s just a little much to be discussing marriage after three months of casual dating. Especially when Kate refuses to leave my brain.
I quickly finish preparing the rest of our meal and we take a seat at the kitchen table.
“This is delicious,” Chelsea says between bites.
“Thanks,” I reply with a smile, “so, did you hear that Ellie Goulding is coming to the Aragon Ballroom?” As soon as I ask it, I realize this question is going to affect her. In my head, I’m just bringing up one of her favorite singers. But, it’s three months from now. Girls love to make plans far in advance. To them, it means the dude is serious about them. And maybe that’s true. But, I really wish I could go back and not say anything at all.
“When?” she asks. Yep, here we go.
“The end of January, I think. We don’t need to buy tickets or anything yet. Just wanted you to know since you love her so much,” I add. A gigantic smile spreads across her face. She’s elated. Damn it.
“Oooh, that sounds great. I’ll have to mark my calendar.” She hops up and plugs the date into her phone before sitting back in her seat and taking a bite of pasta. As she slurps the last bit of the pasta into her mouth, a tiny splatter of sauce lands on her cute, little nose. It makes me chuckle softly to myself as I look at her very pretty face.
“What?” Chelsea asks. Sliding forward in my chair, I give her a tiny kiss on her nose, taking the sauce with me.
“Nothing,” I smile, taking a sip of wine. She gives me a lighthearted smirk before rubbing her foot up my leg. She has got to be the most playful girl I’ve ever dated. Things are easy with Chelsea, they’re fun. And it’s these moments, these carefree moments that help me ignore my looming thoughts of Kate. The wedding is in just a few weeks and the closer we get to the date circled on my calendar, the more anxious I become. So, right now, I’m able to forget about Kate, at least temporarily, and enjoy the adorable and attractive blonde who’s currently putting the moves on me.
“Nothing, huh?” she asks, moving from her chair and climbing into my lap. I wrap my arms around her, cradling her tight. “Maybe we should go into the bedroom for a little while and talk about ‘nothing’.”
Chelsea starts to unbutton my cotton shirt as she nibbles at my neck. Sweeping her up into my arms, I carry her into my room as she continues to lick, nibble and kiss me. Sex with Chelsea is fun. Not passionate gotta-have-you-right-now-or-I’ll-die sex, but comfortable, enjoyable and satisfying sex.
Laying her down on the bed, I begin to unbutton her jeans. She wiggles as I pull them down to her ankles, yanking them off completely, sending her into a fit of laughter. I kiss the inside of her thighs and work my way down to her big toe, taking it into my mouth; her weakness. She throws her head back and moans, “Oh, Ev.” And that’s all it takes for reality to return. Her foot falls down to the bed, and I stare at her in disbelief.
“What is it?” Chelsea looks up at me, propping herself up on her elbows, dread upon her pale face. “What did I do?”
“It’s nothing, it’s just . . . um, I don’t really like being called that,” I mutter in response.
“You mean ‘Ev’?” I nod. “Okay, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . well, you call me Chels all the time, so I thought—”
“I know, but that’s different,” I snap, feeling bad the second the words leave my mouth.
“Evan!” Chelsea says, her eyes wide. She looks so injured. I have to force myself to calm down and try to make this better. Placing my head in my hands, I pull on my hair, trying to release some of my anger and frustration.
“I know. It probably doesn’t make any sense. And I’m sorry,” I say, looking down at her. She sits up slowly and takes my hands in hers.
“It’s all right. We both have baggage.”
“You? Baggage?” I ask with curiosity.
“Maybe a little.”
“Wow, you just seem so . . . I don’t know, happy all the time.”
“Life’s too short to be anything else. So, maybe one day you’ll tell me why you hate that nickname. Until then, I’m not going to worry about it.”
“You’re awesome, Chels,” I say, kissing her lightly on the lips. She attempts to deepen the kiss, but I place both of my hands on her shoulders and push away gently.
Stripping the rest of her clothes from her body, Chelsea and I have sex quietly on the bed. Kissing her one last time, I lay down beside her, staring off into space. All I can hear, see, taste, smell, is Kate. She has invaded my brain, invaded my heart and I can’t get her out.
Chelsea falls asleep and I hear her breathing softly in and out. I turn to look at her face, tracing the skin of her button nose, guilt surrounding my every movement, my every breath. I want to love this woman so badly. My life would be so much better if I did. Wouldn’t it?
Chapter 22
Kate
November 18, 2012
The weather is unseasonably warm this weekend,
which gives me the inspiration to take photos all day long on this lonely Sunday afternoon. I worked at the bar all weekend long, made some really good tips and had some mediocre ideas for what to present at the art show. The art gallery accepted my work within just a couple of days of entering, which was surprising. It felt great, though, to have that acknowledgment from professionals who look at photos and other various pieces of art on a daily basis. They aren’t my boyfriend or my best friend. They owe me nothing . . . and they like my work.
Since the day I opened that email telling me my work had been accepted, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what to present at the show. Nothing seems good enough, original enough or creative enough. And every time I think about it too much I start to feel physically sick, like I might vomit. But, now the show is less than a month away and I need to figure it out. It’s too important to keep avoiding.
Walking through a local park just a few blocks from my home, I snap pictures left and right. An abandoned swing with the sunlight hitting the seat just perfectly. A tree that’s lost all its leaves, sitting lonesome on a small hill. A blade of grass bending over in the sunshine. For over an hour, I roam around the large park, looking for something, anything to inspire me. For the light bulb in my head to go on and tell me, ‘this is it.’ But, what I really love to photograph are faces, and somehow, taking pictures of strangers in a park doesn’t bring the intimacy to my work that I’m used to.
“Can you believe this November weather? It feels like it may hit 65 degrees,” a man says from behind me. He’s wearing sunglasses and sitting on the park bench just a few feet from where I’m photographing the weak branches of an incredibly large tree. I really hope he isn’t hitting on me.
“Yeah, it’s a great excuse to get outside,” I say, raising my camera up as a way of explaining what I’m doing here. He points to the park.
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