The Edge of Us

by Veronica Larsen

  The way she's been acting, everything that's happened between us…all of the dots connect in rapid-fire succession until a clear picture forms in my head. I sit back and let out a humorless chuckle. For a brief moment, I consider unloading more questions on her, but manage to contain myself. Instead, I check my mirrors and pull the car out of the parking spot. The three-point turn on the narrow street gives me a much-needed reason to pour some of my frustration into the gearshift.

  Mila's eyes are on me, probably because she's piecing together my thoughts. Reading me as always. If I'd been better at reading her, I would've known what this was all about early enough to stop it.

  "You're upset I didn't tell you," she says, her voice low.

  The rhythmic sounds of the road fill the silence. My fingers close tighter over the steering wheel, but I keep my breathing steady. I don't need to answer her question. All I need to do is get her home safe and gain the clarity I can't have when she's this close to me.

  "I'm sorry," she says. "I just needed to sort it out on my own."

  "The night you came over, the night we kissed…Did you know he was back?"

  I can't not look at her now. My eyes are drawn to her face. Her features are beautiful even when their canvas is a mess, even as guilt etches across her face.

  It's all the answer I need.

  "I thought so," I say.

  "Drew—"

  "Don't. Just don't, Mila." I drag a hand across my forehead, smoothing out the tension creeping down my face. "I'm such an idiot. I should've known all this has been about him. It's always been about him."

  "That's not true…"

  I shake my head, bringing my eyes back to the road and pressing the gas pedal. The car hums underneath me.

  "We're not doing this right now."

  "No, I need you to understand. I went there because I wanted to let it all go—"

  "Right, because look at you, you're clearly over him."

  "You have no idea what it was like in there," she snaps. Her tone is the loudest she's ever used with me, it cuts through the icy air.

  "I'm not going to sit here and argue with you, Mila. It's obvious what's happening."

  "Drew, look at me. I don't want to be with him, I promise you that. I want this. I want…I want to figure out what this is between us. I want you."

  I can't lie, it feels good to hear her say that, but I pretend it doesn't. As much as I want to believe she means the words, I'd be an idiot to ignore what's right in front of my face. She's lying to herself. The night we met, this whole time I thought we were finally settling into something more, Cole has been on her brain. She might want to be with me, but she's still in love with him.

  FIFTEEN

  MILA

  THAT NIGHT, I DREAM of fog twisting into ropes and slithering up my body like a snake. I struggle against my sheets, thrashing around until I wake, tired and hungover from the reality of the night before.

  I lay still for a moment, thinking maybe the whole night was part of the dream, too. The exhibit, the hurt look in Andrew's eyes. But when I touch my fingers to my lips I remember the sting of Andrew's rejection. He dropped me off at my door. I whispered to him to come in, but he shook his head, jaw ticking the way it does when he's biting back words. Coldness seeped from his demeanor and left me feeling more alone than when I sat on the sidewalk.

  I didn't know what to say, so I lifted to my tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips, but he barely moved, hands by his sides. That was real. The clipped way he said good night stung more than the rejection, and every step he took without glancing back made me realize how hurt he was.

  I shouldn't have gone to the exhibit. I knew the art might elicit a reaction from me, but I couldn't have imagined it would ensnare me the way it did. It wasn't art, it was a mindfuck. A cruel game I didn't know the rules to.

  I did lose it.

  I tore the spiderweb apart, screaming things I can't remember. Plastic flew in every direction until one of the doors in the room opened and the man who'd let me in ushered me back out onto the street.

  I kept expecting Cole to step out from the shadows, but he didn't. I was left to process everything in front of a stranger who watched me like I was deranged. I left angrier and more confused than ever. If I had known taking a step inside that building would mess things up with Andrew, I would've set the invitation on fire the moment I received it.

  I rub my face and use the back of my hand to shield my eyes, the brightness in my room too harsh. I blink a few times until a realization bolts me upright. No, no, no. Reaching around to my nightstand, I find my phone and check the time.

  It's noon.

  In a few hours, a hairstylist and makeup artist are coming over to help me get ready for the gala tonight. The gala where I might have to give a speech in front of hundreds of influential people. A speech…I still haven't finished.

  The idea of it bears down on me, knotting up into a giant ball of nervous anticipation and dread. I do the only thing I know to do when I'm faced with something I'd much rather not deal with. I pull myself out of bed, throw my hair up, and fucking deal with it.

  My eyes are half-closed as I head down the hall toward my kitchen. I'm not just tired, I'm emotionally drained. Last night turned me upside down until everything I've been trying to keep buried tumbled out of me. Now I'm numb and raw all at once.

  I brew a pot of strong coffee, and as I wait, I lean back on the countertop and stare at the phone in my hand. The screen is open to a message to Andrew. The last text I sent him last night when I let him know I was going to the art exhibit.

  I tap the phone in my hand, trying to think of what to say to convince him last night wasn't about wanting Cole, but wanting to free myself. Whatever the words are, I need to say them aloud, to his face. He's just going to have to give me a chance to get them out.

  [Will you come to the gala tonight?]

  My finger hovers over the send button. Is it fair of me to ask? I know he's upset, but is he mad enough to miss the ceremony when he knows how much it means to me? And I know me wanting him there is selfish. It's about looking out to the crowd and seeing his face, knowing he's been by my side. The sight of him makes my crazy brain go still, his smiling eyes settling down my nerves.

  He's good for me.

  I bite my lip then press the send button before my pride has the chance to talk me out of it. We may not always get the things we want just because we ask for them, but there's no hope of us ever getting the things we want if we don't ask for them.

  With a cup of black coffee in hand, I head back to my home office and settle in to finalize the speech. Maybe headaches lower standards, but there's a lot more to work with than I remembered seeing yesterday when I'd scribbled notes all over the margins. I thought I'd have to write another speech from scratch. I mean, none of the drafts are great on their own, but when I lay them out beside each other, there's a lot of usable content. The first one I wrote was too personal. I talked about my mother's death and the effect it had on my career. The second, I go into too much detail about the psychology behind my mother's Tarot card readings, and how I applied a lot of that knowledge and instinct into my own business. One of them revolves around the major life changes—including Cole—that shaped me as a person and businesswoman. A few others seem too technical in their descriptions of how I grew my company.

  I end up piecing together a speech using elements from the best parts of each. I don't take a real breath until I've typed up and printed the final copy. It takes me three hours and by then, my headache has loosened into a general body ache. It seems to me I had dozens of dreams last night, and yet my body feels like it got no sleep at all.

  By the time Jenny and Breanna come knocking, I've showered and washed my hair. They're loud and excited as they clear right past me with their rolling suitcases, chatting animatedly with each other. The energy of the room shifts from drab to fab in seconds flat. I smile despite my physical discomfort.

  I've known the pair sinc
e high school and love any opportunity to throw their salon some business. They can take a raccoon and make it look like a swan. And that's fitting, seeing as I'm very much a raccoon today.

  "Set up wherever you want," I say, from behind my second cup of coffee.

  They barely hear me, already busy making themselves comfortable. I'm relieved to not have to deal with strangers today, to not feel obligated to make small talk.

  Instead, I pace my kitchen as they set up and mutter the lines to my speech under my breath. Every so often, my eyes dart to my phone on the counter, but the screen display remains clear of message notifications.

  Jenny calls me over.

  "Honey, come sit down," she says, tapping the dining room chair she's dragged into my living room.

  I walk over, my eyes still on the page in my hand as I continue mumbling my speech. Jenny and her sister have been so preoccupied with setting up they were not paying much attention to me. I felt comfortable practicing my speech, but now that I sit in the chair in front of them, their attention fixes squarely on me.

  "What the—" Breanna's eyes widen as she takes in my face for the first time since coming in. "Mila, girl…what in the world happened to you?"

  "It's waterproof eyeliner," I say. "It somehow smeared and I couldn't get it all the way off."

  Breanna shares a look with Jenny, who fiddles with the row of torture tools she's lined up. A blow dryer, hair straightener, and curling iron, all plugged in and ready to go. I'll never understand the true purpose of using each one since they effectively cancel each other out.

  "Tell us what happened."

  "Nothing. It was just a rough night."

  "Rough night?" Jenny asks. "Girl, please tell me you got yourself some dick."

  "No, unfortunately I did not."

  "Don't worry," Breanna says. She's started mixing up serum and face moisturizer on the back of her hand. "By the time we're done with you, you'll be sure to get some dick."

  "Girl, you'll be swatting the dicks away," Jenny agrees.

  Breanna's fingers work their way across my face, forcing me to close my eyes. I crack one eye open to see Jenny mouthing something to her sister.

  "Can you guys do me a favor," I say, "and please stop saying dicks?"

  A ping sounds from the kitchen and I practically jump out of my seat. I excuse myself to grab my phone, but when I check it, it's just a message from my driver letting me know he's on schedule. Shoulders hunched, I clutch the phone to my chest as I sit back down.

  None of this goes unnoticed, of course, and both women start hounding me for answers on whose text I was so eager to read. Their questions make my head spin, so I stay vague and nudge the conversation back toward them. Soon they are the ones talking and I'm pleasantly distracted from all the hair tugging and face prodding. An hour and a half later, my face is a few ounces heavier and thick false lashes slice the world every time I blink.

  I walk over to the mirror in the hall to take a look. It's a much nicer version of myself than the one I woke up to. My skin is smooth and even, my lips plumped and deep red. My eyes are big and refreshed, like I slept a full night. My hair is half up and teased with volume that brings out the angles of my face.

  The sight is a confidence boost I didn't know I needed. I thank my friends, hugging them each in turn. They ask to see my dress again and I take them back to my closet and lay the dress out on the bed. The gown is made of deep red lace. It's long-sleeved but backless, with deep slits on either side. I loved the contrast between the peekaboo texture covering most of my body, while having my back exposed and my legs peeking out when I walk.

  "It's gorgeous," Jenny says, running her hands down the sleeves. She glances at my arms, which are hidden inside my robe. "How come you always cover up your tattoos?"

  I'm not prepared for the question, but I pull it off by shrugging. "Because it's personal," I say.

  I practice my speech for another hour after Jenny and Breanna leave. Soon, it's time for me to get into the dress. I slip into the gown and put on my jewelry while looking in the full-length mirror.

  The whole ride to the event venue, nerves flutter in my stomach. I check my phone twice, but there's still no response from Andrew.

  Enough. This night could mark an important landmark for me. If I win the award and am allowed the platform of a highly publicized speech, it would help my business grow exposure beyond my wildest dreams. I'm determined to soak in the night.

  The car rolls to a stop and a minute later, the door opens. I throw back my shoulders, lift my chin, and blow out a breath. You've got this. I head down the walkway and up the stone steps of the building.

  When I enter the reception area, I stall at the door at the amount of people milling about. Strangers offer polite smiles, which I return as I pass. Everyone is dressed to the nines. Women with perfect faces dressed in breathtaking gowns, and confident men clad in sharp suits. It seems everyone has someone with them, making me even more aware of arriving alone. It's my first time at this event, but these are supposed to be my kind of people, like-minded successful professionals. I should fit right in. Instead, I'm sure I look like a fish out of water, overwhelmed and intimidated.

  "You look lovely, Mila."

  Tobias Kreisler comes to stand in front of me, dressed in his finest suit, a small smile on his tired face. I falter at the sight of him.

  "Tobias? What are you doing here?"

  He leans in and gives me a chaste hug.

  "I'm here to watch you win, of course."

  Any other day, the words may not have affected me as they do now. A knot forms in my throat. I nod and a slow smile builds on my face.

  "Thank you. God, I've been so worried about you—"

  "This evening," he says, cutting me off without so much as raising his voice, "is not for that discussion."

  We stare at each other, his eyes stern and unyielding.

  "Alright…"

  He extends an arm. I pat it before looping mine through it. Tobias knows most of the people in the room. He takes me under his wing, parading me around like a rare gem and introducing me with the fondness of a father.

  We walk alongside each other, but I resist the urge to examine his appearance. It's not just our world we shape with our perceptions, it's the people in it too. I'll find evidence of whatever I seek on his face. I'd hate for him to catch me looking for hints of his condition.

  Every so often, I catch myself scanning the faces in the crowd around me, searching for Andrew. As far as I can see, he's not here. It might be time I accept the fact he's not coming.

  Half an hour before the award ceremony begins, we are ushered into the event hall where everyone settles behind round tables in front of the stage. Tobias and I part ways as I go to sit at my assigned table. I chat for a few minutes with my tablemates, who, not surprisingly, are all fascinating women. We fall into easy conversation up until the minute the first presenter is introduced.

  Awards are doled out and graceful women swoop up to the stage, hands to their hearts, speaking words of empowerment and hope. The energy in the room is electric, zipping between us all and gaining momentum. I'm inspired and awestruck by the company I'm in, by the words spoken from the stage. I experience it as a spectator, forgetting for several moments at a time to be nervous about the possibility of going up there myself. That is, until the award I'm nominated for is introduced. My name is called and applause erupts around me, sending my heart racing into overdrive.

  SIXTEEN

  COLE

  EVERY PAIR OF EYES in the room is fixed on her.

  It would be impossible to look away. She's breathtaking in her red dress, walking across the stage. It's the first time all night I've managed a clear look at her. I stare, trying to fit what I see in front of me with the memory of the woman I knew so well, I could still sketch every part of her in my sleep.

  I thought I'd never forget her, but I realize now my memories are like faded photographs compared to the vision before me, like I'v
e been slowly forgetting her without realizing. I don't know how that could be possible. There's no doubt in my mind she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Except she's even more beautiful than I remember and that simple truth registers like a burn in my chest.

  The train of her dress trails behind her, and each step reveals her legs through long slits up the sides. My gaze travels up the intricate pattern of lace, which allows hints of her skin to peek through. Every curve of her figure is a pang to my stomach.

  The room goes still as Mila positions herself in front of the microphone. She stands tall, the way she always has, with the posture of a ballerina. Her high cheekbones are accentuated even further by her wide smile. Her brows rise over her almond eyes as she looks down at the award.

  So familiar. And yet…she's different in ways I can't place. It's like walking into a room you haven't been in for years and trying to figure out what's changed. I'm standing here, trying to remember someone I've yet to meet.

  Her mouth opens. I brace myself for the sound of her voice but am still unprepared when it echoes around me. It's like a punch in the gut after all these years, making the room shrink a few hundred feet in every direction.

  "Thank you so much for this," she says, breathless.

  The people around me wait patiently for her to continue. When she begins her speech, everyone can hear the words but only I know the details in between, the rich history I was part of for some time. I realize the woman in front of me is not a stranger after all. She could never be a stranger to me. I know her. I know her better than anyone in this room.

  I hang back, careful not to step too far inside. A few people have already confused me with staff, asking for refills on their drinks. Wearing a black button-down shirt to an event like this was a tactical error. But I ignored the requests and the subsequent appalled expressions.

  I didn't think I'd stay for as long as I have, stealing glances of Mila from between gaps in the sea of people. It's pathetic and not at all why I came here. All I wanted was to catch a glimpse of her in her seat and leave. I needed confirmation she was all right after what happened last night at the gallery. But instead of leaving when I should've, I remained rooted by the entrance from the moment I laid eyes on her.