[2018] Confessions From the Heart
Page 15
She stared into my eyes. The corners of hers were wet. “Sometimes I don’t know what to say to you.”
“What’d you just say? Feelings complicate things. Besides, you don’t have to say anything. I sense it.”
She started to speak, paused, and settled on, “Me too.”
“Whenever you need a pep talk, I hope you come to me.” I threaded my fingers through hers. “You’re special to me. I don’t normally…”
Kat nodded, squeezing my fingers with hers. “I know. You have quite the protective shield around you.”
“I…”
She tightened her grip around my hand. “No, don’t defend. Don’t explain. Just be here with me. That’s when you let me in. It’s how I’ll get closer to you, and I want to. I want you to be able to spend the entire night with me.”
“I told you why I left last night.”
“You gave me an excuse but not the truth.”
I sipped my wine. “I may be a little too independent.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Just a little?”
I sighed.
“You can call it being independent, and I have no doubt that you believe that.” Her eyes bored into mine. “But there’s more. What I’m about to say may scare you.” She waited for me to speak, but I didn’t. She continued, “Each time you sneak out at night, just remember it’s wasted time. You may think it’s the only way to reinforce your perception of independence, but that’s a crock. The plain and simple truth is running accomplishes nothing. You don’t seem like a person who doesn’t want to amount to much, so stop sabotaging yourself, even on the personal front.”
I blinked.
“Don’t bother trying verbal jujitsu to convince me otherwise.”
“Who are you?” I whispered, more than a little taken aback.
“Who do you want me to be?”
I sensed her seductive voice was a test. It took me seconds to compose myself. “You.”
“I have great news, then. That’s the only person I plan on being.” She smiled. “Another piece of good news is I’m a patient person. So, keep running from me if you must, because I know one thing: you’ll keep coming back.”
While I didn’t confirm her statement, I knew without a doubt she was right.
Chapter Fifteen
The night for drinks and appetizers held in Barb’s gallery arrived. The caterers set up round, waist-high tables throughout the open space. Kat, in a form-fitting black cocktail dress, stood across the gallery with three other artists and Barb.
Mom sidled up next to me, sipping red wine. “She’s beautiful.”
I nodded, taking a ciabatta crostini from a waiter’s tray, never letting Kat out of my sight.
She laughed. “You’ve got it bad. Not once have you taken your eyes off her.”
I looked at Mom. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” She tipped her glass in my direction. “I’ve been watching you watch her.”
It was my turn to laugh. “I don’t know what’s creepier, you admitting that or not knowing that it’s weird in the first place.”
She put a palm up. “Hey, it’s not every day my only child brings a woman who she’s clearly in love with to a gallery event.”
I swallowed. “Who said anything about love?”
Mom slanted her head, the left side of her scarf nearly reaching her midsection. “You don’t have to say a word.” She looped a hand through my arm. “It shows. Loud and clear.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Where’s Dad?”
“Not here. I told you yesterday he couldn’t make it.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I had no memory of speaking to her yesterday.
She nudged my arm. “Introduce me.”
“To whom?”
Mom tightened her squeeze on my arm, making it clear she wouldn’t be brushed off so easily. “You’re intelligent, but don’t be a smart ass. Come on.” She practically pulled me all the way across the room, weaving us through the crowd and around a handful of tables.
Barb, appraising the situation from the corner of her eye, easily dispatched the other artists to a different part of the room to discuss another painting, all the while keeping Kat at her side.
“Nell, allow me to introduce you to Kat Finn. Cori’s date.” Barb relished saying the last word.
Mom dropped my arm and shook Kat’s hand, subtly giving Kat the once-over from up close. “That’s a stunning dress.”
Kat put a hand on her chest. “Thank you.”
Mom rolled one of her pearl earrings in her fingers. “It’s always a pleasure to meet one of Cori’s friends.”
I laughed. “Just in case you didn’t put two and two together, Kat, this is Nell Tisdale, author extraordinaire, also known as my meddling mother.”
Mom jabbed her arm into my side. “That wasn’t necessary.”
Barb snickered behind her wineglass.
“Please, you taught me when I was this high”—I placed a hand at thigh level—“to introduce you that way.”
“I don’t remember giving you instructions, and I certainly didn’t tell you to add meddling.” Mom shook her head as if we were giving her a hard time and she never sought attention, good or bad.
“Please, no introduction is necessary.” Kat entered the fray with confidence. “Cori brags about you all the time.”
Mom, pleased as punch, smiled broadly.
I sucked my lips in, trying not to laugh. I had to hand it to Kat for reading my mother so efficiently without any word of caution from me.
“You brag about me?” Mom couldn’t contain herself.
Kat hooked an arm through my mother’s. “She’ll never admit it if you put her on the spot.”
I waited for Kat to say trust me, but she didn’t go all the way down the path of untruths.
“You’ve got her pegged,” Mom said more to Barb as if trying to get her older sister’s gut reaction to Kat.
“There are people with an independent streak, and then there’s Cori.” Barb held her hand all the way over her head.
“You make me sound impossible.”
“Impossible, no.” Barb seemed to weigh her next words carefully. “But guarded and a challenge.” She nodded her head as if to say that was the only way to describe me.
Kat glanced in my direction. “Is that why she never invites me over to her place?”
I grinned. “Or maybe I prefer your apartment filled with your artwork.”
“I have a new piece I hung up today if you want to come over later to see it,” Kat said to me.
“Is that why you met me outside your door when I picked you up earlier this evening?”
Kat didn’t have a chance to defend herself because Mom butted in with “We would love to!”
Kat, not taken aback in any way, said, “It’s a date.”
I steadied my breathing. “Are you sure?” I whispered in Kat’s ear.
Kat nodded. “Absolutely. Does anyone need a refill?”
“I do. Mom? Barb?”
They nodded, speechless.
I took Kat by the elbow and directed us to the bar. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not,” she whispered. “Barb is so kind. I feel a kinship with her.”
I bobbed my head. “Shall I think of a way of ditching Nell Tisdale, then?”
Kat laughed, full throated and husky. “No way. Although, it might be entertaining to see you try to watch her tap dance around it.” She seemed to think better. “But that wouldn’t bode well for me in the long run.”
“Do you always play the long game?”
She looked at me as if I was insane. “Yeah. You don’t?”
“Never considered it when it came to dating,” I said with too much honesty.
She patted my arm. “I know.” Kat turned to the bartender in a black shirt and slacks. “Three reds and a Sam Adams.”
The bartender filled our order efficiently.
“Win what?” I asked, my pulse galloping uncomfortably.
“Your heart, of course.”
Kat’s tiny apartment was spotless, per usual. On the main wall, viewable as soon as you entered the front door, hung a painting that was at least six feet long and a foot or two taller.
My first thought was How beautiful.
My second was pure panic.
It was the result of our first art therapy together.
Barb put a finger to her chin in her gallery owner appraisal way.
Mom approached it with interest.
No one spoke.
I peeked at Kat out of the corner of my eye, but she avoided all visual contact.
Mom, with her nose almost touching the painting, was way too close for my liking. Barb stayed back several feet, her eyes slowly soaking in the details.
Finally, I made eye contact with Kat, who smiled sweetly, slipping her hand into mine.
“Love,” Mom said.
“What do you mean?” Barb asked, speaking out of the corner of her mouth as if not wanting to break her concentration.
“That’s the word that comes to mind when looking at it.”
I eyed the smears of blue, yellow, and red paint, wondering how in the hell she’d come to that conclusion.
Barb stepped back. Deep in contemplation. She took several steps closer, still lost in her art critic head.
Kat squeezed my fingers tighter, seeming not to take in a breath.
I imagined this was hell for Kat. In my life, publishers, editors, and teachers typically weren’t in the same room with me while assessing whether one of my stories was a success or failure. Poor Kat could only wait for Barb, who was the shiz in Boston’s art scene, to render her verdict.
“Yeah, I can see that. A whimsical love. Not forced. Almost haphazard, but it works.” Barb looked over her shoulder. “Is it for sale?”
I was about to say no, but Kat nearly broke off my fingers, silencing me.
Kat nodded.
Mom moved to the other side of the room, not a far distance, but it did make me feel less dirty. “If you don’t buy it, I will. There’s something about it that speaks to me. A connection.”
“Uh,” I said. Could they sense my skin was crawling?
Both Barb and Mom turned to me.
I froze.
“Yes?” Barb asked as if she was in on the secret.
“It’s not for sale… I mean, I’m buying it.”
Barb regarded me for several moments. “No, I will. However, I wouldn’t be opposed to hanging it in your house.”
“House?” Kat asked.
Barb, with a sheepish smile, said, “You haven’t been over to Cori’s at all?”
Kat dropped my hand. “Nope.”
Mom and Barb laughed conspiratorially.
“Glad to see some things haven’t changed.” Mom shook her head. “Good luck with this one, Kat. I keep wondering if Cori, in some language, alien maybe, actually means the most stubborn independent son of a bitch.”
“Thanks for sugarcoating that one,” I said through gritted teeth.
Mom twirled the ends of her silk scarf. “Someone has to keep things real.”
“Do you have any more works here?” Barb asked.
Kat shook her head. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of storage space here and I just sold a couple of pieces. There’s one of mine at Cori’s, I think.”
I nodded, confirming the piece I’d bought my first time over had been hung in my house. “I’ve been meaning to have you over to see it.”
Barb’s pinched face showed her displeasure. “Did you get a good price from the other pieces you sold?” I could practically see Barb restraining her gaze from sweeping through Kat’s studio, calculating how cheap a starving artist would sell works that were worth a hell of a lot more.
“I think so. Made the next few months’ rent, at least.” Kat floated to the kitchen, a mix of being ecstatic to think Barb appreciated her work and disappointed that she had been selling herself short. “Would anyone like a drink?”
The only seating in Kat’s apartment was the recliner, and I had to rein in a smile thinking of Barb and Mom battling for who would sit down.
Barb glanced at her watch on her meaty wrist. “Next time. Stop by the studio tomorrow if you can help with the show. We’ll chat.”
Mom asked, “Do you need a ride home, Cori?” The snark in her eyes made it clear she knew I wanted to stay with the stunning Kat, but she wanted to put me on the spot.
“Thanks, but no.”
She winked at me.
Kat had already slipped a beer into my hand as if making it clear in her own way I was supposed to refuse the ride home.
Mom and Barb said their goodbyes, and Kat saw them to the door. After shutting it, she stayed put, with her eyes staring into the wood.
“You okay?” I asked after she didn’t turn around for another thirty seconds or so.
She nodded, slowly pivoting toward me.
It was adorable to see the confident and sexy Kat looking vulnerable.
“I have a feeling you won’t have to worry about rent for another six months or so,” I said, swilling the beer.
She waved that off as if money didn’t matter. God, she was such an artist, but I respected her even more for it.
“Barb Ginnetti liked it.” Kat fell into the recliner, stunned. “I mean, when I mentioned the painting to you earlier, I had no idea they would come over and look at it.” She laughed, unsure. “It was supposed to be an inside joke for you and me.”
I propped on the arm of the recliner, supporting most of my weight on my right leg, wary the beat-up chair couldn’t take both of our full weights. “I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it. Thank God Barb didn’t ask about the process.” I eyed the paining. “Does it proclaim love to you?”
Kat squinted at me as if I was some strange foreign object. “Of course. How about you?”
“I see you. Me. The memories of that night.” I tapped the side of my head with the lip of the beer bottle.
“Yes. That’s the love part.” Her expression said, “Duh.”
I leaned down and kissed her softly. “We should celebrate. It’s not every day an artist sways my aunt.”
“Yes!” She closed her eyes. “But not tonight.”
I understood. Being an artist could be exhausting. The amount of time spent debating yourself about being the worst to maybe being okay and all the degrees in between. It was no wonder most creative people suffered from madness.
She stayed in the chair, nodding off. I set my beer bottle on the kitchen counter and pulled the bed down, straightening the sheets and comforter. “Ready for bed?”
Kat nodded, stepping out of her dress. My eyes boggled when I glimpsed her black lace bustier and matching panties, but showtime ended much too quickly when she climbed under the covers.
I slid under next to her, still wearing my slacks and blouse. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of me, too.” The thickness in her voice was proof she was moments from falling into a deep sleep. “Before you run off, thank you for taking me tonight.”
I kissed the back of her head, staring at the painting and doing my best to make out the details from the limited outdoor light streaming in through the small circular window over the bed. The low ceilings probably made it harder for Kat to work in such a small space. Although, I had a feeling her reason for living in a cramped basement apartment was the direct result of barely being able to scrounge a living. Another reason why I hadn’t whisked her over to my house. I didn’t want to rub it in.
Blotting that worry from my mind, I concentrated on the painting. Kat hadn’t added too many details to the work, but her additions gave the painting depth. Just like her.
&nbs
p; The next morning, I woke early yet again with one thing on my mind. Kat.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Wiping sleep from my eyes, I glanced at the time. Three minutes after five.
“Hello,” I said, fear evident in my voice. Phone calls at this time rarely delivered good news.
“What do I have to do to get you to stay the entire night?” Her voice practically tickled my ear.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling in my bedroom. “Don’t call first thing in the morning.”
“Why’s that?” She sounded half-asleep, which I found absolutely adorable.
“Because hearing your voice on the phone is better than any alarm. Period.”
“Thanks for ruining my punishment. You’re supposed to be angry or at the very least annoyed I woke you. Not sound so pleased.”
“I was already awake. Besides, I don’t think I could ever get mad at you. Your voice does things to me.” I ran my hand down my front.
“If you were here, I could whisper sweet nothings in your ear. And I may have a few other ideas of waking you.”
“Go on.” My fingers reached under my shorts.
Her gravelly laughter spoke to me more than words. “You’re a cad.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I was wet.
“You are aware of the definition, right?”
“Now that you mention it, I’m not sure it’s appeared on any of my vocab tests.” I separated my lips with a finger.
“Harvard grad students are sufficiently lacking these days.”
“Hey, now. I can read French and Italian.” I applied pressure on my clit.
“And how is that important to our conversation?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“I’m aware,” she said with a tinge of sadness.
That killed the mood, and I sat up. “What do you mean?”
Kat sighed. “It’s too early for that conversation. The question is, when will I see you next?”
“Today at the studio and tomorrow we have a date. You. Me. Fenway.”
“Are you testing me?”
“Maybe.”
I heard her suck in several intakes of breath. “I’ve never been… It might be interesting.”