Changed

by Alicia Renee Kline

  “She didn’t do that bad,” Blake allowed. “And that’s what you’ll tend to find with real clients, too. They’ve watched enough cable to have a feel for creating a look. Maybe they’ve attempted to put something together but they just need an expert to tweak it a bit. That’s where we come in.”

  I loved how she included me in things, the “we” instead of “I”. I was nowhere near expert level on anything, especially not decorating. But she had enough confidence for the both of us and that meant a lot. A steady paycheck for starters.

  “Some of the best jobs aren’t the biggest,” she continued. “They’re the ones where the major pieces are already in play; you’ve just got to figure out where to put them. Maybe add a couple coats of paint, some curtains and pillows and it’s a masterpiece. Those are the most fun to do, I think. Better than doing a blank slate - you’re giving people what they tried to do themselves, but couldn’t quite get it right.”

  “Why didn’t you ever do Lauren’s house, then?”

  Blake laughed. “Because everyone knew that once she and Matthew finally woke up, it wasn’t going to be her home base for long. His house is bigger, plus it’s a Snyder Designs original. There is no competition there.”

  “Gee, thanks. Now that I know that I got the red-headed stepchild of properties, maybe we should just concede defeat now.”

  “Yours will be even better,” she promised.

  “The inaugural Taylor Designs project?”

  She shook her head, that platinum blond and blue ponytail flying out behind her, then landing against her back with nary a strand out of place. “This one is the inaugural Gracie Alexander project. Mark my words; your name will be just as valuable one day. Own it.”

  “So what am I going to do first?” I asked aloud, closing my eyes and picturing what I saw in my head. “Let’s go with the living room, because it’s what people see first.”

  It was easy enough to visualize what I saw every day when I walked around my house. Soft yellow interior, a nearly khaki colored couch and love seat. A dark mahogany coffee table. End tables that matched. A flat screen television mounted to the wall.

  “I don’t like yellow,” I admitted.

  My eyes fluttered open as I realized I was still standing in front of my boss, whose very house was painted yellow. Instead of shooting me a dirty look for denouncing the color, she nodded and encouraged me to go on.

  “That couch would go with just about anything,” I continued.

  “Right. So now what?”

  “So now I need a wall color. But I should probably look for accessories first to give myself an idea of what I really like.”

  “Agreed. We can always match paint to something in a curtain, or a pillow, or a lamp. Even a picture.”

  She trailed me around the store as I debated, not really finding anything that spoke to me. I was just about ready to give up when something caught my eye from across the aisle. As if in a trance, I walked over and picked up the print off the shelf, setting it gently upon its edge on the floor.

  “That,” I said, “is a terrible picture, but I absolutely love that color.”

  Blake cocked her head and stared at the landscape in front of us, debating what to say. There were a lot of colors to choose from, and I wasn’t being particularly specific.

  “The copper,” I clarified.

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I could do like a kind of coppery, burnt orange color on the walls in the living room. It would still go with the couch. Maybe some black pillows. Nah, maybe white. Or both. And if I could find a wrought iron wall hanging sort of thing, that would be cool.”

  My enthusiasm for the project was contagious, and Blake became just as animated as I was. We were having quite the orgasmic interior design experience and we didn’t care who noticed.

  “We need to start with the paint,” I commanded as I placed the picture back where it came from. “I need to see how it looks in the room first before I decide if I want to go light or dark with the rest of the stuff.”

  “Okay then.”

  I half expected her to tell me my method was wrong. After all, she was the expert here. I’d watched her at work, transforming her former bedroom at Matthew’s house into a nursery for Sadie. She’d picked out absolutely everything in that room prior to giving the walls the most creative paint job I’d ever seen in person. Put together, it had come out looking worthy of a magazine spread. Who was I to tell her how this was going to work?

  Our next stop was the home improvement store across the street, where after much debate, I found exactly what I was looking for hidden amongst the thousands of paint selections available. I plucked the swatch from the display and held it up in triumph.

  “What are you doing?” Blake asked me as I tucked the sample into my purse.

  “I certainly don’t want to forget what it is I’m buying later.”

  She shook her head. “There is no later. We’re painting today.”

  I took one look at her outfit and rolled my eyes. Because spring had sprung, she was the epitome of the season in a pair of white capri pants and a pastel pink flowing button down blouse.

  “Those aren’t painting clothes,” I observed.

  I looked down at myself. A pair of jeans that cost more than they should have and a skintight black tee weren’t exactly appropriate either.

  Always with an answer for everything, Blake was undeterred. “So we change. I’m sure you have something I can borrow. Or we’ll stop by my place on the way back. No biggie.”

  So she wasn’t entirely letting me take charge here. I shrugged and conceded defeat.

  Blake’s trained eye visualized my living room and calculated the amount of paint we’d need to buy in a split second. We got the paint mixed, grabbed some supplies while we were waiting, and finally made our way to the register. I passed over my credit card without too much guilt and paid for everything. The cashier did not ask me for my identification. Instead of giving her a lecture about identity theft, I flashed her a smile and grabbed my receipt.

  Since Blake and I were roughly the same size, there was no need for her to stop by her house to put on some ratty clothes. We drove straight to my place, changed in to a couple of my old t-shirts and pairs of sweats I had lying around for those days when I actually felt the urge to do serious housecleaning, and got to work.

  One thing that I’d learned about Blake was that even though she looked like a beauty queen, she didn’t act like one. Perhaps it stemmed from her owning her own business and working alone for so many years. The girl was not afraid to do some heavy lifting or to get her hands dirty. Before I could ask her what we were going to do about the television, she had removed it from its wall mount with a trained hand. After doing that, moving the couch, loveseat and tables was a piece of cake.

  “Yellow bleeds through,” she intoned with the voice of a design prophet, “so I always use a primer to cover it up first.”

  “Damn Lauren for never making things easy,” I muttered.

  “Isn’t that right?” she laughed. “Though I’m not one to talk, either.”

  “Everyone has their issues. It keeps life interesting.”

  “Speaking of interesting, have you heard from that Indy guy yet?”

  “No,” I answered honestly.

  “That kind of surprises me. I figured he’d realize his mistake by now and be sending you flowers or driving up here to serenade you on your porch.”

  “You’re too kind. You’re assuming that there’s anything for him to miss.”

  “Oh come on. Look at you.”

  I did. I was a sweaty, paint splotched mess.

  “I don’t mean right now,” she chided. “You are like model perfect. Sorry, I never took you for the humble type, but maybe you are.”

  “No, I’m definitely not humble. It’s just that not everyone appreciates me. Take Eric for example. He hated my guts and I’ll forever be jealous that you’re the one who got to slap him.”

  “Eric
was a dick. But I think he learned his lesson. No, I’m talking about normal guys; you know, guys with common sense and feelings.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry. I know maybe three men who fit that description. You’re married to one. Lauren’s married to one. Then there’s Doug. Somehow, I don’t think he’d go there.”

  “This Indy guy broke your heart, didn’t he?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I guess not everyone’s lucky enough to have someone pine for them for a decade.”

  Instinctively, she looked down at her left hand, that engagement ring visual proof that I was talking about her. Chris could talk all he wanted to about how many times he’d considered pawning that diamond during their ten years of silence, but the fact of the matter was he hadn’t. He couldn’t have followed through with it.

  “I’m pretty sure that the pining went both ways,” Blake said quietly.

  I picked up my paintbrush and set to work around the trim. It was the best that I could do to try to end that conversation, though I was having a pretty intense one with myself already. She wasn’t the only one who understood pining. I did it with the best of them, curling up each night with a physical reminder of the one that had gotten away. My actions were totally irrational. I just needed to get over myself. And him.

  “I suppose that means that you have the all clear to find someone in your own neighborhood now.”

  She said it like it was a good thing, not a consolation prize. I grunted.

  “Not ready yet,” I admitted. “Besides, I learned vicariously through Lauren that if your heart’s not into finding someone else, you won’t. There’s no use into forcing a relationship that’s never going to work.”

  I paused, letting the words that I’d uttered on the fly really sink in. I hated when I gave myself wisdom that I didn’t want to hear. I’d said it myself: I couldn’t make Will do anything he didn’t want to. Better to allow him to show his true motives now than to have him pretend for an extended period of time that we were something we weren’t. As emotionally invested as I’d become in the few short months we’d really known each other, it would hurt ten times worse if I’d let that fester any longer.

  “What about Will?” Blake asked.

  My hand slipped and I watched as a streak of copper slashed its way over the painter’s tape and onto my white baseboard, nearly hitting the carpet. “Fuck!”

  I grabbed a rag and tried as best as I could to salvage my paint job. When I resigned myself to the fact that I’d also be touching up my trim later, I attempted to sound nonchalant. “What about Will?”

  “He’s single. He’s kind of cute. And he’s a nice guy, possibly with common sense and feelings.”

  “He’s not single; he’s divorced,” I corrected. “There’s a world of difference there.”

  “So you’d write him off because you don’t do baggage? Everyone has baggage. When you get to a certain age, Gracie, you’re not going to find someone worth having who doesn’t. It doesn’t even have to be a previous marriage - his just comes with a court file number and a child support payment.”

  “So you know he has a kid?”

  I probably should have feigned ignorance on that account, but the words popped right out of my mouth. I supposed I could play it off like I did with Lauren, explaining that we’d spoken about it at the wedding reception. If you lied enough times, eventually your story started to sound like the truth.

  Blake didn’t bat an eyelash. “Yeah.”

  Maybe she assumed it was common knowledge. Will had told me himself that he’d never kept that fact from Chris. And Chris had likely mentioned it in passing to Blake, maybe when he’d explained his rationality for choosing our cop friend as a sounding board when she had sprung the news of her miscarriage on him. Lauren would totally feel out of the loop now.

  “I don’t do kids,” I reminded her.

  Never mind that Will didn’t do me speaking with his kid. That was the real problem - not that there was an Emma to begin with. A sixteen year old could take care of herself, more or less. I could handle listening to her carrying on about high school or boys or makeup. What I didn’t want was a constant string of diaper changes and feeding someone strained peas.

  The way I was headed, I’d never have an opportunity at either one.

  “Never say never,” she smiled, making me wonder if somehow I’d voiced my thoughts aloud. “Not everyone’s lucky enough to get the chance.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how insensitive that was to you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If it happens again for Chris and me, then it does. If it doesn’t, I know he won’t love me any less. I’m just saying not to write someone off because they aren’t ticking off all the boxes on your checklist.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t see where you’re getting that Will would be a good match. We barely know each other.”

  “Will barely lets anyone get to know him. I swear, he’s decent enough friends with Chris, but he hasn’t said more than ten words to me ever. And guys don’t talk. Not like we are. They talk about sports and cars and stuff when they’re together.”

  “So you’re not positive that Will has feelings, then?” I teased.

  “I’m just hypothesizing here. When you’re in a relationship with someone, you share things with them that you wouldn’t tell the average person. I think you’d be a good choice to bring that out in him; to open him up.”

  “Why me?”

  “I opened up to you, didn’t I? Because you’re funny and easy to talk to. You listen when it matters and you know what to say in order to lighten the mood. Will needs someone like that to confide in. Someone that he can trust.”

  “Or he needs a good shrink.”

  “Pouring your heart out to someone and dating aren’t mutually exclusive,” Blake mused. “I just worry about him sometimes.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. He seems so broken up about the divorce. So quiet and it can’t be good to internalize all of that. Of course, I didn’t know him before his wife left him, so maybe he’s always been like this.”

  “Maybe it’s his normal. Plus, it might be hard for him to hang around you and Chris and Lauren and Matthew. Maybe it’s difficult for him to watch the four of you because it reminds him of what he’s lost.”

  “Which is why it would be good for you to reach out to him.”

  “That would be anything but a wise idea,” I hedged.

  “I think you two would play off of each other well. He’s come off of a committed relationship and you just ended things with some guy that I have the feeling you cared a lot more about than you’re letting on. You get what he’s going through, at least on some sort of level. And you’d be non-threatening. Plus you’ve seen the effects of a divorce taking place right in front of you. Even though it was your parents’, you still get it.”

  “I get it. But Will would never listen to me.”

  At least he hadn’t yet. Not when it really mattered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he doesn’t like me.”

  “Oh, Gracie. You’re just being silly. Why wouldn’t he like you? You can’t read too much into his aloofness. That’s just how he is.”

  “Blake, it’s not going to happen. So let’s just drop it, okay? If Will wants someone to save him, he’ll speak up. I swear, some of Lauren’s bleeding heart tendencies have filtered off onto you.”

  “It was just a suggestion. Don’t get your panties in a twist. You can go along all by yourself with the notion that Will doesn’t like you. Or whatever other excuse you want to come up with. If he’s not your type, he just isn’t. I’ll go through my contacts and see who is.”

  We might have moved on from the uncomfortable subject of Will, but I wasn’t positive that being a client of Blake’s dating service was any better. Especially since she’d invariably ask me what I was looking for and I’d have to admit that I was looking for Will’s exact replica. Even if I’d never had a type befor
e, Will had become my type. And I didn’t see that changing any time soon.

  “I don’t want to be set up,” I insisted. This wasn’t a lie; it was the most truthful thing I could say. I didn’t have to expand on the fact that I didn’t want to be set up because I’d already found what I wanted with the very person that her matchmaking vibes had zeroed in on.

  She paid me no mind, squeezing her eyes shut and flipping through her mental Rolodex. “How about Mike?”

  “Who?”

  “Mike Benson. The hotel guy.”

  I flashed back to Lauren’s wedding and the facility manager who had practically tripped over his own feet to greet Blake. He’d only had eyes for her, and it had been clear that those eyes had been imagining her sans clothing. Not that he hadn’t seen her like that before, anyway. That wasn’t dreaming; that was remembering. I shook my head even as she began pleading her case.

  “If there wasn’t a Chris, Mike would have been a viable candidate for my affections.”

  “Instead, he was just a one night stand. Sorry, I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

  “It’s not like that, Gracie.”

  “It’s exactly like that, Blake. In fact, he’s the only one night stand of yours that actually knows your real fucking name. I can’t follow you, because you’re you! I mean, look at you.”

  She looked down at herself, clad in my ratty clothing, then her eyes met me head on. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  If I couldn’t see the honesty written all over her face, I would have reached out and slapped her. Blake, who had every right to have a superiority complex over anyone else who walked the face of the earth, didn’t see what everyone else did when she looked in the mirror.

  “You, my dear,” I clarified, “are like Miss Kinky Head Cheerleader.”

  She laughed, and I continued.

  “I mean, you’re all blond hair and blue eyed innocence. Like the All-American girl next door. And then you take that look and turn it on its head. Blue hair streak. Piercings. Tattoo. And I bet you’re flexible, too.”