by Claire Adams
“Hi, Mom. Um, that’s ok.”
“That certainly wasn’t how I planned for the day to go.”
I went over and sat on the arm of the chair. I patted her shoulder. “I know. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to have Graham over just yet. I mean, meeting the parents is something that happens when you’ve been together longer than we have, probably.”
“Are you two together?”
I smiled. “Yeah,” I said. “We are. And he feels bad; he didn’t mean to bring things up like that. Honestly, I think he was kind of nervous, and then he probably had one too many beers ...” I stopped talking, realizing that if I was trying to make him sound better, I probably wasn’t.
“I would just never expect your father to go to a place like that,” she said. “He said he only went once, a long time ago, before you were even born, for a bachelor party, actually. You know whose party it was? Parker’s father’s.”
“Oh,” I said, remembering my conversation with him at my parents’ party. “He actually seems pretty nice.”
“He is. He’s a fine upstanding gentleman, and very successful, just like your father.”
“So, you shouldn’t be mad at him then, Mom. It sounds like it was a long time ago, and isn’t that the sort of thing people do at bachelor parties?”
“They do, I suppose.” She sighed and took another sip of her drink, ice clinking. “And that’s what I’ve been telling myself—that people do that sort of thing when they go to bachelor parties, that’s the whole point, but I still feel as though he kept a secret from me. We weren’t married then, but we were together. And I know you might find this hard to believe, Chloe, but I was a lot like you as a kid. I always wanted to do the right thing, and I never gave my parents a hard time or any of that. There was no teenage rebellion phase for me, and I was really thankful that you didn’t seem to have one, either. It just seems like now, you’re sort of making up for that.”
“I’m not trying to be rebellious. I guess I just don’t like feeling as though my life is being planned out for me. Which is kind of what I felt like was happening, especially with Parker.”
“So, the two of you just didn’t hit it off?”
“He’s nice and everything, but no, we didn’t. And Dad offering him a job to date me probably didn’t help things, either.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. And Graham did seem nice,” she said. “I can understand him being nervous. Not that we were trying to make him nervous! Maybe we can try to get together another time.”
“Well, I’m going to go visit him at work tomorrow after I go to the art center, so I’ll mention that to him.”
My mom reached up and squeezed my arm. She was trying, she really was, and I did appreciate that.
*****
The next day, I spent the morning at the art center, working on some more sketches. I didn’t want to start sculpting anything until I had a better idea of what I was going to do. I’d decided to scrap the mermaid thing—that was nice, and maybe I’d do a mermaid sculpture another time, but I wanted to do a piece that meant something. I just still wasn’t quite sure what that was.
But I made some good progress with my sketches and an idea started to take shape. Part of me wanted to talk to Graham about it, but then I decided that I wasn’t going to talk to anyone about it—I was going to have it be a surprise that would get revealed at the show.
Around lunchtime, I decided to leave. Tara called and said that Michael had been in touch and he still wanted to meet up with her today.
“You still in?” she asked. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”
“No, I will,” I said. “As your friend, I feel it’s my responsibility. What time are you meeting up with him?”
“Six.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
Graham was finishing up with a customer when I got there, so I went and got us coffees.
“Look at you,” he said, “with that giant iced coffee at 1 in the afternoon.”
“I know.” I took a big sip. “I’ve got big plans tonight.”
“Oh yeah? What’s going on?”
“I’m chaperoning Tara’s get-together with her psycho ex.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m just going to make sure that everything goes okay.”
“Tara doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who needs a chaperone.”
Unlike yourself, I could practically hear him thinking.
“Well, I’m going to be incognito. I’ve got a baseball cap. And sunglasses.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m just kidding,” I said. “I’m not going to go in a baseball cap and sunglasses. I am going to go, though, but Tara knows it. We’ve talked about it. I’m going to sit at a different table. I’ve met Michael before, but I highly doubt he’s going to recognize me. Not with my new hair, anyway.”
Graham gave me a skeptical look. “And where is all this private eye stuff going down?”
“Stacatto.”
“When are you going there?”
“I think she said she’s going to meet him at 6.”
“You girls should find a better way to spend your time. The guy sounds like an ass.”
“He is. Which is why I feel the need to go, to make sure he doesn’t try anything.”
The skeptical look turned into one of amusement. “Do you have secret kung fu skills you never told me about?”
“I might.”
“Just be careful. I know Tara’s all about making him jealous, but jealous people can do stupid shit, and you don’t want to get caught up in that, trust me.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Everything will be fine.”
He nodded and took another sip of his coffee, but I could tell that he was bothered by the whole thing.
*****
I wasn’t, though. And when 6 o’clock rolled around, I was ready.
I waited a few minutes, able to see them through the big, plate glass window. Michael looked the same as I remembered, which is to say stunningly handsome, but in a very icy sort of way. It was hard to describe, other than there was something about him that had always made me uneasy. Which was why I was here to begin with; not that I thought Tara couldn’t handle herself, but just in case.
I strolled in and went over to the counter and got a hot chocolate and a peanut butter cookie. There was an empty table in the corner, near where Tara and Michael were, so I sat there, with my back to them. There was enough chatter and background noise in the café that I could hear bits and pieces of their conversation, but not the whole thing. I kept my phone in front of me and periodically swiped at the screen, even though I wasn’t looking at anything.
“... glad you decided to see me ...” That was Michael. I turned my head ever so slightly, just enough that I could glimpse them out of the corner of my eye. Tara had definitely dolled herself up for the occasion—she looked good, in a fitted red dress with white polka dots. I didn’t quite catch her response, but it was something along the lines of, “I’m pretty busy, but I did at least manage to fit you into my schedule.”
I drank my hot chocolate and ate my cookie. The minutes ticked by. It sounded like Michael was trying to get her to come back to his place.
“I don’t think so,” Tara said. “I told you—I’m busy.”
I leaned back in my chair a little so I could hear them better.
“When have you ever been too busy for me?” he asked.
“Plenty of times. Ever since you decided you were going to leave me and jet off to Paris.”
There was a scraping sound as Tara pushed back her chair and stood up. “In fact, I’m leaving right now.”
It seemed as though she’d forgotten that I was there, or she just didn’t want to break my cover. She hurried out, her spiked heels click-clicking on the brushed concrete floor. Michael stalked after her and I got up and followed.
I was only a few seconds behind him, but when I stepped outside, he had his hand on her
upper arm and was yanking her toward him. Her ankle rolled gruesomely under her and she let out a yelp as she fell to the ground. He didn’t let go of her arm, though, and tried to jerk her back up.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Stop it!”
He turned right as I reached him and tried to pull him off of her.
“What the fuck?” he said. He let go of Tara’s arm and shoved me. “Chloe? Is that you? Are you fucking kidding me? Get out of here; this is none of your business.”
“Ow, my ankle!” Tara was still in a heap on the ground.
“Chloe, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of here, okay? This doesn’t concern you; this is between Tara and me.” He looked down at her. “Get up.”
“I twisted my ankle, you fucking asshole!” she screamed at him.
I tried to get around him to help her up but he blocked me. When I tried to push his arm away, he shoved me again and I stumbled back.
“I mean it, Chloe, if you don’t get out of here—”
“I think you’re the one who needs to get the fuck out of here.”
I turned my head and saw Graham walking over to us.
“Does it make you feel good, pushing women around? You the kind of guy who gets off on that sort of thing?”
Michael sneered at him. “This is not any of your business,” he said. “I don’t know who you are—wait a second.” He tilted his head to the side and looked at Graham. “Wait a fucking second, I know who you are!” He looked down at Tara. “Looks like your fucking boyfriend has shown up to save the day.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” Tara snapped.
“Yeah, right. I saw those pictures you put up of the two of you at the beach.”
I went over to Tara and pulled her up. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I really fucked up my ankle,” she said, looking down at it. “Shit, it’s already swelling. Dammit! This sure as shit isn’t going as I planned it.”
I hunched over a little so she could throw her arm across my shoulders and take some of the weight off her injured leg.
“If he’s not your boyfriend, what the hell is he doing here, then?” Michael asked. “And why the hell did you tell me he was your boyfriend? Why the hell would you post fucking pictures of the two of you on Facebook together?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” I said. “And he’s here because I asked him to be because I know how much of a scumbag you can be.”
“I think it’s time you hit the road, bro,” Graham said. “There’s really no reason for you to be here.”
Michael gave him a defiant look, but we all knew he wasn’t going to try to fight Graham. There was no way in hell he’d have any chance of beating him.
“You’re a piece of work,” he said to Tara. He started to walk down the sidewalk. “You really are. Don’t ever get in touch with me again.”
He turned and walked off.
“What a dick!” Tara said. She looked at Graham. “I didn’t know you were part of our covert operation, too.”
“I’m not,” he said. “But I had a feeling I better make an appearance.”
“We were handling it,” Tara said. “But we do appreciate you showing up.”
“Right.” Graham nodded slowly. “You can barely even walk.”
“I rolled my ankle. Just give me a minute.”
He looked at me. “And what about you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine!” I did, in fact, feel fine, probably a whole hell of a lot better than Tara felt with her swollen ankle.
“Help me over to that bench,” Tara said. She hobbled over and sat down, gingerly stretching her leg out in front of her.
“That’s not looking so great,” Graham said.
“Forget about my ankle.” Tara grinned at me. “Let’s talk about the most exciting part of tonight.”
“And what would that be?” I asked. “You nearly getting an abducted by your ex-boyfriend?”
“No! I’m talking about you referring to Graham as your boyfriend! You might’ve thought you snuck that one by me, but no way!”
“Oh,” I said, barely remembering that I’d said it. “Well, I only said it because Michael was trying to say that Graham was your boyfriend, not because he’s actually mine ...”
Graham laughed. “Am I being fought over? I don’t mind being your boyfriend, you know. I’ve never actually officially been someone’s boyfriend, but I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot. For you.”
Tara squealed. “Ahhh, I love it!”
“You would?” I asked.
“Of course I would. You’re worth it.”
I felt my face start to get warm. “Really? I mean, yeah, of course I would love it if you were my boyfriend!”
“Oh, you two are so cute,” Tara said. “Give him a kiss!”
“Well ... okay!” I said, going over to him. But instead of just standing in front of him, I jumped up, wrapping my legs around his waist, his arms around my neck. “I’m supposed to kiss you,” I said. “Since you’re my boyfriend and all.”
He grinned. “Be my guest.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Graham
I have a girlfriend.
Having never had a girlfriend before, I found myself randomly thinking this thought at various times throughout the day. I might have been brushing my teeth, or getting into the truck, or even doing work on a customer—and that thought would suddenly be there.
Such as right now, standing here behind the counter at work. I’d just hung up the phone with someone who’d scheduled an appointment for this weekend when the thought crossed my mind and brought a smile to my face.
“What?” Helena asked, looking at me suspiciously. “You’ve been grinning like a fool since you got here.”
“Sorry,” I said, not feeling sorry in the least. “I should go listen to some death metal and watch some Russian fail videos to make sure I’m grimacing for the rest of the day.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You know what you should do? You should go through some of that mail on your desk out back. It’s getting out of control. I’ve done what I can for you—I opened it and sorted it into piles. But I’m not your secretary, either, you know. And the pile just keeps getting bigger and bigger.”
“Right,” I said. “I know. I’ll get to it. And I appreciate you going through it and at least getting me started. That makes it a little less daunting.”
She smiled. “You sure as hell don’t strike me as the type to be intimidated by a pile of papers. They’re on your desk.”
But it was intimidating, if only because I knew how long it was going to take me to go through all that shit. It would be so much easier to just chuck it all in the trash—I mean, recycling bin.
I walked back to the office, where I was confronted by that looming pile of papers. A lot of it I was actually able to get rid of, almost right away—the credit card offers, the junk mail, the grocery store circulars. That took care of a lot of it, and I immediately felt better.
There was a small stack of envelopes that Helena hadn’t opened, with a Post-it note on top: These look official and/or finance- related—thought I’d better leave them for you. H.
I picked up the first envelope. It was from the bank that I’d taken out a loan with to start the business. I had the loan payments automatically deducted from my bank account each month, so I hadn’t received much correspondence from the bank, other than the monthly statements, which I didn’t look at but saved in a folder for the accountant. I opened the envelope, pulled out the papers, and was about to slide them into the folder. For some reason, though, I looked at the first page before I put them in, and I saw: 00.00. As in, that was the statement balance.
What?
I looked more closely. The loan was completely paid off, but I hadn’t expected that to happen until late next year.
It must be some sort of clerical error. I didn’t feel like getting on the phone with the bank, but I knew if I didn’t, I’d forget about it and then this would
probably come back to bite me in the ass. Even though it was clearly the bank’s mistake.
“Fuck,” I said, probably more aggravated than I should be. But who the hell wants to spend half their day listening to shitty Muzak while they’re on hold with their bank? But I’d have to take care of it. Just not today.
I have a girlfriend.
Today, I was feeling too good to deal with any of that shit.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chloe
I was on my way back home from the art center when I got a call from Claudia, my mom’s friend and owner of the gallery where the art show was going to be.
“Chloe!” she said. “How are you?”
“Hi, Claudia. I’m good,” I said. “Just leaving the art center right now, actually.”
“Oh, that’s great. How is your piece coming along?”
“I had a few false starts,” I said. “But it’s coming along pretty well. It should be ready in time for the show.”
“Excellent. I’m expecting a really great turnout. The last show we had went so well; this one shouldn’t be any different. It’s a really exciting opportunity.”
“I’m definitely looking forward to it,” I said, pulling into the parking lot. “I’m a little nervous, actually.”
“Oh, that’s entirely normal. You’re not the only one, trust me. But you’re talented, and there is no doubt in my mind that whatever you’ve come up with is going to be absolutely phenomenal.”
It made me feel better to hear her say that, until I remembered that she’d never actually seen my work before and was just going off of whatever my mother had told her. I sighed. “Well, I really do appreciate the opportunity you’re giving me.”
“Of course! Your mother couldn’t stop raving about your work, so it was a no-brainer to give you a spot. I love having the chance to help out up-and-coming artists. You wouldn’t be the first one that I’ve helped, you know. Think about what you’d like to price your piece at, too. Oh, I’ve got to run, dear, I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up before I could reply.
I tossed the phone down onto the passenger seat; my head felt like it was spinning a little. I knew I should just be grateful for the chance to actually be in the show, but I felt myself starting to have doubts about the whole thing. There were probably a lot more artists who were more worthy of having a spot in the show than I was, yet just because my mother was friends with Claudia and “couldn’t stop raving” about my work, I was given the spot.