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I took a fortifying sip of wine as Sophie sent me a sympathetic look, as if she picked up on my mounting anxiety.
"You'll have to wear my clothes," Sophie insisted, drawing me effortlessly back into our conversation. "Once they’re good enough that is."
"It would be my honor."
Sophie clapped her hands together. "It's settled then. I just have to pass these ridiculous classes and then fashion institute here I come."
I lifted my glass.
She tilted her head to her chest, as if she were summoning the courage to follow through with her plans, then raised her glass to meet mine.
"Now that I've spilled my guts, it's time for you to spill. Your guts, the tea, just not the wine." She placed a protective hand over her glass.
I rolled my eyes. "Your wine is safe with me."
Sophie pitched forward. "What's the crazy thing you want to do with your life? The thing you're going after?"
Sebastian. He seemed to be the only thing I could focus on anymore.
But instead, I said, "Painting."
The bartender refilled our glasses. Sophie’s fingernails danced on the bottom of her wine glass. “You paint? I didn’t know that about you.”
“You mean, you only thought I partied?”
She shrugged unapologetically. “Kind of. It’s not like you need to work.”
That was certainly true. And it’s not like a lot of people expected much of me. Second born of a billionaire and all. I could easily coast without having to do much of anything and had been content with that for the longest time. Until…
Well, until Mom.
Rather than climb into the dark hole that sometimes whispered to me, I was determined to do more. To be someone my mom would be proud of. She followed her passions. Went to college. Made her career. Cared for others. She raised us to do the same, but the make-believe sense of community I'd found in clubs and the nightlife scene had been too easy to accept.
I’d barely heard from my supposed friends.
The most shocking part of this trip to Vegas wasn’t seeing Sebastian do his thing, but that I enjoyed Sophie. Having expected the worst, I found myself pleasantly surprised. She was warm, kind, and asked genuine questions about me and actually listened when I responded.
How sad was it that impressed me so much? Had I really surrounded myself with such shallow relationships that I didn't have experience with true friendship?
Did they call when my dad had a heart attack? Did they bother checking in when they saw my name splashed all over the tabloids?
Damn. I’d wasted so much time with people who didn't deserve it. Why would I even want to go back to the city except to see my family and to teach? Besides, Sebastian had already proven willing to drive me there whenever I needed. No questions asked.
Sophie peppered me with questions about my paintings. I explained to her my cityscapes that I showed a few months ago and the new set of paintings that were a blend of me and the city. More abstract than before, but with the same strokes and bright colors, blending with dark and dreary gray and black strokes.
"You have to text me the details about your show. I'll be there." Sophie handed over her phone for me to put in my number.
She would fly across the country or wherever she was to support someone she’d just met? "What if you're busy?"
She shrugged. "Then I'll make myself unbusy."
So simple.
So supportive.
I blinked several times, trying to keep the tears at bay.
THIRTY-EIGHT
