After a little while of soaking, I shaved, washed my hair, bathed, and exfoliated. As I was finishing, I felt a presence enter the bedroom, and I looked over my shoulder through the bathroom door to see Gavin, who had just entered and placed his belongings on his bedside table. Deciding I was finished, I wrapped my towel around myself and drained the water before exiting the bathroom.
He didn’t even glance up or acknowledge me. No “hi,” no tired smile. Just silence.
My fingers curled around the edge of my towel.So we’re still doing this.
For a few days now, I’d been treading on thin ice, and this was the first time I’d seen him for more than a minute, other than when he was going to bed or work.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” I said softly as I grabbed a silk nightgown and a pair of matching panties.
Gavin tugged his tie loose and threw it on the edge of the bed as he unbuttoned the top few buttons on his dress shirt. “I suppose I am… Long day at the office… Doesn’t help much that Brent told me he’s getting impatient.”
Putting my clothes on as he stared at his phone, scrolling and typing away, I responded, “Well, you can tell Brent that my meeting went successfully today, and I should be able to pay him back faster than anticipated. You know, since he can’t wait and all.”
At the tone of my voice, Gavin made eye contact with me in the mirror. “You really think you’re going to be able to do this on your own? You have yet even once to ask me to borrow money or to ask for help.”
I looked away, set to brushing my hair. “Wouldn’t that prove that I’m doing fine then? That I’m notuseless?” I asked.
For the first time, Gavin looked guilty.
“Rosenna, you know I didn’t mean that. I... just want a wife who will do wife things.”
I whipped my head over to him, almost enraged. “And what are ’wife things,’ Gavin?” My voice wavered between exhaustion and anger. “Making your dinner every night? Folding your laundry? Staying home all day, waiting for you to tell me what I can and can’t do with my life? Tell me. What’s missing? What do I need to do after working all day to finally qualify for your version of ’wife duties?’”
He stayed silent. Of course he did.
I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head as I slipped on my slippers and yanked my robe off the hook. “I’m sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight. Maybe I’ll learn how to be a little less useless there.”
I didn’t give him a chance to answer.
Didn’t let him see the tears threatening to spill… well, that had already fell as I swallowed the sob in my chest.
I just walked out.
Chapter three
Beckham
Walkingintomystudio,I groaned internally. The chaos I had made peace with was beginning to annoy me. Paintings stacked on one another, sketches piled on the table; paint splattered across the floorboards in a mess of forgotten inspiration.
It was suffocating, overwhelming, and exhilarating.
It was also time for a seasonal reset.
Sitting at my desk, I received a call from my father.
“I need another storage warehouse,” I muttered in place of “hello.”
He sighed into the phone.“You already have six, Beckham.”
“And I need another one.”
“Sometimes I wonder if your mother and I spoiled you as a child… given your ripe age of thirty-two and my willingness to give into your every request, I’d say the problem is still me.”
“What do you want?” I asked, my impatience only growing by the minute.
“Speaking of storing your art somewhere, I have something for you to do potentially.”My father paused.“There’s a museum… well, three. Relatively small. Two women running them, doing their best to keep it all afloat. Help support them. Give them a hand or two.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing his “fatherly” intentions all too well at this point. “So, you’ve already gotten attached, haven’t you? Another person you so graciously decided to indirectly ‘help?’”
