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“My stuff,” I mutter with a choked voice, looking around at everything that used to take up every inch of my home.
“Are you sure it’s yours? I thought this stuff was all sold at auction a few weeks ago. It would have been sold piece by piece to hundreds of different people, right? There’s no way one person could have bought the entire lot,” Cindy says, coming up to stand next to me.
All I can do is nod as I take it all in. I realize that to most people it would just look like a bunch of jun. And who’s to know if it’s all mine or just a shit ton of other antiques someone stuffed into this storage locker? But I would recognize my antiques anywhere. I looked at them every day. I touched them every day. I spent hours and hours researching every single grandfather clock, salt and pepper shaker, tea set, china set, painting, side table, curio cabinet, jewelry box, and every other odd and end that currently takes up every bit of space in this storage locker. I know my things when I see them.
My tears are falling so fast now that I can barely see the white porcelain Haviland Limoges water pitcher with hand-painted pink and gold flowers that dated back to the 1800s, and that used to sit next to the sink in my master bathroom, as I gently pick it up and cradle it to my chest.
“Hey, there’s a note over here with your name on it,” Belle says, pulling my awestruck gaze from everything in the room to her as she moves past me and squeezes between the Victorian chair that sat by my front door and the curio cabinet from my living room, which still holds all of my antique salt and pepper shakers.
She opens the glass doors to the curio cabinet, thengrabs a white piece of paper folded in half that was sitting on the middle shelf and hands it to me. Swiping the tears from my cheeks, I take it from her hand, still cradling the water picture to my chest, and flip it open.
When I see the scribbled note, I can’t stop the tortured cry that flies out of my mouth, the tears falling so fast now that I’m not sure I’ll ever stop crying.
Cindy comes up behind me and reads the note out loud, over my shoulder.
You never should have lost something so important to you, so I’m returning all of these things to their rightful owner. One of the many amazing things about you is that you appreciate beautiful and extraordinary things that other, incredibly stupid, assholish people might not find valuable. Kind of like me. You’re the rarest antique I’ve ever seen, and I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you know how perfectly imperfect and extraordinary you are. And no, that’s not a dig on you being old. Wait. Maybe it is. If I call you old, will you get pissed off enough to come home? Love, Eric.
God damn it.
“Shit. Now I’m crying,” Belle complains, sniffling as she wipes her fingers under her eyes.
Cindy wraps her arms around my shoulders and chest from behind and squeezes me tightly to her as I stand staring at the note in my hand.
“What do you want to do?” she asks softly.
Still clutching tightly to the note, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand.
I know what I want to do. I want to get in Cindy’s car and have her break every speed limit to get me to the boat docks. I want to tell Eric everything that happened and what kind of a horrible person his mother is and beg him to forgive me for leaving him. But I can’t do that. I have to be strong. There are only a few more days until the board meeting. I can be strong for a few more days. I have to do whatever it takes to save the Naughty Princess Club, even if that means denying my heart what it wants the most.
“I don’t give a shit if the sun’s still up. I need to get white-girl wasted,” I tell them, pulling out of Cindy’s hold as I walk back to her car, still carrying the note and the water pitcher.
Chapter 29: Pick the Penis Out of Her Hair
“I feel so scandalous being here right now. I’m so glad you guys invited me!” Vanessa tells us as she stares with wide, innocent eyes at the dancer up on stage.
“Shut up and drink your froufrou champagne cocktail,” I mutter, tossing back my shot of tequila and slamming the glass back down on the table.
Ladies and gentleman, we have now entered the angry drunk portion of our evening. Please return your tray tables and seat backs to the upright position and prepare for a crash landing.
