I’ve been invited places where I still wasn’t welcome. When I walked in, eyes skimmed over me. Smiles were polite, but never warm. The room screamed, We had to,” not “We wanted to.”
I stopped wanting to be in rooms that didn’t have space for me.
I’ve been worried about how sad Rippley has seemed.
“You could say that.” Rett sits beside me and pulls me onto his lap.
JJ continues cooking. “Are you eating, Wilson?”
“If you’re cooking it, I’m eating it,” he says, winking at me. “Make mine gooey.”
“Note to self: Rett has strange eating habits.” I smile and pinch his side.
“Uh-huh.” His playful grin widens. “In and out of the bedroom.”
My face instantly turns bright red thinking about where his tongue was on me last night.
“He won’t go,” JJ says, biting into a pancake while flipping another. “Ripp. He won’t be going. Let’s just say he may not be thrilled about Rett and me seeing you.”
My heart squeezes at the thought of Ripp being upset.
The last time we were together, I slipped into his kitchen and left a note on his fridge.
I’m glad you made it through the hard times.
Beside it, I’d sketched a little boy holding a sailboat.
I’m sorry, Ripp.
Please forgive me.
Being on Rockefeller Amherst University grounds with Rett and JJ feels totally different than every other time I’ve been here. I’m relaxed, able to notice details I never have before.
Protective sigils carved into doorways.
The hushed voices drifting through the Great Hall.
A sense that I… belong here. Familiarity.
Among the original artworks are write-ups on famous pieces not currently on display, likeThe ArnolfiniPortraitby Jan Van Eyck. It’s one of my favorite paintings. Beautiful storytelling, minute details, and a little early Renaissance humor, with the mirror trick and “Jan Van Eyck was here” painted on the wall in Latin.
I pick up a brochure and begin to scan it.
“I’ve seen it at the National Gallery in London. Only the dog looks happy.” Rett says, slipping his arm around my waist.
JJ joins us after speaking to one of the Regents. “Isn’t the bright green die used for the dress poisonous? I remember that from a class I took.”
“Yeah, anything dyed green was loaded with arsenic. Sheele’s Green. It’s one of my favorite colors.” I pause. “Though I think that was in the nineteenth century. Wrong time period.”
“Ah, yes. The art history major is here,” Rett says.
We move to another room filled with Renaissance art, and I’m hit with such a strong sense of deja vu that I stop dead in my tracks.
Chapter Twenty-Five
JJ (Josh)
Ican’t stop staring at her in awe.
