Page 94 of Never Your Valentine

I remember standing in Emerald Gifts with Grant, laughing as he tried to guess the captions on my cards. He was mocking me, and he was paying more attention than these three. His words ring in my head. Western Greetings wants to buy you.

These people aren’t excited about my vision, or my creative voice, or my art. They don’t even like my cards.

I look around the table at the glossy smiles and the glacier water and the font I loved five minutes ago. Three people look back, but they don’t see me at all.

At the hotel, I pack my bag, then stand at the window and look out at a city I wanted to like. There’s blue sky here, and the ocean, and In-N-Out Burger. There are funky neighborhoods, and The Museum of Contemporary Art, and The Getty.

I can’t stay here. I can’t take the job at Western Greetings. I can’t let them buy my name like it’s a commodity.

I can’t go back to Echo Creek either. My building is a falling-down money pit, there’s not enough infrastructure to support my card business, and I can’t live across the hall from Grant. Not anymore. If I do, I’ll get sucked right back into a situationship with him, instead of looking for my true match.

I had so much hope the first time I crossed the Mackinac Bridge. I was singing at the top of my lungs, sure I was making a fresh start. I didn’t know what I was getting into, but at least I had a place to go.

Now? I don’t have anywhere to go.

I miss my Nana. After three years, I no longer ache for her 24/7, but grief sneaks up on me at odd times. Like today, when the pain of missing her feels like it’s filling the whole room, pressing me to the floor.

I miss spending hours with her at museums. Mother’s Day was always brunch at Café Zola followed by a stroll around the University of Michigan campus, ending at the Museum of Art. I miss the way she gushed over Mary Cassatt, and laughed at Jeff Koons, and went silent when faced with a Picasso.

She had unshakable belief in me. From the day I first picked up a crayon to the week before she died, I showed her every piece of art I was proud of. And if I wasn’t proud of a piece, she always knew how to fix it.

I turn away from the window, call Delta, and change my plane ticket. Then I call Kat to ask her to pick me up at the airport. I’ll figure out my car and stuff later. Right now, all I can think about is getting back to Nana, and that means going back to Ann Arbor.

Chapter 38

Grant

Annabelle: You were right

Grant: About?

Annabelle: Western Greetings is not for me

Grant: So you’re coming back?

Annabelle: Just to pick up my stuff

Grant: When?

Annabelle: I’m waiting for Kat to have a weekend off

Annabelle: …

Annabelle: I’ll be sure to stop by and say hi

She’s gone. She’s gone and I’m miserable.

I’ll stop by and say hi. Like we’re distant acquaintances. Someone you smile at in the grocery store while you keep walking. Nod if they’re at the next gas pump but don’t say anything beyond, “Hello,” and “Cold enough for you?” and “Take care.”

She’s going to be it was nice to see you, instead of I can’t wait to see you again.

It’s my own damn fault. I knew who Annabelle was. I knew what she wanted—out of life, out of a relationship, from herself—and I jumped in anyway.

At the very last minute, I tried to change myself into someone else. I tried to become a man I’m not capable of being. I don’t have it in me. She knows it. I know it. That’s how we got here.

And I hate it here.

Chapter 39