Page 58 of The False Flat

Deanna, Tuesday, 9:23 a.m.: I’m trying to give you space, but when are you coming back? What about work?

Deanna, Wednesday, 10:34 a.m.: You are coming back, right?

Deanna, Thursday, 8:17 p.m.: Okay, I know something’s wrong, and I know you don’t want to talk about it. I’m here when you’re ready. (But if that’s not by next week, I’m coming to MN. Consider this fair warning.)

She hadn’t sent anything today. A part of me was relieved, while another part wanted her to. Deanna deserved a better friend, but I hadn’t known what to say, still didn’t. Not talking to her, not responding, was tearing me up. But if I texted, I was afraid I’d blurt it all out, tell her about my feelings for Grant, and I couldn’t do that. Sometimes it was better to say nothing, right?

I still had the house and my car was there, so I’d have to go back to Nashville eventually, but right now, all the questions I’d been avoiding were piling together to form a monster I wanted to hide from. I wasn’t even looking at open positions anymore because even what state I needed to be in was up for grabs.

I slumped downstairs, wrapped in a black robe and indecision. Aurora poured me a cup of coffee, elegantly leaned one hip against her sparkling countertop, and gave me a pathetic smile.

“He’s taking you to W. A. Frost tonight. Your favorite.” She’d always told me never to lean on anyone or anything, but a time like this was an exception, when leaning gave the illusion of comfort and self-assuredness.

I had the sudden urge to ask her why she hadn’t moved away after everything that had happened here. But I couldn’t. One, I was back here. And two, we didn’t talk like normal people did.

She stepped forward. I thought she was going to reach out for me, but instead, she swept an invisible dust bunny off the counter. “I laid out the perfect dress for you to wear tonight. It’s in the guest room. I knew you weren’t up to picking anything out.”

She would’ve laid one out no matter how I felt. But she was trying to cheer me.

I swallowed, swiveled off the barstool, and walked to the guest room down the hall, past the baby grand piano on which my mother had forced me to learn.

The dark-navy dress waited on top of the pristine light-jade duvet. The hanger swung in my hand as I stepped back into the hallway.

“W. A. Frost isn’t this fancy.” The silk, the subtle lace and rhinestone detail screamed class rather than suggested it.

“It can be.” She winked.

“But, I—”

“This is the kind of dress a woman wears on special occasions,” she said, cutting me off, all business now. “Chad’s divorce was final today.”

Barbie.

I am Barbie.

Her Barbie.

Financial Planner Barbie from the Barbie Career Playset.

“Chad and I think we found the perfect place for you two. He’s going to surprise you with it tonight.”

The dream house.

“And he’s got a job prospect. I’ll leave it to him to explain, but it’s all lining up. You have no reason to be sad.”

Of course not. But I was glad she’d ruined the surprise. At least I knew what he was going to say, even if I didn’t know what to say back.

The Fireside Room was an intimate brick-walled space for parties no larger than twenty people. Tonight, there was a single round table in the center of the room, draped with a white tablecloth and finished with a flickering candle in a glass jar that looked like it was about to go out. Fairy lights were hung in sweeps across the white and red rose wallpapered ceiling.

The large fireplace with its vintage brick and its own set of twinkling lights was to my left, and straight ahead, behind Chad, were three wood-framed windows that spanned from ceiling to near the floor and showcased the people-filled outdoor patio.

“You rented the whole room?”

He nodded, a half smile on his lips that was mirrored in his eyes.

I hadn’t fastened my bra tight enough. Nothing grounded me. I reached down and fastened the strap of my heels a notch too tight.

Better.