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Avoidingher.
She didn’t blame him. She was ashamed of the way she’d behaved, of her rush to jump into something with him and with Jack, of her easy abandonment of reason and transparency in the face of emotions and sensations that were new andoverwhelming.
It had been like a fever dream — a lovely and dangerous hallucination that had been replaced with a black and white image when everything fell apart, when she finally returned from the land ofOz.
It was a relief to feel the numbness receding. Karen had helped — as had Robin and Amy — by keeping her busy with yoga classes and Friday night drinks and Sunday brunch and more shopping than Nina had a right to do in her financialsituation.
She’d regained her footing little by little, feeling a little stronger every day, a little more like her oldself.
No, that wasn’tright.
This wasn’t a side of herself she recognized. Not the Nina from Larchmont, afraid and sad, but also not the woman who’d been out of her mind with lust for Liam and Jack, overwhelmed with feelings she didn’t know what to dowith.
Something new was being born within her. It was still becoming, but already it felt good. Right. She felt stronger, more balanced. Like she might just be okay afterall.
She came to the apartment and let herself into the lobby. Sal was sweeping and muttering under his breath, Mister Twinkle chasing dust and bits of dirt around as fast as Sal could corralit.
“Hey, Sal,” shesaid.
He looked up and scowled. “No flower delivery today. First time in a month. I should have added fifty bucks to yourrent.”
“I’m sorry.” She bent to pet Mister Twinkle — she hadn’t given up on being his friend — and was met with the dog’s customary high-pitched barking. “Not yet? Okay, maybe nexttime.”
She walked to the mailbox and noticed a package leaning under the row ofboxes.
“What’s this?” Nina asked. It was wrapped in brown paper, nothing but her name on the front ofit.
“How am I supposed to know?” Salgrumbled.
She tucked it under her arm, pulled her mail out of the box, and started up thestairs.
Her apartment smelled like a cutting garden, and she walked past the trash can, full of the last batch of white roses sent by Jack the daybefore.
She wondered what it meant that he hadn’t sent any today. Had he given up on her? It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To forget him and the terrible night in Paris? To forget her own pain and the pain in his eyes when she’d stepped into thecab?
To put all of it behind her and beginagain?
She set down her bag and sat on the couch to open the package. It was half unwrapped when she realized what it was and slowed her movements, letting it reveal itself a little at atime.
When she was done, she took a deep breath, swallowing around the emotion clogging herthroat.
The photograph moved through her like a summer wind, the sari a swirl of color in motion, candles flickering in the background. It still made her feel the samethings.
Movement. Beauty.Joy.
All of it changing every second. All of ittemporary.
She took a deep breath and turned it over. There was no card, no markings on the back. Then again, she didn’t needthem.
She thought about setting it aside. About putting it away, for awhile at least. She’d only recently risen above her pain. Did she want a reminder of it staring her in the face everyday?
She heard Liam’s voice in her ear, felt his arms aroundher.
It’s okay to besad.
She stood and crossed her small living room, glancing around for the perfect spot. She found it on the end table near the window, behind a tiny succulent she’d picked up the week before, right where the sun would catch the colors of the sari in the soft morninglight.
She leaned it carefully against the wall, glad Moni always framed everything with UV glass so the colors wouldn’tfade.
