AllFreeNovel
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At least I know the name of the artist. I’d paid enough attention to my mother’s work over the years to recognize the name of one of the impressionists whose work she studied in college. Cornelia Eames had contributed much more than paintings to art. The Trust she established still sent aspiring artists to art schools in Europe every year.
“I’ll ask Laurie,” I say, letting myself into the apartment. The lights are off, which means Laurie isn’t home yet.
“She needs a night out,” my mom remarks. “There’s no benefit in staying home inside your brain when you’re miserable about a man. She needs to dress up, look beautiful, go out, and maybe flirt a little. It works all the time.”
This is why I can’t tell my mom how broken up I am about Landon. She probably won’t let me rest until she prescribes a remedy to help me find a way out of my heartbreak.
“I’ll let her know.”
“Hmm.” There’s a pause at her end. “I read your article. Good work there, sweetheart. Your dad thinks so too.”
“Thanks,” I say bleakly. How had I thought I could have any conversation, with anyone, without having to talk about Landon and the damned article about his hotel?
It gets worse. “So… how are things with Landon?”
I close my eyes, dreading the answer I have to give. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
“Oh!” I can hear the surprise in her voice, and I don’t blame her, just a few days ago, Landon was charming his way through my family. “How are you?”
I try to keep it light. “I’ll survive.”
“He seemed so into you,” she muses. “I was so sure…” She trails off. “Are you okay? Really?”
“Of course,” I say brightly, resisting the urge to tell her everything. “I’m just, you know, trying my best not to think about it.”
She sighs. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you, sweetheart, and give Laurie a kiss for me.”
After the call, I change into my nightwear and settle in bed with a book about writing style. I plan to read until I fall asleep, and hopefully be too tired to dwell on Landon. I’m a few minutes into the book when Laurie arrives. She comes straight into my room and drops onto the bed beside me, still wearing her clothes from the office.
“Rough day?”
She sighs. “They’re all rough these days.” She stares at the cover of my book for a minute. “I had dinner with Brett.”
I allow myself to hope, even though her demeanor doesn’t point to an ecstatic reunion. “So, what happened?”
“He told me he saw you at lunch.” She looks at me. “What did he say?”
I shrug. “That he loves you.” I look at her, “and he really does.” She looks away and I continue. “He’s miserable when you guys fight, and he’s afraid that because you guys have been together for so long, you might have a subliminal desire to break up, which is why you pick fights with him.”
“That’s the part that pisses me off,” Laurie declares, rising from the bed. “He told me the same thing. How can he think that in my subconscious or wherever, I really want to leave him? Like I don’t know my own freaking mind?”
Her temper is getting the best of her. “Laurie, he’s just telling you how he feels.”
“But why should he feel like that?” She frowns. “I don’t fight about ‘little’ things. Letting a co-worker at the gym flirt with him is not a ‘little’ thing. It’s a big deal to me.”
I drop my book. “Maybe make him understand? Tell him how it makes you feel?”
She sniffs, and buries her face in her hands. “I’m tired of fighting,” she cries softly.
Me too. I’m sick of fighting all the feelings tearing me up inside. I wish there was a way to escape, to forget. I sigh, remembering the conversation with my mom. “How do you feel about a black-tie cocktail art-thing on Thursday?”
“Your mom?”
I nod.
“Where?”
“Some historic mansion. They’ll pick us up.” I grin. “So now, we can worry about what to wear and not think about men for tonight at least.”
