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“The purchase hasn’t gone through yet,” Brea explained, feeling confident about how much she now understood the business. “The process is so much longer than you’d think. There are piles of paperwork, most of which I have to fill out myself.”
“Oooh. Nobody likes paperwork.”
Neal waved down the bartender to order another round of beers. Brea was slightly woozy on the stool, weaving back and forth. Perhaps she’d already drunk too much. Perhaps she should have eaten dinner.
“Man, I’d love to see this green, violet, and blue mess of a painting,” Neal said, his eyes flashing. “If it’s enough for Walter Billington, then it has to be great.”
“You calling me a liar?” Brea joked.
Neal cackled. “I would never. I have a hunch your taste is a lot like mine. But hey? Expensive is expensive, and men like Walter like to throw their weight around.” Neal sipped his new beer, eyeing her. “Where do you keep that painting?”
Brea waved her hand. “It’s behind four padlocks.”
“Wow. Impressive.”
“Nobody’s getting in there to steal that horrible assault to your eyes,” Brea said.
Neal smiled, and Brea felt as though she floated from the stool and into the air above the bar. Never in her life had she flirted with anyone who wasn’t Kenny.But was this flirting? Was she smiling too much?Oh, she couldn’t wrong Kenny like this. Her smile faltered, and she drank too much of her beer, her thoughts swirling.
“Hey! Easy, tiger.” Neal touched her shoulder kindly. “There’s plenty more beer where that came from. You don’t have to drink it all at once.”
Brea shivered as she set back down the beer. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” Neal frowned. “Man, I can’t help but think that someone in your life is treating you badly. Making you feel like you’re not enough.”
Brea eyed him nervously. “I guess there’s a lot about my life you don’t understand.”
“I know we don’t know each other that well,” Neal said. “And I don’t mean to be creepy. But you can talk to me, you know?” He coughed, then added, “Don’t worry. I see the engagement ring on your finger. I know you would never go behind your man’s back. And heck, I wouldn’t want you to!”
Brea blinked back tears and breathed a sigh of relief. “He works nights. He’s a chef.”
“Wow. A chef. I love a man who knows how to cook,” Neal said. “Maybe we can all get together some time? I can bring my on-again, off-again girlfriend, Janine. She loves to cook, too.”
“Where is she tonight?”
“She works nights as a nurse,” Neal said, his smile fading slightly.
“What a generous person,” Brea offered.
“Yes. She’s got a heart of gold, my girl.” Neal took a long drink of beer.
For the rest of the night, Brea and Neal talked about the important people in their lives— about Neal’s girlfriend, about Kenny. Brea spoke of Kenny the way she might have pre-diagnosis, about how full of life he was. And Neal told of Janine, a vivacious woman who wanted to save the world.
As they paid up that night, Neal asked, “What do you say we go for a walk in a few days? We don’t always have to drink. Besides, I get the sense that we’re pretty lonely when our loves are hard at work.”
“I’d like that,” Brea said, grateful for a friend.
A few days later, when Oriana was with her children and Reese, Brea met Neal in Greenwich Village for a long walk. It was a gorgeous October blue-skied day, and leaves twitched from trees and streamed to the ground, coating the sidewalk with mush. Before she’d left, Brea had kissed Kenny with her eyes closed, and he’d fallen asleep on the couch while Valerie had whispered dangerously toward Brea, asking, “How on earth are we going to keep my baby alive?” Brea hadn’t known what to say.
All she wanted in the world was for Valerie to leave. For things to go back to normal. But “normal” was a distant land.
As she and Neal walked and talked on this October afternoon, he told her stories of Janine again. Brea spoke at length about work, about the paperwork she had to fill out, and again, about Walter Billington, who was in Tokyo for the next two weeks, but would come back to fetch his painting and have it hung in his apartment on the Upper East Side.
“How exciting,” Neal said.
“Isn’t it?” Brea rolled her eyes.
Neal stopped at the corner and squeezed his hands into fists. “Brea, I’m dying to ask you something.”
