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Shewasin town. That computed.
“That banister is a safety hazard,” Alanna continued. “I talked to Tess, and she mentioned that, um, you aren’t working. I need that banister fixed, and, well, I thought of you.”
Sully was confused. If Tess had told Alanna about his financial independence, why was she trying to hire him for a job? Maybe she thought he was bored? Or maybe offering payment was a pride thing? She didn’t want to take advantage of his good nature. What was clear was that Alanna trusted his skill and needed his help.
That thought swelled his heart. Of course, he didn’t need her money. And he certainly didn’t have time to fix someone else’s wobbly banister. Not when he had a million and one things to renovate in The Ugly Duckling. But she was looking at him with such hope in her gorgeous azure eyes.
“When do I start?” he asked.
Alanna’s relieved smile felt like the sun breaking through the clouds after two long years of gray skies.
Ch. 17 Alanna
Oneweekuntilthearbitration. Alanna sat on her bed, legs crossed at the ankles, and studied the calendar on her phone. She knew the date by heart, of course, but she liked seeing it on her calendar. The words stamped across the little date box promised salvation or defeat.
No. Defeat was not an option.
Then why did her stomach feel twisted like a wet towel?
“Traitor,” Alanna whispered to her stomach. All this quiet was getting to her. She hadn’t had this much downtime since… well, forever, actually. She scrolled back through her trusty calendar, the one thing that had kept her mostly sane over the years. Yep, there was the life she remembered. Days filled to the brink with calls, meetings, lunches, trips. A slew of events every weekend. Every Thursday night included an eggplant emoji to denote her trysts with Thomas the lawyer. Alanna’s thumb scrolled back through the weeks and months, her mouth twitching at memories of grand galas, international travel, and press circuit tours.
A flash of white and orange caught her eye.
Petunia cautiously slipped from beneath the bed and looked around. Alanna held her breath. The cat leapt, surprisingly graceful for her size, and landed with barely a noise on the edge of the bed.
Alanna didn’t move. Not one single muscle.
The cat settled onto her haunches, her fluffy tail gently swishing.
Was this some sort of truce? Carefully, Alanna looked down at her calendar, making a point to ignore Petunia.
More months, then years passed under her thumb. Now the boxes were filled with classes, test dates, paper due dates, and work schedules.
“I worked three jobs all the way through college,” Alanna said softly. Petunia’s gaze snapped toward her. Alanna froze. Had she blown it, like a priest farting during communion? Would the cat scurry under the bed, never to return? Petunia sat on her haunches.
“And I took 17 hours a semester,” she added proudly. “It almost killed me. This calendar was the only thing that kept me on track.” She looked fondly at dates. “I had to work in the dining hall of my dorm building as part of my needs-based grant from the university. I also delivered pizzas during the week and worked at Valentina’s Cantina on the weekends.” There’d been no time for alcohol-soaked parties, tailgating, sorority sisters, or nights performing slam poetry at the local coffee shop.
Graduating had been Alanna’s first taste of victory, the first evidence she could beat the odds if she worked hard enough. She settled back on the pillows of the bed and gazed around the room. The morning sun shone through the room, highlighting the row of designer tops, jeans, and dresses crammed into the small closet of her mother’s guest bedroom. The light also showcased her peace lily. The poor plant was still somehow on death’s doorstep despite the generous splashes of water she’d been giving it. Her eye caught a glint of metal on the nightstand, pulling her back into college memories.
“I spent almost every dime I had on paying for school… almost,” Alanna said to the cat. “One night, I was cleaning the dining room after hours and found an issue ofVogueleft on a table.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “The actress on the cover was sooooo beautiful. So confident. I don’t know why, but I took the magazine home.”
Petunia stretched her long body on the colorful quilt bedspread. Bronze coloring ran along the cat’s back, covered the top of her head, and spilled down the sides of her face where it met with pristine white. A blot of orange spread down the bridge of her nose in an uneven pattern. She truly was a magnificent creature, Alanna thought with pride.
“That night, I was getting a stress headache from studying,” she continued her story. “I couldn’t even look at another flashcard, so I picked up the magazine.” Petunia gazed at her with calm blue eyes, almost as if she were actually listening. “The woman on the cover was everything I wasn’t… everything I wanted so desperately to be. They had a whole photoshoot of her in the middle of the magazine.” Alanna shook her head. The memory of that night was as clear as if she’d been sitting in the cramped dorm room listening to her roommate snore yesterday.
“In this one picture, the actress was sitting on a window seat, and she had this look on her face like she owned the universe,” she said to Petunia. “Under the picture, they listed everything she was wearing. I looked up the prices. Her knit top was $300. The sling-back sandals were $500, sunglasses $800, designer jeans $1,500. It was like…” Alanna struggled to articulate the rush of envy and longing her younger self had felt. “It was like this woman lived in an entirely different world. A world I didn’t belong in.” She paused and plucked the tube of lipstick from the nightstand. “But, there was one thing in that picture Icouldafford.”
Scarlet Leather, by Tom Ford, cost $55 a tube. Back then, that was an entire night of tips delivering pizzas, on a good night. Alanna pulled the top from the container and spread a layer of Scarlet Leather across her lips. “So worth it.”
If Petunia was impressed with Alanna’s little story, the cat didn’t show it. Instead, she bent forward and began delicately licking her right leg.
Alanna closed out the calendar app and set her phone aside. “You had it tough, too, didn’t you?”
The cat didn’t pause in her self-ministrations.
“Layla said some old lady owned you. A hoarder with dementia.” A feeling of understanding, of camaraderie for the animal bloomed in Alanna’s chest. “I’m guessing you had to look out for yourself.”
The cat licked between her toes.
