Page 30 of Tempest

“Did you envision these pieces while you were shopping or while you were laying out the garments here?” I ask her.

“I usually get an idea when I see something at the store. Half the time, it morphs into something else when I start to rip everything apart,” she says, surveying her work. She picks up one of the discarded scraps, holding it up for us. “I already have several ideas for this.”

The guys make more remarks, further boosting her confidence, before they leave the workroom.

“You know, that one is my size,” I tell her, pointing to a mini dress she has laid out with the denim and two different prints, hinting that I’d wear it. It’s not a lie, I would wear it proudly.

“Dad says you’re too thin,” she blurts. She immediately regrets it, looking appalled at herself. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I laugh. “He said the same thing to me.”

It’s been a couple of weeks since Gavin showed up at my door with dinner. That hasn’t stopped him from reminding me he’s around, though. Like clockwork, every three days, a new floral arrangement is delivered to my house. Each one accompanied by a note signed with his name and his phone number.

Each one asks a question, too. They aren’t to ask me out, instead, he’s trying to provoke conversation. He’s trying to get me to answer. So, he asks silly things like what animal I would choose to be if I could shapeshift. It’s all quite ridiculous and I haven’t answered any of them yet, but he still tries.

“I think he misses you,” she says. “I hope it’s okay for me to say that, and that I’m not crossing some line. But I think he misses you as a friend. He says you’re the most interesting person he’s ever known.”

What do I say to that? I don’t know how much Tori knows of the situation with me and her father.

“That’s sweet of him,” I tell her, going for a neutral response.

“I get why you’d be reluctant. He does, too. But he’s determined. Just so you know,” she says. “He’s really going to try to…I don’t know, be a better person to you this time.”

“He doesn’t have to,” I start to say.

“I know, but he thinks he does,” she insists. “How things happened with you? That’s his biggest regret. Maybe he just wants to know the woman you’ve become despite it all. I can tell him to stop, if you want me to. He’ll respect that.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “You’ve got enough on your plate here making these fantastic garments. Stay focused.”

“Will do,” she says, easily dropping the subject. I get the feeling she wants to encourage me without pressuring me. Much like Vanessa and George.

I don’t know how my love life has become such a hot topic. They all come from a place of well meaning, so I’m not holding it against anyone, but I’d be happy enough if it would simmer down.

There’s only one thing to do in moments like this.

Shop.

That’s exactly what I do. I forgo all the big designer names and scour the internet for the best boutiques in Seattle. All my spare time here has been shopping for home goods and furnishings. I haven’t bought any new clothes in far too long. My friends in New York would hardly recognize me.

The first shop is owned by a woman in her sixties. She’s had the store since 1988. She curates its eclectic collection herself, bringing items in from all over the world. The next is a lingerie store owned by a couple that hand makes all the products in the back of their store. They show me around, and I end up buying way more underwear than a single woman could need.

After that is a jewelry store, then a local handbag designer, before a few more clothing stores. I don’t leave a single shop without purchasing something beautiful. Like everything I’ve been buying for the house, these items all inspire something in me.

Tori did that for me today, too. Watching her work makes me miss the days when I created in a similar way. She’s better at it than me, much better. So much more talented. She’ll go far, and I’ll be proud to have played a small part in her success.

The conversation with her plays in my mind throughout my shopping spree, and at some point, I decide to send a text. Maybe what Vanessa says is true. I’m here in Seattle making big changes with my career and for my health. Why stop there? Why not make some changes with the way I treat men and sex?

Sometimes a lady wants to be fucked without putting a lot of work into finding a guy.

A new arrangement might be exactly what I need. I won’t know until I try, anyway.

I arrive home to another bouquet. It’s large, like they’ve all been. Unlike the rest, this one is made up of dark florals. Blacks and purples with soft dark greenery. There’s a card attached, of course, but I don’t open it. Tonight, it doesn’t matter what question Gavin has for me.

Noting the time, I take my bags to my room, dropping them in my closet and pulling out some of the new lingerie. I take a quick shower before donning it and covering it with a dressing gown that was gifted to me by one of the men that once proposed.

Stephen was the type of man who always got what he wanted. He thought he wanted me, but I suspect it was only because I didn’t want to keep him. He was an excellent gift giver, though, and it would have been rude to send back such beautiful things like this.

The knock on the door comes just as I walk down the stairs. I open it to his smiling face.

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