Page 78 of The Seemingly Impossible Love Life of Amanda Dean

But Mandy couldn’t not worry.

“Mom has the guesthouse all set up for us, and it should be nice and toasty when we get there.” Edmund hugged her tighter into him. “They got five inches of snow today.” He was trying to cheer her up—Mandy loved the snow and how it sparkled in the light.

“Wow. Tell her thank you,” Mandy said automatically, unable to pull her thoughts from what had happened in the backyard. Something wasn’t right. The last time Abuela was that serious was just before Mandy had left for Europe—alone. Her mouth went dry. Mandy needed to talk to Abuela, but she couldn’t ask Edmund to turn around now, not after all he’d done for her. She just hoped Abuela would still be around when Mandy got back in a few days so she could talk to her.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

January 2006

Her classes hadn’t startedyet, but Mandy scheduled some time in the art lab. It had been three days since New Year’s, and since then, Mandy had felt lighter. As though for the first time since being in Europe things might be okay. She hadn’t completely forgiven herself for what she had done to Isa, but it was in the past. She couldn’t change it. She just had to live with it. And living wasn’t really something she had let herself do. Before, she was surviving at best, but Sophie was right, Mandy had been punishing herself, and she likely would for a long time, but for now…for now she was going to try.

A blank canvas sat in front of her along with three different paint colors. Black, white, and blue. With them she could make a hundred different shades. She didn’t need all the colors of the rainbow to express the thing she had been feeling in her heart. And so today, without judgment, or an assignment, or anyone else’s voice in her head, Mandy was going to try to paint what shefelt. It seemed simple enough, but that’s what made getting the first stroke onto the canvas so hard.

Just like painting, emotions weren’t easy—and expressing them, especially recently, had been practically impossible. Mandy sucked in a long breath and then pushed it all out, ignoring the sour smell of paint that lingered. Ignoring the sound of cars that passed on the street outside. Ignoring the pounding of her own heart and absorbing the silence. Not long before now, the silence was what she was most afraid of, but she couldn’t be afraid anymore. Being alone wasn’t a punishment, it was a gift, and Mandy had been wasting it. She had been so afraid that if she got used to the silence it meant it would always be that way. She didn’t want to accept that she would never hear certain things again—like pots and pans in the kitchen and cooking chorizo, or Isa’s voice. Mandy feared accepting things meant she would have to be alone forever, but would that be the worst thing?

She had never, not once, stood solidly on her own two feet. There had always been someone to lean on until now. And while that seemed slightly terrifying, it was also empowering. Mandy could do this. She could prove to herself that she alone was good enough.

She picked up her brush and started to paint.

As common as pubs werein London, Mandy wasn’t sure she would ever get used to going to them. It still felt so weird being able to walk up to the bar and order a drink with no questions asked. Mandy still had a couple of years before she would be able to do it back home. When she strolled up to thebar this time, she couldn’t help feeling like she was doing something naughty.

“Pint of Guinness?” Mandy made it sound like a question even though it wasn’t one.

Luckily the bartender, a middle-aged white man—who ironically looked like every bartender in every British movie Mandy had ever seen—didn’t even blink an eye before picking up a glass and filling it. He didn’t say anything as Mandy paid for the drink. Not tipping was also something that still felt strange, but Mandy had learned her lesson on that and collected all her change before heading back to the tables where her friends were.

That was another thing that was different now. Mandy had friends. Maybe because she was sticking around, or because she no longer scowled at everything and everyone, or maybe because Mandy had gotten attention from a couple of her professors already this semester based on a few of her early projects and her classmates had finally started talking to her—or maybe she was finally listening. Either way, they invited her to join them at the pub, and Mandy said yes.

This pub was one many of the nearby art students went to. Sophie had suggested several times in the past that Mandy meet her there, but she never did. So it was no surprise that Mandy found her there with some of her friends and they all joined together into one large group.

“Mandy,” Finny shouted. His name was actually Nigel Montgomery O’Connell, but for some reason, no one ever called him that. “Wanna play?” He wiggled a dart at her.

“Sure, why not?” Mandy shrugged. She’d been saying yes a lot more recently, and so far, it’d been working out for her. “I have to warn you though. I’ve never played before.”

“Like never, ever? Not one single time?” Finny asked.

Mandy shook her head. “Nope.”

“You hear that?” Finny called. “I might actually win a game.”

The table erupted into cheers.

Finny draped an arm over Mandy’s shoulder. “We are going to become great friends.” He was much taller than Mandy, with bright red hair he liked to wear in a Mohawk and extremely tight jeans.

“What if I’m a natural at this?” Mandy set her beer down on a high-top table and picked up the second set of darts.

“I’ll lock you in my boot and claim victory anyway.”

“You’re that bad, huh?”

“Total shit.”

Mandy took a sip of her drink. Guinness was one of the few beers she enjoyed. It had more flavor than many of the lighter ones. “Am I supposed to aim at any certain number?”

“If you can hit the board, you’ve already got a leg up on old Finny here.” Rafe, another classmate and Finny’s best friend, joined them. In looks, Rafe was Finny’s opposite. Dark skin and hair—but they dressed similarly, in too-tight pants and the same loafers with no socks. Where Finny completed his look with a T-shirt, Rafe wore button-ups.

“Piss off,” Finny said.

“And miss the show? Never,” Rafe said. “I’ll be chalker.”

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