Page 69 of Back to Me

I swallow the lump in my throat and allow her to continue.

“After you left, I didn’t hire a new assistant for almost three weeks.” She shrugs and looks back down into her glass. “Then I hired this new guy, Spencer. I think that’s his name.” Her eyes narrow in thought.

“You think? You don’t even know your own assistant’s name?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Whatever,” she waves me off. “That’s not the point. Everything he does is wrong. He’s always late, and he doesn’t do what I ask him to do.”

“Allison, those are the same things you said about me. So, how is Spencer any worse?”

“I know I did,” she pouts. “But I’m not lying when I say those things about him. He really is a terrible assistant.”

I place my palm flat on the surface of the counter, spreading my fingers out. Allison’s words have caught me off guard and shocked me to the point, I don’t even really know what to say. Ignoring her topic of her new assistant, I bring up the straw that broke the camel’s back so to speak.

“Look, if apologizing about forcing me to leave helps you sleep better at night, then fuck it, Allison. I accept your apology.” I lean forward, narrowing my eyes. “But I deserve to know one thing. How could you say such horrible things about my art when you were doing the exact same thing up in your studio?”

“I’m sorry, Sara. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“You know, I don’t know why I bothered agreeing to see you,” I scoff in disbelief. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you.”

Reaching out, she places the tips of her fingers on my arm, her eyes meeting mine.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you because I believe you already know the answer to that question,” she confesses. Her eyes stare into mine for what feels like hours. It’s as if I see straight through her, discovering a whole new side. A side of vulnerability, humility, and kindness. A side buried deep within.

I slowly nod, pressing my lips together, counting the breaths I inhale through my nose. It’s an extraordinary feeling to hear the truth said out loud. And to know Allison isn’t the person I thought her to be all these years. Sometimes, we hide the best part of ourselves, and that is one part of Allison I can understand.

Waving down the bartender, she orders us another round of drinks. “We’re going to need a couple more of these,” she says to the man behind the counter.

An hour and a half later, I’m still sitting with Allison, finishing my third glass of vodka. My cheeks warm, the alcohol finally settling into my blood. Allison’s company and the vodka have taken the edge and sting off from the recent silence from Graham. The pain remains, but instead of a sharp, stabbing pain, it’s turned into a dull, throbbing ache. One I’m able to distract myself from for more than a mere few minutes.

Allison’s laughing at one of my jokes when I notice the sun has completely gone down, and the crowd inside the bar has grown.

“I should go,” I tell her, standing up from the barstool.

“Me too,” she grins, and it’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen on her.

“Kindness looks good on you,” I say with a smirk.

“Thank you,” she giggles, her cheeks warming to a light shade of pink.

I stand up and hold out my hand. “It was great seeing you, Allison. Good luck with everything.”

She returns my gesture and grins. “You too. And as I said earlier, the offer to come back still stands.” She winks. “No tricks, no bullshit this time. Equals.”

I nod once, still not one hundred percent sure I’ll take her up on her offer for me to come back. But it has been nice to see her grovel at my feet.

“I’ll think about it,” I lie. Even if I’ve lost everything, I still can’t fathom going back and working for her.

I release her hand and begin turning to walk out the door when Allison adds, “One more thing. Tell Graham I said congratulations on his exhibit.”

Stopping, my face falls, and my heart stops. I swallow, biting back the sorrow waking up inside me. “I will.” Despite possibly already knowing the answer, I ask Allison the question, anyway. “How did you know about his exhibit?”

“My friend, Julian Price, is a curator at the museum. I believe he told me he’s the one who hired Graham.”

It feels like a hole has been punched in my chest when I hear the name fall from Allison’s lips. “What—” I clear my throat, breathless. I shake my head, attempting to gather myself. “I’m sorry. What did you say his name was?”

“Julian,” she repeats. “Julian Price. Have you heard of him?”

“No. No, I haven’t.” Shaking my head, I bite back the tears springing behind my eyes. Backing away, I bump into a chair, startled by the sound it makes as it grates across the floor.

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