Page 39 of Deliverance

“I’ll include it in your Christmas bonus, man.” Laughing, I clap his shoulder and filter over to the entrance through the tight rows of white tables and blue umbrellas. My Spyder is tucked in at the very back of the lot, away from the local teenagers who usually crowd the promenade at this time of the year.

As soon as I get into my car, I call Drew. I’m not sure exactly why. There seem to be dozens of reasons. She’s funny, intriguing, talented, sexy. I could probably list a lot more adjectives to describe her, but what I really want is to hear her voice, to hear her laugh at my stupid jokes, to hear her evade my questions about her art, to hear her argue that pineapple doesn’t belong with tomato sauce.

The line rings a few times, and then goes to voicemail. Somewhat disappointed, I almost decide against leaving a message but change my mind at the very last minute. After all, she didn’t say no to my pizza offer.

So I rattle off a few sentences and drive home, where I spend the rest of the day working out and practicing Bleeding Faith songs. Then the following morning, I pick up Avery and we head out to Rockpile. By the end of the day, Drew still hasn’t returned my call.

8 Drew

“This is non-negotiable, Mom,”I protest over the phone. “You’re coming. Period.”

“I don’t want to put you out, Andrea.”

I grind my teeth at the sound of my name. I hate it with a passion, but I don’t have the heart to tell my mother not to call me that anymore, because that’s what’s on my birth certificate. She still thinks Drew Kadence is a pseudonym that goes on my artwork only and hasn’t seen my new passport. Truthfully, I’m not in a rush to show it to her.

“You’re not putting me out, Mom. I want you to be here. Have Jack take Molly. He probably loves that damn cat more than you.”

Talking about my mother’s boyfriend used to be difficult. Actually, imagining her in a relationship with someone who wasn’t Dad made me downright furious. My parents were married for twenty-seven years and I couldn’t fathom the fact that dating was even possible for a woman who buried her spouse. But my anger wasn’t really directed at her. Just at the fact that Dad died so unexpectedly, leaving us when we needed him most.

“Tell her you’ll call back. You need to eat,” Santiago mouths at me from across the table. He’s nose deep in his chow mein and the smell of food wafting over to me reminds me that I’ve been arguing with my mother for over fifteen minutes and I’m insanely hungry.

Today was a very long day. Between doing an email interview for a Canadian art magazine and sorting through thousands of Kristof’s images, I totally forgot to eat. Luckily Santiago showed up at my studio with Chinese right before I passed out from exhaustion.

“You’re coming. End of discussion, Mom,” I say firmly. “I have to go now. My dinner is getting cold.”

I kill the call, set my phone on the table next to the carton of fried rice, and palm my face. My pulse is roaring. I can’t tell whether it’s because of the pointless conversation I just had with my mother or because I’m getting pre-event jitters.

“So?” Santiago gives me a long, unblinking stare. “Back to the drummer.”

I let out a dramatic sigh and grab my chopsticks. We were talking about Zander right before my mother called and told me that she can’t fly out to L.A. for my collection unveiling, because she doesn’t want to leave Molly alone and doesn’t want to bother me.

“I feel like I’m leading him on.”

“Duh?” Santiago rolls his eyes. “Making a guy wait two days to return a call definitely qualifies as such.”

“I mean…he’s really sweet, and charming, and funny.” I realize that I haven’t described a man this way since Cash. Cash was all of those things and more, but most importantly, he made me feel safe. The dynamics between Zander and me are different. Zander is dangerous. Like a black hole that keeps luring me in. The thing is, I’m not sure I’ll like what’s behind that well-constructed nice-guy facade.

“Are you scared?” Santiago asks, his voice suddenly grave and serious.

“A little,” I confess.

“Do you want to see him?”

I have to think about it for a second because on some level, I really do want to see him, but I was tipsy when I agreed to his damn pizza offer and invited him to my event. And tipsy decisions aren’t always the best. Which still doesn’t erase the fact that I enjoyed the man’s company, but it seems that we’re past the point of being just acquaintances.

“I think so. Yes,” I finally tell Santiago.

“What’s the problem then?”

The problem is that eventually, all men want sexis what I want to say, but instead, I give my friend a watered-down version of what’s in my head, “I like my solitude. I’m not ready to be with someone just yet. Intimately.”

“Who says he wants to be with you intimately?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I cry out, waving my chopsticks in front of Santiago’s face. “He asked me out. Besides, I can tell. He looks at me like he wants to eat me.” I’m not completely oblivious when it comes to men. Just because I don’t date doesn’t mean I can’t read their body language. Or heavy stares. And Zander is definitely interested in more than my art.And maybe I’m interested in more than just his wallet.

A pleasant memory—the warm feel of his calloused palm wrapped around my hand—tugs at the edge of my mind.

“Well, if you put it that way.” Santiago snorts out a laugh, his shoulders quaking.

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