Page 31 of Free to Dream
Of course she is. I can’t get away from the Lockwoods.
“Be right there.”
Taking calming deep breaths, I grab my phone and planner and walk out the door to my sister’s office. My heels make sharp tapping noises on the refinished hardwood stairs as I make my way to what I hope will be a sanity check.
Walking into Em’s office a few minutes later, I’m enveloped in her creative wonderland. I chose to convert two of the upstairs bedrooms to be the model of efficiency and organization while still maintaining charm through hidden organizational compartments in cabinetry leaving me with a gigantic office. Em chose to keep two separate areas only allowing one as her client space by taking over the old drawing room and the front parlor.
The drawing room where Em entertained clients grabbed your eye because the upscale elegance didn’t cater to one sex or another, one generation or another. It didn’t throw bridal in your face. The gray palate plays off the restored mahogany wood. As Em once explained to me, color popped more off gray than any other color, including white. So, to truly get whether something (including white) was a correct shade, hold it up to gray. Fortunately, this wasn’t where Em spent most of her time. It would have driven us all insane.
Connected to it is the front parlor area, which she uses as her design space because of the natural sunlight that streams through the bay window. It’s filled with jewel-toned colors, pillows made of every color and texture imaginable. Beautiful stained-glass dream catchers catch the fall sun and throw translucent shapes around the room as you walk in. Framed, antique art deco posters decorate the walls.
This space is Em’s soul put on display, which is why very few are ever invited here.
Em could be found here most of the time sketching in the window seat, lying on the antique rug, or on a chaise lounge, as she is today. She has music playing softly as she works.
I drop into one of the overstuffed chairs facing her chaise. Hooking a leg over it, I wait for her to finish what she’s doing. I learned early on with Em’s art to never interrupt. If I didn’t have the time to wait, then what I have could wait until she had time.
Being as organized as I am, some might think I would spiral in a panic spending this much time in Em’s space, but to be honest, I always feel myself relaxing here. There’s a warm comfort here, rather like her. It’s like a continuous embrace of her arms wrapped around me. Already I could feel some of the panic that had been building inside me receding.
Mugsy, Em’s elderly rescue dog, gets up from where he’s been lying next to Em’s chaise. After licking my hand, he proceeds to scoot his butt up against my legs. Taking that for the signal it’s meant to be, I start stroking his silky ears as Em’s pencils scratch on the sketchpad she’s holding. I begin to replay both meetings and my phone call with Caleb in my head.
Putting down my phone and planner, the hand not petting Mugsy combs through my hair. My fingertips graze where I know my amaryllis tattoo sits at the base of my hairline. Not for the first time, I think we were so lucky to have found one another.
Mugsy puts all of his weight on me, bringing me back from my wandering mind. Em has changed the music, a clear indication she’s finished her drawing and is waiting on me with one eyebrow raised.
I lean back in my chair, away from Em’s penetrating gaze, staring at the coffered ceiling. “I fucked up.”
“I doubt that,” Em says calmly.
“I double booked an appointment.”
“That wouldn’t have you down in my workroom, Cass. You would just adjust one or the other. Now”—she puts on her patronizing face—“what happened?”
“I booked a date over the Collyer Homecoming Dress Extravaganza.”
That knocks the look off her face. She starts sputtering, “Wait, what? A date? You? Over the dress extravaganza? That’s your baby and you forgot about it?”
I groan. “I know. I have no idea how either happened, Em.” I lean forward and put my head in my hands, partially covering my ears.
I think I hear her ask “With whom,” but I deliberately ignore her until she reaches over and snags my hand, ripping it away from my head. Not for nothing, she takes a few pieces of my hair along with it. Bitch.
“With who?” Framing my face with her hands, I know there’s no avoiding the question this time.
I breathe in and out while glaring at my sister. I know my reaction isn’t helping this situation. I mean, it’s not a big deal, right? But even I know I’m lying to myself as my heart picks up speed when I say, “Caleb Lockwood.”
She looks at me. I stare back.
A moment passes. Then two.
I’m expecting an explosion. The howling laughter as her hands drop is not the one I anticipated.
“Are you kidding me?” she gets out, gasping for air. “The ‘former groom’ asked you out on a date? When?” She falls back on her chaise, clutching her stomach as she laughs, her long legs draped on either side.
I debate picking up one of her gorgeous throw pillows and smothering her with it.
“Are you done yet?” I sneer, all my earlier calm rapidly disappearing.
“Not even close. This beats anything I’ve ever done by a mile, sister. You will never again be able to hold anything against me. This is my perma get out of jail free card.”
