Page 95 of Crash and Burn
This time she didn't settle herself on top of my fabric. Instead, she pawed at a half-finished dress. It was a cheery, sunny yellow with tiny flowers embroidered along the hems. I'd intended to give it short and puffy chiffon sleeves.
My fist clenched.
It was one of the pieces I'd been working on before I'd met Carling. I'd put it aside to start working on his designs, and had never gotten around to finishing it.
"Mew?" Mittens blinked her big, round eyes up at me.
It would have been the perfect summer dress.
My nails bit into the flesh of my palm.
No. Itwould bethe perfect summer dress.
To hell with that asshole. I wasn't going to let Carling ruin the one good thing left in my life.
I sat back down at my desk and picked up the half-finished dress. I held it out in front of me, examining it and identifying all the small changes I'd wanted to make. It wouldn't take me too much time. In fact, I could probably have it finished within an hour or two.
Before long, I'd made the last stitch. I snipped off the last few threads with my tiny clippers, then stood up with my dress in hand. I held it against myself and looked down. This was it.
I hurriedly shimmied out of my comfy yoga pants and t-shirt so I could tug on the newly finished dress, then raced to my tall bedroom mirror.
I grinned widely at my reflection as a long-forgotten sensation ran through me.
Pride.
This dress fit perfectly. The hem fell exactly where I'd planned and the bust didn't need to be taken in at all.
I'd done a great job.
Maybe I didn't need Carling. Maybe...
An inkling of an idea began to form in my mind. Excitement raced through me.
It would be hard. It would be a lot of work. But maybe...
Maybe I could make it on my own.
I grabbed my phone to take a selfie then opened my messaging app, eager to tell Grant all about my idea.
I paused.
The action had been pure instinct. Grant always liked seeing whatever neat outfits I'd come up with. I knew he didn't really care about fashion, but he always cared about whatever made me happy. He would have loved my new idea, I just knew it.
I was hit with a bittersweet feeling. I was sure Grant still cared about me, even if it was only as a friend. But this sealed it. We could never go back to the way we were. I normally would have never thought twice about messaging him and telling him all about my new dress, all about the plan I'd come up with. He would have been as proud of me as I was of myself at that moment.
Dejected, I flopped down on my bed, face-first. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I'd still hoped I could salvage something of our relationship. I turned my face sideways, resting my cheek on the pillow so I didn't smother myself.
Everything had changed. Things were different now.
Grant had broken my heart.
31
The evening of Grant's gallery showing snuck up on me. I'd completely forgotten about it until one Sunday evening as we were closing up Grant came over to me, looking nervous.
We hadn't said more than a few words to each other outside of work-related conversation for a couple of weeks. I tried not to make things awkward. I didn't throw him sharp glances or scowling frowns. I was pleasant and polite the entire time.
But Grant didn't seem to be able to do the same. The wounded, guilty look on his face was ever-present. I forced myself to ignore it. Heshouldfeel guilty. He'd brought this on himself.
