Page 5 of Sweet Caroline
It’s not that Julian doesn’t trust me or my eye for art; he just doesn’t like change.
Sunny’s emerging from the back office when I crack open the door to duck back inside, and she flinches at the noise. I shoot her an apologetic look and hurry to pull the door closed behind me, grateful when the grinding and drilling muffles to a more tolerable volume.
“My God!” she says, her face a dramatic mask of frustration. “I’d rather swallow a razor blade than listen to this for one more day!”
I try to suppress a laugh; Sunny has the larger-than-life flair of a Disney villain contained in the body of a slight, semi-retired Korean woman: equal parts fabulous and terrifying.
“Caroline, I can’t take it anymore!” Aiming a sparkling index finger my way, she adds, “I’m getting a coffee.”
I smirk as I cross the room, returning to my lectern-desk. “But won’t that mean going out into the noise?”
“Be that as it may, the show must go on, dear.” Wide-eyed, she comes up beside me and grabs my arm. “And this show requires caffeine.” She turns to snatch her vintage fur coat from the closet around the corner and slips the sleeves over her many rings and bracelets. I’m not sure how she does it; the amount of jewelry she wears should be gaudy but she somehow pulls off chic.
“Wait,” I say suddenly, shutting off my tablet. “Let me go grab you a coffee.”
She places a hand on her chest. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” I join her at the closet to grab my favorite wool peacoat. “I could use the fresh air and I need to make a phone call.”
“Oh, you angel child!” Sunny drawls, shrugging off her fur and stowing it away once more.
With her coffee order stored safely in my phone, I push out into the cold. High-pitched drilling pierces the air, and traffic lights swing overhead, groaning in the wind. My hair whips against my face and I bunch my shoulders in a futile attempt to block out the latest auditory assault, unsure I’ll even be able to hear Adrian over the noise. But, desperate enough for a pep talk from my best friend, I hit the call button next to his name as I pick my way through the scattered leaves and twigs already littering the sidewalk.
He answers and, just as I’m about to shout over the drilling, the universe throws me a bone and it quiets down—for now, at least.
I exhale.
Small mercies.
“Hey,” I say, then pause. “Um, so, what’s the normal amount of screaming to hear inside your head? Asking for a… me.” I chuckle joylessly.
“Uh…” Adrian’s baffled silence hangs for a moment on the other end of the line. “Caroline, the normal amount of screaming inside your head is zero.”
I frown. “That can’t be right.”
“You okay?” he asks. “Like, how worried about you should I be right now?”
I scoff, though the caution in my best friend’s voice takes the edge off my prickly tone. “I’m fine. Just… crawling out of my skin. Fletcher texted me about the fundraiser this weekend. He called mebabeagain.No big deal. Sorry. I’m probably overreacting.”
“Uh,hell no,” Adrian says, defensive bestie mode activated. “I reject that. I don’t care if you’re stuck playing happy couple with that dickhead; he shouldn’t act like he didn’t ask you to marry him and then fuck his way around the state.”
I wince at the reminder. I’d found countless texts on his work phone—evidence of hookups in every upscale hotel room paid for by Dad’s campaign. “Yeah, okay, you’re right.”
“At least the thing on Saturday means I get to see you,” Adrian says. “Want me to be your human shield? With Fletch?” He comically gags on my ex’s name in solidarity. “Because I will not hesitate to aggressively side-eye that piece of shit for you all night.”
“Ugh, yes, please.” Maybe if I stick close to Adrian, I won’t have to spend the entire evening forcing myself not to recoil each time Fletcher touches me. “And feel free to invent any cooked-up scenario you can think of with Found Family that will just… keep me busy with charity stuff.”
“On it. I mean, you cofounded it, so it would be believable enough.”
“Oh, and if you catch wind of my dad lecturing me again about my life choices, can you, like, pull the fire alarm or something?”
Adrian laughs. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to hot firefighters coming to our rescue.”
I tilt my head, already a bit defeated about the likely need for rescue, and tuck my scarf tighter around my neck.
Thank God I have Adrian in my corner. His snark not only got me through our college political science program, but it was all that kept me going the last year or so working for my dad. After seeing firsthand what I was putting up with—the long hours, the unreasonable demands, never seeming to do enough to please my father—Adrian had completely understood when I decided to cut and run, even though it meant leaving him behind, along with the youth mentorship charity we’d started together.
Dad understood less.
