Page 122 of Fresh Canvas
A sharp knock rapped at the door.
I thought about ignoring her. Camilla couldn’t plummet from the fire escape anymore, so maybe my job was done?
“Open the freaking door, Val. I can smell the Pine Sol from here.”
Begrudgingly, I cracked it open.
Camilla’s angry expression softened a bit before she shoved past me. She hadn’t bothered to put on makeup today, apparently, since her freckles across her olive skin were more pronounced than usual. I wondered if yelling at me took priority instead. She flung her sandals in different directions and dropped her bag right on top of my freshly vacuumed carpet lines.
“Come on. It’s time to talk.”
“Talk about what?” I stubbornly leaned into the wall, crossing my arms.
“Don’t be like that.” Her dark eyes flashed, her thick blacklashes squinting at me. “You haven’t missed this many Sunday dinners since Stella died. You know full well what I’m talking about.”
“What, are you going to make me pay a copayment too?”
“Piss off, Val. I’m not your therapist. I’m your sister—which means I can hit you. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”
Her tiny fists almost looked comical as she pounded them together. But I also knew how wicked her right hook was. I blew out a defeated breath, exhaustion winning out.
She plopped into the leather armchair, leaving me no choice but to join Amantha’s ghost on the couch she had loved so much. I trudged over and lay down. Seconds ticked by as I stared fixedly at the ceiling.
“Are we just going to sit here, or what?” Camilla said.
I responded by picking up a throw pillow and placing it over my face.
“You’re a child,” Camilla said, though I could detect a hint of a smile in her voice. “Fine, I’ll start. You and Amantha broke up, and now you’re spiraling, cleaning everything, and shutting everyone out. Sound about right?”
The pillow nodded.
Muffled sounds of footsteps approached me before the pillow was lifted away. I squinted in the sudden brightness as Camilla sat down cross-legged on the floor beside me. She spent a silent minute reading the emotion in my eyes.
“You loved her.”
It wasn’t a guess.
I buried my face into the crook of my elbow and began to cry. The dam of emotion finally flooded over as I lay, gravity pulling each tear down into my hair until it was damp. I couldn’t have stopped if I tried.
“Oh, Val.” Camilla’s voice was thick. “I’m sorry. I knew you cared for her, but I didn’t realize it was this deep. What happened?”
“Ihappened,” I choked out. “I was a moron and shouldn’thave fallen in love with her in the first place. It was a huge mistake.”
“A mistake?”
My next words felt tight in my throat—tight in my chest.
“I’m not good for her. She deserves better.”
“Okay, Val. I love you and all, but I’m gonna need you to walk me through this. Start at the beginning.”
Camilla rose and returned with a box of perfectly pleated tissues. “Jeez, Val. Did youironthese?”
A strangled laugh burst through my sorrow.
“No, you brat, I didn’t.”
The comedic relief was just what I needed. Sitting up, I grabbed the tissue from her hand and composed myself. Camilla sank onto the couch beside me, waiting. I leaned forward, rested my elbows on my gym shorts, and rubbed my temples.
