Page 2 of Fresh Canvas
“You must be growing,” I said.
“C’mon, Mom. Pleeeeease?”
A mischievous grin hitched the corner of my mouth. “If you beat me in Speed Racer 3000, we can order pizza when Grandma and Grandpa Adams get here.” I huffed a breath on my chipped fingernails, polishing them on the lapel of my bathrobe. “Unless you’re scared of losing a video game to your mom, that is.”
I was crap at Speed Racer 3000, and we both knew it.
Anthony’s dimples responded to the challenge. “Uh, deal!”
So I followed my nine-year-old to our living room, where he booted up his gaming equipment. I tried to ignore the piles of felt, ribbons, and cotton balls still cluttering my dining room table as I passed.
Anthony’s school play was coming up, and that meant so was the deadline for twenty-seven headbands that looked like fluffy sheep’s ears. I should have told the PTA president “no” with everything else I had going on, but I didn’t want to be rude. I was also convinced that my new shiny burn scars from my glue gun would never go away.
A bouquet of red roses wilted in a vase amidst the mess. Ryan had them delivered a few weeks ago to celebrate our ten-year wedding anniversary—since a last-minute deposition replaced our dinner reservation. While my heart warmed at the sentiment, my nose wrinkled at the disgusting scent.
He always forgets how much I hate roses.
Ironically, the hour-long drive into the city didn’t give me enough time to calm my nerves. In fact, the endless expanse of highway and darkening sky only increased my anxiety. Cars weaved in and out of the lanes around me, occasionally illuminating the cab with soft glows of red.
I took a deep breath of lavender fabric softener, the smell of my mother’s embrace still clinging to my skin. It was so kind of my parents to drive all the way from our hometown in Pesterfield, Minnesota, to stay with Anthony for the weekend.
I leaned back in my seat, letting the headrest cradle my spiraling thoughts. When had Ryan stopped trying? When had I stopped caring? He had been so fun, so charming in the beginning. A chicken-noodle-soup-when-I-was-sick type of man. A make-me-laugh-till-I-peed-a-little type of man.
Everyone loved Ryan Willis, and on the slim chance you didn’t, it was only a matter of time until his charisma got you. I’d first been hit with that charisma twelve years ago while I worked as an art curator’s assistant. Ryan had been fresh out of law school, and in true Ryan fashion, had been immediately hired by a highly-sought after law firm—which, coincidentally, was the same firm that kept meeting with my boss.
After a few short weeks of dating, I had fallen head-over-heels. Ryan proposed a year later, and I got swept away in our white-picket fantasy.
The approaching city skyline glittered like diamonds, darkened silhouettes of sparkling buildings rising into the night. Maybe it was because I grew up in a small town, but the skyscrapers still took my breath away.
Although it was in the opposite direction from the apartment, I drove my usual detour down Montfoot Road. Stopped at the intersection’s red light, I took in the familiar, shadowed building of shimmering limestone not twenty feet away. I was suddenly filled with so much nostalgia and longing, I couldalmost taste it. The museum beckoned to me, trying to convince me to walk back inside and pretend I had never left.
But that wasn’t my life anymore. So I paid homage to the woman I once was and the sacrifices I chose to make while ignoring the ache in my gut. Then, I pulled an abrupt u-turn and headed to surprise Ryan at our apartment.
I abandoned my silver minivan in the parking garage. Did a minivan make sense to drive with only one child? Not really. But parting with it felt like admitting defeat somehow.
My pulse quickened as the elevator rose to the fifth floor of the apartment building. It was absurd to feel this nervous to seduce a man I’d been married to for an entire decade. But, this felt different. Risky. I wanted to reconnect and be done with this apathetic marriage.
I tugged at my paunchy red dress, trying to camouflage the slight curve of my belly in the mirrored elevator. Did those shaping shorts do nothing?My appearance ranged somewhere between a retired Vegas showgirl and a washed-up game show hostess. Neither felt great.
The key clicked in the lock before I stepped into the shadowy foyer. My weak call of “Surprise” received no response. Flipping on the lights, I plopped my keys on the entry table and closed the door.
“Ryan?” I called. “Babe?” Trying not to twist an ankle in my stupid high heels, I wobbled to the master bedroom. It felt strange being here. In the past year that we had owned the apartment, I’d only slept here a handful of times, Anthony even less.
I bit my lip, wondering if Ryan was already asleep. A sliver of light slipped through the crack as I nudged open the door. The unmade bed was messy, but Ryan was nowhere to be found. The overhead light blazed to life as I flipped the switch. Vacant. The second bedroom yielded the same results. Come to think of it, Ryan’s parking spot had also been unoccupied. I slapped a hand to my forehead. Of course he would still be working late.
I raced back to the van, the unethical high heels nowcrushing my toes. Maneuvering into a metered parking spot, I groped for some crusty change in the console. The entrance to Harrison & Coates was just around the corner. The early October wind whipped through my hair and raised goosebumps along my bare arms. I hoped he wasn’t still in a meeting, but I doubted it. It was well past ten.
The large side windows offered me a glimpse inside the lobby as I walked along the building. The shining silver elevator sparked a memory that made me smile.
That same elevator had opened its doors twelve years ago before my twenty-two-year-old self had collided with a fitted suit jacket. My dignity fell to the floor alongside the manila folder I was supposed to deliver.
“Well, hello again.” The downright delectable man from the legal team we’d met with seemed to recognize me. Their firm represented an art handler that was frustrated with my boss, Barbara Gaines. His tall, muscular frame crouched and scooped up the folder.
“I presume these are for Mr. Harrison?” He offered a small, kind smile.
I swallowed hard and nodded. If there was a socially acceptable amount of time to stare at someone’s mouth, I had well surpassed it.
Were lips able to be perfectly curved like that?His full lips parted to reveal white teeth contrasting against his tan skin. His eyes held a twinkle of perpetual humor. Like a mischievous beach boy-turned-lawyer.
