Page 85 of Fresh Canvas
So I caved. “What do you want to know?”
I had to snatch the phone away from my ear at Camilla’s shriek.
“Is she hot? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? Is it serious?”
“First thing, lay off the caffeine.”
“Bite me.”
I bypassed a construction zone on the sidewalk, contemplating my response. “Yes, she’s hot, we met at work, and things really started up about a week ago.” I decided to omit our awful interview. Camilla wouldn’t hesitate to deck me if she knew how rude I’d been. Not my finest day by a long shot.
“You didn’t answer my last question. Is it serious?”
“Will you ever stop being so nosy?”
“No.”
“Fine.” My chest deflated with a long exhale. “We’re both trying to not overthink things, so I’m not sure if it’s serious yet.”
Camilla’s voice sounded thoughtful as she asked, “But do you want it to be?”
Each cell of my being resounded without hesitation. “Yeah. I really do.”
My speakers were in severe peril from Camilla’s dog-whistling squeal.
“Val! I’m so excited! When can I meet her? Is she going over there tonight? I’ll stop by. No big deal, I swear?—”
Click.
A satisfied smirk twisted my lips. Maybe that would teach her to butt out of my business. I’d rather have my pristine apartment ripped to shreds by Mr. Fluff Buttons than to introduce Camilla this early.
CAMILLA: You jerk! Fine, I get it. Don’t be stupid and mess this up. Love you.
VAL: Glad to see you got my message. And love you too.
I survived the sweltering trek back to my apartment building, unlocked my apartment, and stepped inside. The silver watch on my wrist announced that Amantha would arrive in less than an hour. I felt so giddy it was downright asinine.
After kicking off my gym shoes in the coat closet, one of them knocked a few others from the neatly arranged shelf. I eyed the mess, shrugged, and closed the door.
Standing in front of the refrigerator, I scanned a faded pink receipt fastened to it. The furniture store employee I’d met with last night had ripped it from his notepad and told me to present it to the delivery team on Sunday.
I bought Amantha a couch identical to mine.
While Amantha had left the city yesterday, I had gone to the furniture store. Picturing her bare apartment, albeit temporary, with only a bed to relax on feltwrongsomehow. After all, the woman’s couch obsession was loudly professed anytime she was within a ten foot radius of mine.
I slipped the receipt into my pocket to give to Amantha as a wave of anxiety rushed through me.
Would she think the couch was overbearing? I didn’t want the gift to be misconstrued as some patriarchal act, suggestingher femininity made her incapable of buying her own furniture.
I grazed my gym shorts with my sweaty palms as I went to shower off. The scalding water rained down from the shower head, doing nothing to calm me. In fact, the steamy atmosphere only sped my thoughts.
Everything felt significant now.
Foreign, though nothing had felt more familiar.
The rousing sensation in my chest was hot and exhilarating—like winged fire. With each beat of the wings, the scorching heat branded me further.
Branded me forher.
