Page 36 of So Close

Defiance has a price – discovery.

25

LILY

I’m awake before dawn,roused from a dreamless sleep. I reach for the tablet lying on the bed beside me, in the space I’d hoped would be filled by you, and I cancel its alarm. I don’t remember sinking into unconsciousness. I only remember weeping until my chest ached from it, wrecked by the swift withdrawal of your touch and desire. I took a gamble and lost, yet the possibility that you might have wanted me had I approached you as myself is a tantalizing hope. Now it’s morning, and I’ve weaponized my longing; it’s what pushes me out of bed.

In moments, I stand beneath the punishing shower spray, surrounded by massive slabs of marble covering the walls and floor. The black veining looks like spectral tree branches choked in spider’s webbing, and I couldn’t love it more.

Your bathroom mirrors mine, and I wonder at your choice to create a master suite that is split in half, a separation that belies your need to lie and rise beneath a photo of Lily. I can’t fathom why you chose to live on the opposite side of the penthouse when everything within it serves as a memorial to her.

With quick efficiency, I ready myself for the day. You’ve made that haste possible. You have cataloged so many minute things about Lily’s preferences, from the feminine care products she preferred to the flavor of her toothpaste. The natural-bristle cosmetic brushes are luxurious, and the well-worn handles betray them as favorites of their previous mistress. The makeup is the sole anomaly, all from ECRA+, with the colors I wear most often having names clearly inspired by Lily.

I feel perfectly at home here, as if I’ve always lived in the space. It’s astonishing and delightful and eerie at once.

Some women might not be able to handle an all-encompassing obsession like yours, but I’m not normal. The totality of your love is everything I want and need.

I’ve dressed and am contemplating my meager selection of jewelry when I hear Witte’s brisk knock at my bedroom door, a quick double rap. “I’m in here, Witte.”

I look up when he fills the doorway from my bedroom with his slim, muscular frame. “Breakfast will be ready when you are.”

The closet has the width of the massive bedroom since it acts as a pass-through between the sitting room and my room, so a sizable distance remains between us.

He takes a few steps toward me. Looking at my clothes, he touches one of the tags hanging from the neck of a hanger.

“Thank you for ordering them,” I tell him.

“A unique organizational method,” he murmurs, studying the postcard-sized lined cardstock.

There are two versions: a graphic of a sun or moon denotes day or evening. On the front, I write down which tops or bottoms pair well with that item. On the back, I note which jewelry, shoes, belts and purses would best accessorize. I’d discovered Lily’s cards stored neatly in a drawer – a stroke of luck – I just had to pair them with the right items. For the recent additions, I asked Witte to reach out to the printer whose logo appeared on the accompanying box.

There are now apps for organizing closets, but this method is in place, and it’s been invaluable.

“My mother used this system in her closet,” I offer. “She believed throwing an outfit together at the last minute was thoughtless. “Being well-dressed and properly groomed is armor for a woman,” she used to say.”

“Armor,” he repeats quietly as he examines my handwritten notes.

“She told me it isn’t in human nature to be kind to beautiful things; we want to possess or destroy them. She raised me to be vigilant and use layers of defenses. Clothing is one.”

“Sadly apt. Tell me about her, if you don’t mind.”

For a moment, I close my eyes, picturing her. The long, lithe body. The curtain of thick black hair. The cat eyes, keenly intelligent and brilliantly green. The wide, mobile mouth painted a lush red. I can’t even imagine what my father must have looked like since I can see nothing but my mother when I look in the mirror. When I was young, I believed she alone was responsible for creating me, and I didn’t care that I didn’t have a father like other children. I didn’t need one. I had her.

“To me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world,” I murmur, opening my eyes to stare down at my hands and the brilliant stone you gave me. I decide it’s all I need in the way of jewelry. Nothing else I own would suit in any case.

I wish I could dazzle you, my love, and fill you with the same pride I feel for you. Maybe I’ll get the chance someday. I can only hope.

“It seemed effortless for her to be that stunning,” I continue, resigned to my appearance in more ways than one, “but she worked hard on herself. She was self-educated. She was considered brilliant by those who knew her, and they were right.”

He moves on to the next card. “She sounds as formidable as her daughter.”

“She was definitely that. She told me beauty opens doors. That I would have a certain privilege just by virtue of being pretty, and I should use it.” I twist my wedding band with restless fingers.

Witte faces me. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

His gaze assesses my attire, from the sleeveless forest green pussy-bow blouse and leather skirt of the same hue to the nude patent leather Valentino Rockstud pumps. “Were you contemplating accessories?”

---