Page 20 of The Pocket Pair

Having a full-time artist mentor me is an opportunity I can’t pass up. Even if it means moving temporarily to another country. Tank’s offer was generous and amazing, but it’s also not the kind of thing I can expect to happen again. I mean, it’s not every day you happen to have a connection to a multi-millionaire who needs a bunch of paintings for his many properties. I need to learn how to do this for real. And I’m smart enough to know I need help.

“I just feel … stuck,” I confess. “I’m not doing what I want with my art. I’m not seeing anyone seriously like y’all are. I need a change or a break in my life, personally and professionally.”

Lindy just blinks at me, her mouth hanging open. “You’re really doing this,” she whispers.

“I am.”

So why does the idea of leaving fill me with dread instead of excitement?

I can’t think of real, solid reasons NOT to go, so why shouldn’t I take this opportunity?

Chevy’s face flashes in my mind, and I refuse to acknowledge it. My giant unrequited crush on my best friend’s brother is definitely not a reason to stay in Sheet Cake. Because, as I said, it’s unrequited.

Louder for the people in back: UNREQUITED.

No matter what transpired in CVS earlier. I’m sure what felt like a MOMENT was just more one-sided hopeful pining on my part.

Only—it felt like something more.

Not enough MORE to change my plans. In fact, Chevy is all the more reason to go. Maybe all that time and distance will help me get over him. Finally.

“How long will you stay?” Lindy asks, sniffling. Winnie pulls a tissue out of her purse and hands it over.

“My visa is for a year. But I don’t have to stay that long,” I add quickly.

This statement is met with an eerie kind of silence. One that makes my stomach tighten into a knot.

“A year?” Winnie’s voice is barely a whisper.

“I’ll probably come back sooner.”

Maybe? I honestly have no idea because I still can’t imagine leaving. Or living in a foreign country, even if I’m with Mari, who feels more like home than anywhere I’ve lived.

“If Mari’s leaving next week, where are you going to live?” Lindy asks.

I glance at Winnie. “I was hoping your guest room?”

Her face falls. “Kyoko’s moving in tomorrow.”

“We’ve got space,” Lindy says, and Winnie and I exchange a glance.

Because their level of PDA when Jo isn’t looking is disgusting. Enough to make my ovaries shrivel up and die right inside my body.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say. I hope.

Without warning, Winnie throws her arms around me. Lindy embraces me from behind, forming a friend sandwich. I sigh, snuggling into them as I reach one arm awkwardly around Lindy behind me and the other around Winnie’s waist. The relief is immediate.

“I’m sorry.” I wish I didn’t have the wobbly, about-to-cry voice, but I totally do.

“I’m sorry too,” Lindy says.

“Why are you sorry?” Winnie asks.

“I’m sorry because I don’t want her to go—even if it’s a good opportunity. I’m being selfish.”

“Well, I’m not sorry. I'm mad.” Winnie pauses. “And sad.”

“Me too,” I whisper. “Or maybe just the sad part.”

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