Page 6 of Watching Ames

* * *

After the basket,I only lasted a few days before sending another gift. She had been researching headphones - presumably due to the construction taking place next door to the studio - but I couldn’t find any purchases to show she had bought them. I considered pulling strings to stop the construction altogether, but that felt too impersonal. Besides, she might have been excited about the new restaurant opening up next door. So I bought a pair of cordless headphones with noise-canceling technology, the highest quality version of what she’d been searching for.

The smiles on her face every time she opened one of my presents made it all worth it. The after-hours surveillance, the taunts from Dev, the never-ending ache every time I saw her face. And if watching those cards as they were slipped one by one into her purse and seeing those headphones wrapped around her delicate ears made her feel even more like mine, then that was just a bonus.

Chapter6

Her

Peter breezedinto my apartment Monday morning without warning or fanfare, knocking on the door as usual, since he never bothered taking the key I offered.You’ll always be here to let me in, he’d claimed, and so far he’d been correct, never bothering to stop by without knowing I’d be there first. Any gifts or notes were delivered by his assistants, courtesy of the rotating key that passed from hand to hand between internships.

He dropped his briefcase onto the counter and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, not catching my flinch since both of his eyes remained firmly on the phone from which he was sending an email. I heard the telltalewhooshas he sent it, his gaze finally flicking up to me with blank focus, no regret or guilt in his eyes as they met mine.

“Hey babe, it’ll be a long night for me but I was thinking you could pick up some takeout at our favorite burger spot?”

By our favorite burger spot he meant a steakhouse with $40 wagyu burgers served with truffle-based sauces. It was decidedlynotmy favorite, but his sudden appearance caught me so off-guard that all I did was stare as Peter popped his head into the fridge, grabbing an apple and biting into it as he rounded the counter again.

“Nice flowers,” he commented, flicking a petal on the still-thriving bouquet as he passed it by. “Not really my style though.”

The joke didn’t register in my mind until after he gave me another quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed his bag, and glided back out of my apartment, door shutting firmly behind him, me still speechless at the table.

* * *

A few dayspassed after Peter’s sudden re-emergence in my life, and things seemed to return to their pre-fight normal. His assistant began re-plastering my walls with sticky notes, this time in lime green, and Peter was back to texting me short updates throughout the day. Everything was the same, except we hadn’t slept together, in either sense of the word.

Peter saw me a couple nights a week after work, splitting his time between the firm’s local office and the one in D.C., but he stopped bringing his overnight bag. Instead, he took his leave at the end of the night, even when I knew he was working locally. I didn’t know where and hadn't asked, my heart still raw after the last time he walked out that I struggled to gain the courage to confront him about our new normal.

I wish I could say that I was worried over the physical gap between us, but I was honestly relieved. Considering what our fight was about, the last thing on my mind had been our sex life. I was more focused on trying to find a way to assert the small amount of independence and self-respect I had gained during our time apart. It felt so easy while Peter was gone, dressing how I wanted, spending late nights at the studio, promising myself that I would not allow myself to be absorbed into Peter’s life while losing my sense of self.

But it was too easy, having him back and falling into our old routine. Washing my hands and hair of clay before he came over, ordering dinner from his favorite restaurants, playing soft, classical music when he came through the door rather than my “hair-raising” music. It felt too hard to bring up our fight when things had finally stabilized after weeks of tumult, and I was ashamed of how easily I had given back into everything I resented in our weeks apart. Shame ran through my mind as I stood at the kitchen sink, mindlessly washing dishes while thinking about how I had allowed us to fall back together without even a discussion about our fight, my needs, and his obvious avoidance of the subject since he’d jumped back into my life.

My eyes fell on the bouquet, still thriving weeks after I received it, and my shame abated somewhat as I reminded myself that maybe things were different with Peter. He’d been sending me these gifts, after all, gifts that I’d truly enjoyed for the first time since we’d started dating, ones that showed how well he knew me. Even though these discussions were necessary, it wouldn’t hurt to ride the wave a little longer, allow things to stabilize a little more, before bringing up old wounds.

A knock at the door jolted my stomach, my eyes cutting over to where Peter sat on the couch, writing briefs for work. I wasn’t sure who could be visiting without notice, and Peter’s assistant would just let herself in, so I walked over and opened the door in a swift movement, assuming it was a delivery or a neighbor.

“Surprise, bitch.” My sister quirked her lips in a small smile, her presence taking a moment to register in my mind, but within seconds I was letting out an excited yell and going up on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around her shoulders, squeezing her taller frame in a tight hug. After a moment, I stepped back, taking her in after not seeing her in months.

She looked nothing like me, the blonde hair and blue eyes she got from our father a stark contrast to the brunette-and-green combination passed down on our mom’s side. Even our skin tone was different; hers still pale in late June while mine had just started to tan. But as my eyes traveled over her worn black combat boots and frayed jeans, paired with a plaid button-up that I was pretty sure belonged to our father, I was reminded that our sense of style was definitely genetic. Her bags bumped against our legs, and I glanced down to find her holding entirely too much luggage for her usual one-to-two week stay.

I raised my eyebrows in question but Bex just shrugged me off, brushing past me into the apartment and dropping her bags immediately in the front hallway before turning and giving me another hug, this time wrapping her arms around me since they were no longer weighed down with bags.

“Peter,” I called, shooting Bex a look that screamed ‘be nice,’ as I dragged her into the kitchen and into view from Peter’s position on the couch, “Look who came to visit!” I infused an upbeat tone into my voice, praying the two could get along long enough for Peter to make his nightly exit.

Bex, for her part, didn’t say anything rude - which was her usual greeting towards Peter - though that might have been because she was too busy shooting me a confused, irate look at the mention of Peter.

I hadn’t yet gotten around to letting her know that Peter and I were back together, knowing that she would disapprove. I sent her a pleading look and whispered a quick promise to explain everything later when Peter finally responded.

“What’s the special occasion?” Peter asked, eyes still glued to his computer screen in what was likely an attempt to avoid my sister, whose disdain he fully returned.

“Only your girlfriend’s first big contract for her business.” Bex bit out, distaste for Peter clear in her tone even if she kept her face impassive.

I rolled my eyes at her antics, but my heart warmed at her surprise visit; even though we’d talked about my contract, and she’d wished me congratulations over text and video calls, it felt more real with her standing next to me, her support and pride in my success palpable.

Neither Bex nor I wore our hearts on our sleeve, but the emotions we did feel had always been in opposition to one another. Bex had always been quick to excitement, pursuing danger and anything else that got her heart racing. But she was also quick to anger, holding grudges and making enemies faster than anyone I knew, though she’d gotten better at smoothing her anger into indifference in the past few months, since the trial this past winter had derailed her life. It was nice to see her excited for the first time in months, even if it was only to support me and my small measure of success.

But if Bex was a short fuse, I was a steady flame. My attitude had always been much closer to baseline. I was always more hesitant and less prone to quick flips between extreme emotions, better at pushing down emotions and avoiding tough situations. The difference, rather than tearing us apart, had made us a great team as children: one committed fully to fun while the other was responsible enough to keep us out of too much trouble. But the gap had only widened since our parents died, Bex taking on a you-only-live-once mindset while I had tried to step fully into a stable, parental role while still in college.

“Oh, you got a contract? Congrats babe.”

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