Choose Me (The Me Novellas) (10 page)

Lance sucked on an ice cube from his cup of diet Coke.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked.

I ate a piece of popcorn. It tasted like salted cardboard. “I don’t know. Things got about a million times more complicated this morning, you know?”

“Not really,” he said. He chewed his ice cube.

“How do you figure? With all the crap Yuri dropped on me?” We’d spent another half hour at the cafe, Yuri telling me the details of his severance. Katya was prepared to pay him well—very well—for bringing me on. Tens-of-thousands-of-dollars well. With the money he’d saved, he and his family could live comfortably for a while, at least until he figured out what his next step might be.

I couldn’t wrap my brain around the sums of money we were talking about. A hundred thousand for me. Thirty thousand severance for Yuri. I felt like I was in the middle of an artistic version of Indecent Proposal. It was incredibly weird and surreal.

But it was one hundred percent real.

“Look, what happens to Yuri is irrelevant,” Lance said. He raised the paper cup and shook another ice cube into his mouth. He sucked on it, his cheekbones becoming razor sharp.

When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “You don’t owe him anything. Does his situation suck? Hell yes, it does. But that’s not your problem to solve.”

“But he has a wife,” I began

Lance cut me off. “So what? Did you tell him to take the offer from Katya two years ago? Did you tell him to marry his girlfriend before he left? Did you decide that you’d agree to go find some hot new artist to take your place so you could be free of your commitments? Nope.”

He shook his head. “Not your problem. You can’t let that weigh into your decision. Because you do need to decide.” He glanced at his watch. “In approximately four hours.”

I felt the panic rise up. Yuri had pressed an envelope into my hands before we left the coffee shop. A contract. It spelled out the terms of Katya’s offer. I’d sat at the table alone, staring at it, long after Yuri left. The numbers and the words blurred together and it was only when a waitress walked by, asking if I needed a tissue, did I realize that tears were streaming down my cheeks.

Lance’s words sank in. It was almost four o’clock. The show was in four hours. Katya had called and left me a message while Lance and I drove to the zoo, asking me if I’d given any more thought to her offer. I’d let it roll over to voicemail and hadn’t called her back.

I didn’t want to end up like Yuri. I knew our situations were different—I wasn’t being shipped to a foreign country and I could go home after six months—but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be tethered to a contract. It felt like I was being hired to produce a product, not create art.

But the flip side, the side that had me so conflicted was simple: I also didn’t want to walk away from the massive career launch she was offering. Yuri had thrived under her wing. There wasn’t any reason to think I wouldn’t, too.

My thoughts drifted to Andy. The thoughts running through my mind moments before hadn’t even thrown him into the mix.

I sighed.

“Want me to decide for you?” Lance fished a coin out of his pocket, a quarter that glinted in the afternoon sun. “Heads or tails?”

“I wish it was that easy.”

He shook his head. “It is. It’s a yes or no question. Pick one.”

I snatched the quarter from his hand. “No.”

I watched one of the pandas amble from one side of the enclosure to the other, its massive paws navigating the sloping terrain with ease. I’d never had a strong desire to paint wildlife but he was so majestic, so adorable, that I wished I had a sketchpad to capture him on paper.

Lance poked my side. “Stop ignoring me.”

“I’m not.” I squirmed away. “I’m thinking.”

He stood up. “Well, you better do your thinking on the drive home. I’m sure you want to shower and change. And get to the gallery before the show.”

He tossed his cup in the trashcan nearby and I followed suit with my bag of popcorn. The few pieces I’d eaten sat heavy in my gut, my nerves wreaking havoc on my stomach.

We walked back to the car, passing more animal exhibits and food stands and souvenir shops. We stopped briefly at the restroom and I waited outside, watching sparrows peck at crumbs on the sidewalk, listening to kids exclaim which animals they wanted to see next.

“You tell Andy about the latest development?” Lance asked after we resumed walking.

I hadn’t. My first impulse had been to pick up the phone and call him but something held me back. I didn’t know how he would react, didn’t know what kind of reception I would get when I relayed the latest news. He was already miffed by the situation and I couldn’t deal with his abruptness. I needed comfort and reassurance, not a phone call filled with tense silence.

Traffic along Rock Creek Parkway was slow, the roads clogged with cars and bicycles. But the drive back to Georgetown was scenic, the trees hovering between summer and fall, the first hint of autumnal colors blushing the tips of the maples and oaks. We passed under stone arch bridges and walking and bike trails and it reminded me of Minnehaha Falls. It made me homesick.

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to the curb near Lance’s apartment. He shifted the car into park.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“I have a couple errands to run,” he said. “Thought I’d drop you off so you can start getting ready. I’ll be home later and then I’ll come to the show. If that’s still alright.”

I nodded. It was more than OK. At my first show, I hadn’t wanted any of my friends to come. This time around, I wished I had more who could be there to offer moral support. Amazing how so much could change in the course of one week.

He lifted his sunglasses and smiled at me. “Alright, then. Go get beautiful. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

I stepped out of the car and grabbed the door handle to swing the door shut.

“And, Meg?” he said. “Do me favor. Forget what I said about making a decision. Don’t do anything yet.”

I just shook my head and shut the door. He was impossible.

I walked through the doors into the lobby. Lydia was there, clipboard in hand, talking with a young couple. They were probably the same age as me, I thought. Fresh out of college, starting jobs in DC, looking for their first place. They held hands, their voices excited as they asked questions about security deposits and move-in dates.

Lydia noticed me as I walked by.

“Meg,” she said, her tone cautious. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to do a tour today. Perhaps we can reschedule?”

The man’s forehead creased into a frown. “How many apartments are available?”

“Just the one,” Lydia said, smiling. “We’ve had quite a bit of interest in it.”

The couple exchanged worried glances.

“We have another apartment we’re supposed to look at,” the man offered.

“I understand,” Lydia said. “You should know, however, that we do rent on a first come, first serve basis. Provided references check out, of course.”

The woman ran her free hand through her long, dark hair. “Can you excuse us for a minute?” she asked Lydia. She tugged on the man’s arm and a heated, whispered exchange followed.

I passed by, certain they’d be signing a lease in a matter of minutes. I felt nothing but relief.

I rode the elevator to the tenth floor and made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as I got in to Lance’s apartment. Not because the popcorn had made me sick but because I knew the one thing I could focus on at the moment, the one thing that might help me forget about the envelope sitting in my purse, was to get myself ready. It made no sense. But it would work. At least, I hoped it would.

I stepped into the shower, sucking in my breath as the hot water hit my skin. I stood under the shower head and tilted my head back and closed my eyes. I could do this. Get ready. Go to the show.

And make a decision.

I squirted shampoo into my open palm. One huge benefit of staying with a gay man: he had really great hair products. I lathered Redken volumizing shampoo into my hair, finishing up with their moisturizing conditioner. I’d breathed a sigh of relief when I saw a bar of Dove soap in the soap dish the morning before.

“Soft skin is important,” Lance had told me when I’d commented on his soap and the Aveda hand cream he had on the bathroom counter.

I’d just laughed.

Showered and shaved, I wrapped a towel around me and slathered body lotion on my legs and arms. I’d packed a travel-size bottle of my peach lotion and the familiar scent comforted me, made me feel a little closer to home. And to Andy. I closed my eyes and smiled. He hated perfume but he loved the lotion I wore, would bury his face in my neck and nuzzle me and breathe deeply. I sighed at the memory.

I rubbed a towel through my hair and then headed to the closet to change into the outfit I’d packed for the show. It was another sundress, another floral concoction. I’d toyed with something more sophisticated, more elegant, but I knew I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t be able to pull it off, would end up looking like a kid playing dress-up in her mother’s closet. There was nothing sophisticated or elegant about me. I was just
…
me.

I slipped the lavender sundress over my head. It was a clingy rayon fabric, forgiving of wrinkles and, because of the cut, forgiving of my figure, too. The bodice and waist were fitted, the skirt flaring out just a bit. I twirled in front of the bathroom mirror and the dress moved with me, billowing gently in the manufactured breeze.

Satisfied, I pulled out my make-up and hair supplies and tackled the rest of my appearance. It gave me something to do, something to think about, so I wouldn’t have to obsess over the decision I knew was hanging over me. The decision I would have to make in a matter of hours.

SIXTEEN

It was 6:30 and Lance still wasn’t back. I sat at the breakfast bar in his small kitchen, nervously tapping the counter. I’d texted him a half hour earlier and he’d said he was on his way back. I’d texted Andy, too, looking for some reassurance. He’d remained silent and I didn’t know what to make of that.

He could have been with a client. In a meeting. Showing a property. Walking through his new house. Or he could have been ignoring me. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave again. 6:34.

I had to go.

I drained my Diet Coke—I’d been too nervous to eat—and tossed the empty can in the trash. I grabbed my phone, checked for nonexistent messages and stowed it in my purse. My fingers brushed the envelope, the envelope Yuri had given me.

I hesitated before taking it out. I unfolded the single sheet of paper, read the terms again. My eyes focused on the dollar amount, then drifted to the name of the city typed in bold font. Washington, DC. I stuffed it back in the envelope and closed my eyes.

I had to go.

The evening was cool, the breeze crisp, and for the first time since I’d landed, it felt like Fall. And just like before, at the showing in Minneapolis, I wished I’d thought to bring along a sweater. Goosebumps prickled my skin as I walked the six blocks to the gallery. The heels of my sandals caught in the cobblestone walk and I slowed my pace. The last thing I needed was a sprained ankle or a bloody knee from a tumble onto the sidewalk.

Yuri was already at the gallery, looking splendidly handsome in a dark suit. He didn’t wear a tie and his gray button down was loose at the throat, his chest slightly exposed. If I hadn’t been deliriously in love with my boyfriend, I might have drooled just a little. But then I remembered what he’d done, coercing me into coming and now hanging a Prometheus-sized decision on my unsteady shoulders. His appeal instantly disappeared.

He greeted me with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said primly.

“The caterer will be setting up,” he said. “We should probably step outside. Get out of their way.”

“Where is Katya?” I asked.

He quirked his eyebrow. “Oh? Did you wish to speak with her?”

“No, no,” I said. “I just wondered.”

“She is not here yet.” He smiled. “She prefers to be fashionably late.”

He moved toward the front door just as a caterer approached, carrying a crate full of wine bottles. Yuri held the door open for him and he smiled a thanks.

“She enjoys a good spread,” he said. “I hope you didn’t eat dinner.”

I wasn’t going to be able to eat a thing. My stomach was a knotted mess as I thought about the evening ahead of me. The weight of the show hung over me, knowing my work would again be exposed and open to judgement and critique, but it was Katya’s offer that weighed the heaviest, that made me sick to my stomach just thinking about it.

“Will you be speaking to Katya tonight?” Yuri asked, trying to keep his tone casual. But the muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Don’t I have to?” I said.

He shrugged. “There is no deadline. She would like an answer soon. As would I.”

I didn’t respond. There was nothing to say. Because I still didn’t know what I was going to tell her, still didn’t know how I was going to respond to the paper tucked inside of my purse.