This is a new era of Kate. One where I do not change myself to fit the mold for others to love. My confidence is no longer cheap, but a luxury item. Afford me if you can, but I will no longer be robbed of the peace I’ve fought so hard for.
Unfortunately, that rule also applies to Liza. If she chooses to forgive me, it’s going to be her decision. There’s nothing more I can do.
The tiny train on my fuchsia pink gown drags behind me as I click across the marble lobby of the museum. The dress is indulgent, I know, but the glittering lines of beaded crystals made me feel like a princess. The deep halter neckline suggests more vixen, but I digress. I left my black hair sleek and long, and it brushes against my shoulder blades.
The opening gala for Amantha’s exhibition doesn’t begin for another forty minutes. The technical crew already set up the Astor Wing, but I promised to arrive early for emotional support.
I amnotprepared for what I see when I finish ascending The Spiral.
Shadowed projections of textured brick cover every blank wall. Strategic overhead lights target beams toward each framed mural. Painted road lines mark up the black tiled floor. Actual small-scale traffic lights hang from overhead rafters. Sounds of traffic and recorded chatter are overlaid by upbeat music cascading from the speakers.
I stride toward my favorite heart-hand mural, one that Amantha insisted on being as large as possible so people could stand in front of it like they do on the street. As I grow near, however, the music fades until it is only a whisper as I stand in front of it. Experimentally, I take a few steps back, and the street noise grows. Only then do I notice that the overhead speakers are angled, creating pockets of city sounds and silence.
“So cool,” I whisper to myself.
“Maybe I take you out to see one of these in real life sometime?”
I spin to the owner of the proposition, and a laugh puffs out of me.
Rohan stands six inches taller than me, though his spiked black dreads add a few more inches. His barista apron is replaced by a pressed charcoal suit that adds maybe a year to his appearance.
“Oh Rohan,” I chuckle. “You persistent little thing.”
He claps a hand to his chest, though his smile is anything but daunted.
“Little? That hurts. When are you gonna realize that I’m old enough for you?”
“In another five years,” I tease. “Maybe six. But I should probably tell you that Brandon and I are together now.”
His undeterred eyes brazenly dip over the halter neckline of my fuchsia dress and down to my toes. “Still worth the wait.”
Something uncomfortable squirms in my gut, but I force a smile anyway. “I need to find Amantha and see if she needs any help.”
“See you on Monday, then. I’ll be the one holding your matcha latte.” He winks and strolls off to one of the murals.
I spot Amantha’s wavy blonde hair across the room. She gestures at one of the bottle service waiters, making her loose periwinkle sleeve swirl across her wrist. Her sheer layered dress consists of layers of pleated chiffon overlapping her curvy frame.
She says something to Val, who stands beside her like a cologne model. His eyes follow her pointed finger, and he nods and heads toward the catering manager. She greets me with a huff, but her gray eyes are bright.
“You think they’d remember that I specifically saidnosalmon on the canapés!”
I frown. “But you love salmon.”
She tips a shoulder. “Not anymore. It’s gross.”
It takes her about a millisecond to forget the catering mishap.
Her smile is blinding. “Isn’t this phenomenal?”
“You did it.” I give her a gentle hug, making sure not to snag our dresses.
“No,wedid it. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”
“You could have, but thanks for letting me help anyway,” I laugh. “And where did you find mini traffic lights? These are so cool.”
“Right? They were Blythe’s idea. Apparently she knows a guy.”
We laugh, and as if on cue, Blythe shows up in a construction-neon orange pantsuit, frizzy hair and all, arm wrapped around a beautiful brunette woman with a charming smile.
