“You could call her,” Ramona said.
“I can’t call her,” April said, launching herself out of the chair and ambulating the room again. Her heartbeat felt like it was everywhere, the reality of that sixth painting pressing heavier and heavier on her ribs with each second. “What would I say? ‘Oh, hey, Daph, um, nice painting, do you like me, check yes or no.’ ”
Ramona grinned. “Well…yeah.”
“I can’t think about this right now,” April said. She floppedonto the bed this time, sending a few throw pillows flying. She propped herself up on one elbow. “How’s married life? How’s work?”
Ramona laughed. “Oh, no, we FaceTimed for an hour two days ago, so you know exactly how those things are going.”
“Blissful. Dream come true,” April said drolly, but she was smiling.
“Yes,” Ramona said, lifting her chin. “But we’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you and the fact that the woman you love put you in a painting that just made her career.”
April groaned, letting her head fall onto the remaining pillows. She felt the mattress shift as Ramona scooted closer, lying down and wrapping her arm over April’s stomach.
“I know you’re being a moody little Scorpio right now,” Ramona said, “but take a breath.”
“Spoken like a true Libra,” April deadpanned, but she did as Ramona instructed. She breathed. And then breathed a little more, deep inhales and exhales, and soon, she and Ramona were breathing together in tandem, then laughing when they both started to feel dizzy.
“Fine,” April said when their lungs and brains had returned to normal functioning. She turned to look at her best friend. “Breathing done. Now what?”
Ramona smiled softly. “Anything you want.”
Such a simple phrase—three words, five syllables, but April felt each and every one in the center of her chest.
“Anything I want,” she said.
Ramona nodded, then kissed April on the cheek before getting off the bed. “I’ve got to go get dressed for this thing.” She jutted her thumb toward the window, the light outside turning a blue-lavender as evening barreled toward them. April could hear the dull thrum of people setting up for the party in the large backyard.
“Please tell me you and Dylan have matching costumes,” April said, remaining prone in the pillows.
“Naturally,” Ramona said, then tossed April’s phone next to her on the mattress. “You know what to do with that.”
“Watch cat videos until I forget my own name?”
Ramona laughed, then closed the door after her as she left the room.
April blew out a breath and stared up at the rattan fan spinning in slow circles. Next to her, her phone felt warm and heavy, like an entire other person was pressed against her side.
Before she could think twice, she grabbed it and tapped on Daphne’s name in her messages. She scanned their thread, three months of casual conversation, check-ins, dancing around how April still felt about her.
How Daphne still felt.
April tapped on the message window, a simple question swirling in her brain. Her heart picked up its pace, fingers shaking as excitement and fear coalesced in her chest.
Still, she wanted to say it.
To ask.
She had to know, so her thumbs flew, typing out her question.
Do you still love me? Check yes or no.
Then she hit send.
Two hours later,the sun had set, and April wandered around alone at a party that could rival one of Gatsby’s soirees, sipping on a glass of golden champagne. She hadn’t seen Ramona or Dylan since they’d all walked outside together over an hour ago—Ramona dressed in an elaborate Mardi Gras–esque gown and Dylan in a complementing silk suit that Liberace would envy—but at least April looked incredible.
It had taken her nearly two months of sifting through racks in thrift stores all over the country, but she’d finally found the perfect costume for tonight in a tiny shop in Santa Fe. It was black, all lace and sharp shoulders, with lacy leggings underneath a mesh overlay, a lacy bodice that crawled up her neck, bulbed sleeves, and a matching lace mask that covered her entire face from the cheekbones up. It was a little itchy, but she felt like a Victorian femme fatale. All she needed was a whip and a glass of absinthe.
