“No. I’m going to have a show in my own gallery. In Los Angeles.”
“Wait—what? Oh, Damon, if you’re thinking of some kind of pop-up situation, I mean, that’s not the answer. Big mistake—”
“I’ll have more details within the week. It’s going to be amazing—you’ll see. Talk soon!”
I hate to blindside her that way and end the call so abruptly, but it’s the only way now. No more strategizing. No more negotiating, not in work, not in life. It’s time for me to forge my own new path, write my own next chapter. Time for me to get it done.
18
Amanda
I hate not wakingup next to Damon, but a heavy bout of indigestion hits me in the wee hours of the morning.
I can’t think of anything less romantic than the gurgling gut of the person lying next to you after a night of passionate lovemaking, or waking up to a chorus of unpleasant sounds coming from the bathroom. No, I want the memory of last night to be good for both of us, so I leave Damon with my scent on the pillow, and head back to my own room after a detour to the kitchen for a glass of water to take my antacid tablets.
The tablets do a fair job of calming my insides, and after a few more hours of sleep, I wake the next morning as giddy as a schoolgirl. And just like a schoolgirl, I want to tell someone about last night—I need to tell someone. But that someone can’t be Margot. If my sister weren’t under the same roof right now, she’d be the first person I’d call. But it’s too soon, and too weird.
Instead, I call Celeste. I met her in college too, and she’s been my BFF ever since. Of all of my friends, she’s my closest. And she’s also the least likely to lecture me about the foolishness of my actions this past week, especially last night. I shower quickly and dial as I’m coming down the stairs. The possibility that I might run into Damon doesn’t even occur to me. If I do, I’ll have plenty of time to talk to him later. Right now, I need some girl time.
She picks up on the second ring, and even though it’s been a month, we pick up right where we left off. I’m already chattering a mile a minute when I walk into the kitchen, so I wave and mouth a silent hello to Stirling and Margot as they fix their breakfast. I prattle on with small talk as I pour myself a mug of coffee and take it outside.
“Celeste, you’re not going to believe what happened.”
“What, you got sunburned? It’s been raining the whole time? Give me a break, Amanda, you’re in paradise.”
She lets out a piercing scream when I tell her that Margot rented Damon’s house—and that he came home my first night here. Then I think she literally falls out of her chair when I tell her the rest—and I mean,allthe rest. But not just the juicy romantic details. I tell her how amazing Damon’s artwork is, especially the paintings he’s started this week. Having Celeste to laugh and share with at a time like this is priceless. She’s an amazing friend. But then the conversation takes a different tone when I ask about her.
“Enough about me and my sordid affairs, how are you, my sister-friend?”
“Yeah, look, I was going to call you soon. Things aren’t going well between Richard and me. At all.”
I’m in the lower garden, and I’ve been walking in circles until this point. But I sit down on a nearby bench so I can give Celeste my full attention.
“Oh no, honey, what’s going on?”
Talk about opposites, Celeste’s experience with Richard right now is the polar opposite of mine with Damon. They’ve been living together for two years, and I’ve wondered right along with Celeste why he won’t ask her to marry him. Now I know. Not only did she catch him in their bed with a nineteen-year-old, but it’s not his first affair, and he’s blaming it on some kind of psychotic break. First, he threatened to take her to court to get her name off the lease of their apartment, now he’s begging her to take him back. And she’s actually considering it!
Since Celeste doesn’t seem to be nearly angry enough over this situation—she was, she said, but now she thinks that maybe he really does want to change—I decide to be livid on her behalf. I start reading her the riot act, telling her what I would say and do if I was her.
I’m on a roll, and just as I’m telling Celeste exactly what I think in no uncertain terms, I catch Damon coming into the lower garden. The reality of what’s just happened washes over me in one horrific wave: Damon thinks I was talking abouthim.
“Oh my god, Celeste, something awful has just happened. I have to go—”
I hang up on Celeste and stand up simultaneously. It’s just a misunderstanding, a terrible, awful misunderstanding. But he stops me from going to him with a single verbal command. It cuts me down like sword in battle.
He walks away, and the weight of everything I’ve just lost buckles my knees and I crumple to the ground. I sob, once, hard, and I can’t stop the tears from soaking my face. I’ve lost Damon for the second time in my life.
* * *
I’m notsure how much time goes by before I’ve pulled myself together enough to go back to the house, but I finally brush the dust and the pebbles from the garden walk where I went down off my shorts and legs. My eyes sting and they feel swollen to about three times their normal size, but I do my best to wipe away the dampness.
Breakfast is long over, and everyone is outside when I get near the house again. They’re having a carefree game of pool volleyball, and even Sylvia is there. She and Margot are playing against Stirling and Cammie.
I should know better than to think Margot would let me go back into the house without an explanation.
“Amanda? What’s wrong?” she says. Cammie had just served, and the volleyball plops into the water right next to her.
I can’t lie. But I don’t want to go into the entirety of what’s happened either. One thing is for sure, I can’t stay in Kauai.
