This can’t be happening.
The weight of a deafening pause hangs over us in the air. I think Margot, Stirling and I are shocked at how Sylvia and Damon have just had an exchange as if they’re long lost lovers—or at least as if they’d like to be.
“Right,” says Damon, effectively ending the awkward silence. “I’m beyond tired, so I’m going to head up to my studio.” To my dismay, his eyes take much too long to scan the young nubile length of Sylvia again before turning back to Stirling. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that drink.”
He starts up the stairs without acknowledging me at all, and as he goes, Sylvia takes a breath as if she’s about to say something. But Margot and I both give her the glare of death, and she snaps her mouth shut again.
I don’t think any of us know quite what to say. I certainly don’t. The only thing I can think of to do next is to choke down the rest of my dinner. So, I turn from the whole awful mess and stalk back to the table.
I can hear the others’ footsteps as they follow me down the hallway. As we take our seats at the table again, with Sylvia taking the chair across from me now instead of Cammie, I just pray to God no one asks me any questions right now. My stomach is already in knots, and if I have any hope of keeping any of this delicious dinner down, I really can’t talk about this right now—I can’t talk aboutDamon. But that’s just stupid wishful thinking. At least it’s Stirling who breaks yet another uncomfortable silence.
“Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” he says. “But it seems like Damon is being reasonable about this—I mean, I’ve always thought he was reasonable…”
Stirling and Margot exchange a nervous look; Cammie catches my eye and then refocuses on devouring her salad. Sylvia tosses me a wicked grin and arches an eyebrow at me. Enough.
“Can we just…not?”
“Of course, honey,” answers Margot and lays a steadying hand on my shoulder. “We all just need a good night’s rest. It’s going to be okay.”
“Thank you.”
I attack the rest of my meal with all the frustration and turmoil I feel inside, raking at the flesh of my salmon, and stabbing at the pieces of mango in the fruit salad. Margot forces meaningless conversation with Sylvia. I can tell she’s not being genuine, because she’s asking how Sylvia’s boyfriend is doing, as if she actually cares.
Mercifully, the meal is over fifteen minutes later. I stand and grab my plate to take it to the sink. But Stirling gets up and takes it from me.
“I’ll clean up,” he says. “Why don’t you head up to your room and get some rest? Everything really will look better in the morning. I promise.”
I nod, and Margot taps my wrist. I hadn’t seen her surreptitiously refill my wine glass. Bless her.
“One for the road,” she says and gives me a wistful smile. “Sylvia, Cammie, why don’t you head on upstairs too?”
“But I’m not tired yet,” says Sylvia.Troublemaker.
“Then call Jordan. I’m sure he’ll talk to you for another five or six hours. Just the thought of it makes me sleepy.”
Sylvia snorts and grabs a diet soda from the fridge before leaving the dining room.
“G’night Aunt Amanda,” says Cammie and gives me a hug. “G’night Mom.”
“Goodnight, squirt. Let’s make pancakes together for breakfast, okay?”
“Okay!” she says, and smiles.
Margot ruffles her hair and kisses her forehead. She runs over to Stirling as he loads the dishwasher. With a glass in each hand, he leans over to accept a kiss on his cheek from her. She leaves the kitchen, and suddenly, it feels like Margot and I are alone with Stirling lost in his work at the sink. Or maybe the loneliness I’ve felt on some level since I broke up with Damon has just been exposed again, raw and still bleeding.
“Oh, my God,” gasps Margot. “I just realized—”
“The paintings are all his,” I say, finishing her sentence for her.
I don’t wait for her to respond. Instead, I walk as fast as my legs will carry me without spilling my wine, out of the room and up the stairs.
3
Damon
Goddamnit.
If there is a God, he must hate me with the fiery heat of a thousand suns.
