My surfing trophies off the shelves. Our bowling and Putt-Putt scores down from the fridge. My shoes weren’t by the door. My books gone from the shelves.
I did see a lot more art from Jillian everywhere I looked—paintings, drawings, clay, sculptures.
If I won her back, I was going to make sure she got her time in the light, because for so long she’d supported my passions.
She truly was talented.
For a minute I thought there was nothing left of me in the house at all.
Then I saw it.
A slight smear of blue on the doorway.
I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes.
One year we’d been blue and pink unicorns for a musical festival and I’d dyed my hair blue. We’d gone and I’d pranced myfucking heart out, laughing as I kissed her eyelid, then her nose, then her mouth, smearing her makeup. But she only laughed.
And I’d been an idiot. I’d taken her for granted. Taken my whole life for granted. Even been a little bored on occasion, because I didn’t get that constant stream of stupid validation that I did in college.
Well, my twisted little relationship to the adulation I got had been shattered forever.Jillianwas what was real. Nothing else was or mattered.
My eyes were blurry with tears, and no matter how much I wiped them away, there were always more.
I needed to get it together and feed Athena.
Advancing on her with the chunk of pineapple, I held it out submissively.
“Here you go, Your Grace,” I said humbly. “I guess you’re pretty pissed to see me, aren’t you?”
But she said nothing as I approached, watching me with those knowing beady eyes.
“IDIOT,” she suddenly squawked.
“I know. I know.”
But to my surprise, she allowed me to feed her several pieces of fruit without actively taking a chunk of flesh from my ear.
“I did something bad. I’m trying to make it better.”
She looked condescending, but allowed me to leave with only a few scrapes on my knuckles.
Was I deluding myself or was she even a little bit happy to see me?
If Athena could be wooed, might even change her mind about me, who was next?
I had to convince a bunch of people who absolutely loathed me to come to the City Council meeting and vote against Cash.
My first stop was Bonnie and Ronnie. After all my therapy, did they trust me?
But they were skeptical.
“We trust Cash with this town,” Ronnie said indignantly, as Bonnie sat braiding her hair. “Why don’t you focus on those karate classes you were taking so you don’t look like such a flailing weakling the next time you get into a fight with Cash.”
I had been paying Tuppy down at the pub an exorbitant fee to teach me some fighting, which he described as “bare knuckle British style.”
“I’m not trying to fist-fight Cash!” I protested. “This is serious.”
“I don’t think Cash would do something like that,” Ronnie added, looking out over her glasses at me.
