Life Reconstructed: Chapter Twenty-Three
Of course, this was nothing compared to an hour later when Cat received a text message from Amelia, wondering what she was up to—beyond another eyebrow-raising grin from Ashley, who was secretly wondering just how much her friend had changed in the past few weeks, it was decided that, of course, Amelia should join them. If they were going to enjoy a girlfriends weekend, the more the merrier.
It was a damned comedy hour when all four of them sat down together.
“Oh my God, I’ve been dying to get a new business portrait taken,” Ashley had squealed upon first meeting Amelia.
“Well, I’m not technically set up yet, but I suppose I could be persuaded…”
“Bartender,” Ashley had cried playfully. “Get this girl another drink. On my tab!”
….
“Oh my God! You painted this?” Amelia had asked Alex, looking up from a picture on Alex’s phone of her most recent piece.
“Yeah.” It was the first time that Cat had ever seen the tall, blonde look…well, almost petite as she’d shrunk into her seat.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Thanks.”
“No, seriously,” putting the phone down, Amelia fixed Alex with her steady gaze. “I’ve been toying with the idea of matching some of my photos alongside some local artists work. I would love to see more…if you’re interested.”
“Bartender,” Alex had cried, winking at Ashley. “Get this girl another drink….”
….
“So how’d the door turn out?” Amelia asked, over a glass of wine. It was later in the evening, and the girls had moved from that first taproom to a small bar and grill to grab dinner.
Ashley made a face.
Alex made excited hand gestures.
Amelia only looked confused. “What’s happening here?”
“We’re not allowed to talk about Matt.”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You didn’t have to,” Ashley told her dryly.
“I knew it!” Pumping her fist in the air, Amelia giggled. “And you told me you guys were only kinda-not-really friends.”
“We are!”
“Oh God, we can’t go round and round on this again,” Ashley groaned. “I’m dizzy enough already.”
….
Opening the door to her apartment early the following morning, Cat quietly considered that it had been a good night, a great night. Throwing an arm around Ashley’s dangerously leaning figure, Cat steered her friend down the hallway and into her bedroom. Dumping her on the bed, Cat took herself into the bathroom to get changed.
Staring back at her hollowed-out expression, her mascara gunky and her eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion and over-indulgence, she grinned as she considered that tomorrow she’d pay for the afternoon of laughter and alcohol.
Shuffling off to her bed, she wasn’t surprised to see that Ashley was laying on top of covers, passed-out. Tugging her boots and jacket off, Cat just managed to get her under the covers before she joined her on the firm mattress.
Closing her eyes, she could already feel the first bite of nausea invading her senses.
Whatever. It had been worth it.
“Are you sure you don’t need any help with that?”
Grinning over at Alex, Cat shook her head determinedly. Leaning back against one of the kitchen chairs, her new friend looked quite the thing: her blonde hair was scraped ruthlessly back into a small ponytail, but there were speckles of white paint dotting her hairline—as to that, splatters of paint coated her thin, long fingers and drab sweatpants.
“What are you looking at?”
Cat whistled. “You look real fancy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Alex said teasingly. Her eyes traveled up and down Cat’s own tattered blue jeans, paired with a long-sleeved shirt showcasing a marathon Cat had not personally run in. “You’re looking pretty hot yourself, there.”
Bowing with a flourish, Cat waved in acknowledgment of this. Straightening up, she met Alex’s giggle with a smile.
“Seriously, though, thank you so much for helping me.”
“And to think, I practically had to twist your arm to get you to agree to it.”
Cat rolled her eyes. “I know, I know.” Turning a little, she let out a sigh as her eyes roamed through her kitchen. Semi-wet paint glinted off the fluorescent bulbs of the room, newspaper and rags scattered about over every available space, but finally…everything was the same color.
“Usually, it’s the other way around.”
“Rub it in.”
“You mean, how amazing I am?” Alex batted her eyes at Cat innocently. She even brought one hand up to her chest. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Beer and pizza?”
Alex grinned. “Now you’re talking my language.” With a frown, she glanced back at the floor, which still held the cabinet doors. She flicked her hand toward them. “Are you sure you don’t want help hanging them back up?”
“No, no. You’ve done more than enough.”
“I don’t mind…” Alex hedged.
But for some reason, Cat was reluctant to accept the offer. Perhaps it was because she’d already asked and taken too much from Alex’s generous offer to help. Maybe she was overly protective over the safety of the doors, having gone through what’s she’d been through. But probably, it was because she wanted to celebrate the conclusion of this project—what was once supposed to be an evening activity that had stretched through the weeks—by herself. To enjoy the euphoric feeling she knew would rush through her system when she screwed in the last hinge and took a step back…
“Nah. It’s super quick. And the paint won’t be dry tonight anyway,” Cat said, rushing to explain away her reluctance.
Taking this as a good enough reason, Alex said nothing more on the matter, instead settling down on Cat’s couch with her beer as the other woman phoned up the pizza parlor to place their order.
It was two days later, after having assured herself that the paint was good and dry now, that Cat set to work, picking up one door after another until at last, she was living the long-awaited reality of screwing the last door (not coincidentally, the one that Matt had had to resurrect) into place. Taking a careful step backward, her drill hanging absently in one hand, Cat surveyed the finished product.
Her kitchen looked like a kitchen again. The paint gleamed freshly under the lights, and though she knew it was probably just her imagination, Cat thought the new coat made the room look warmer, and also bigger.
Smiling at the compilation of every seeming change in her life of recent days, Cat waited for the rush of satisfaction, the onslaught of pure, unadulterated excitement at the realization that all the hiccups had been taken care of there, there was nothing else to worry about going wrong, no anxieties of the unknown. She was done.
She was done.
No missing doors, no wet paint, no hiccups or detours. Letting her eyes roam over the gleaming cabinet doors, marching across her cupboards in straight lines, their hinges secured and polished, she waited. It was done. The culmination of weeks, of new gray hairs, of stress eating, but finally, it was done. There was nothing else to worry about, nothing else to go wrong.
Cat frowned. Then she scolded herself. “What in the world is wrong with you? This is what you wanted,” she cried, swinging her arms out wide, taking in the room at large.
It was a silly question, though, since she was well aware of the answer. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to admit it to herself.
Her kitchen was in perfect order. Nothing more needed to be done.
Which meant she had no more business at the McBoy Hardware Store. Which meant that she had no more reason to see Matt.
“That’s not true,” she assured herself, her eyes moving frenzied toward the neatly stacked drop cloths and paintbrushes sitting on the kitchen table. “You’ve got to return those.”
A small smile just ticked at the edge of her mouth.
Which turned out to be a bust. Gaining entrance to the hardware store later that evening, her lips a startling, shimmery shade of coral, her hair carefully piled in a messy bun, and her arms inside a light blue-jean jacket, Cat came face-to-face with an employee she’d never met before.
His nametag said Kyle.
It had never occurred to Cat that he wouldn’t be there. Which sounded stupid when she thought about it, only…only he’d always been there. Swallowing past the urge to turn and leave—paintbrushes still and hand—and simply return another day, Cat walked forward to the cashier. That would have been too obvious. Too desperate.
With a tight smile, she’d handed the equipment over to the young clerk behind the counter. “Please, give these to Matt. He lent them to me for a project…”
The young man nodded and with little more interest than a professional smile, he’d asked her if there was anything else?
Still, hope had prevailed. She’d figured that he’d call her, text her at least—for what reason, she wasn’t sure. To see how it had all turned out? But her phone had remained stubbornly silent.
“This is silly,” she repeated to herself.
Damn Matt.
