“Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down here till I’m somebody else”.”
―Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Dare
“If I admit right off that I was wrong, will that be enough to avoid a whole conversation?”
I had just gotten back to the studio, two mammoth coffees in hand, and that’s the first thing Ingrid said as I walked in the door. I handed her the cup with her standard order.
“I haven’t seen you in three days and that’s the first thing you say to me?”
“Thanks, and good morning,” she said, barely meeting my eye.
I had been prepared to tear her a new one, purposefully waiting until she returned from her extended weekend away. She didn’t come back until now because she was afraid to face me—and I was letting her get away with it because I knew she didn’t mean to come off like an ass.
“I appreciate the apology, but we’re still going to talk,” I said, putting my coffee down on the desk I was leaning against. Meanwhile, she was staring down at her shoes.
“Jesus, ‘grid, look at me.”
She did.
“Just talk to me,” I said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
She crossed her arms. “You know what I was thinking,” she said. “I took one look at her and saw another pint-sized brunette staring up at you with those big eyes and I immediately thought, ‘oh shit, here we go again.’ And I realize it’s been over a year, but I’m sorry Dare, I can’t go through that again. I can’t see you go through that again.”
I ran my hand up and down my face, letting what she said sink in.
“They really are nothing alike.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know that now,” she said. “Chloe would’ve never stood up for herself the way Alice did last week. It was quite impressive, actually.”
“Glad you think so,” I scoffed.
“And not for nothing, but she’s got a rack I’d want to dive into the deep end of and never come up for air.”
I snorted-laughed. “Yeah, I bet.”
She sighed. “I really am sorry.”
“It’s not me you need to be apologizing to.”
She grimaced. “You can’t just talk to her?”
“What are you, twelve? You’ve handled way worse,” I said. “Besides, Alice is probably one of the most mature people I’ve ever known. She’s not going to rake you over the coals.”
“She wouldn’t if she knew the whole story,” Ingrid said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Have you had a chance to talk to her about what happened?”
I was avoiding and we both knew it.
“Right, that’s what I thought,” she said, shaking her head.
“I’ll get to it,” I said, staring off into nothing. “It’s just . . . I wanted to have something that wasn’t tainted, just for a little while longer. I mean, Jesus Christ, she’s got to be the only person in New York City who doesn’t know what happened. It’s been like a gift, you know?”
She gave a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, of course. All the more reason why she needs to learn it from you, sooner versus later.”
I blew out my exasperation.
“I’m debating on whether or not to include the work from that whole time, for my solo exhibit,” I said. “What do you think?”
She shrugged. “You’ve never shown any of them to me, so it’s kind of hard to give an opinion.”
I had about a half dozen paintings and a bunch of photographs from my time with Chloe. “I haven’t looked at any of it since then,” I said.
“If you can’t even look at them, probably not ready to show them.”
I felt the muscle in my jaw tick.
“So, you’ll apologize to Alice?”
“Yes, fine,” she said. “The next time I see her.”
I nodded, glancing at all the shit on her desk. I noticed a pile of invites for her group show, all addressed and stamped, ready to go. I fanned them out and spotted one with an Arkansas address.
She was sending one to her parents. That was a surprise. I sifted it out of the pile and eyed her.
She looked embarrassed.
“Look, I already know it’s pathetic, my wanting them there. And I know they won’t have the first clue what a big deal it is for me to have work showing at Sean Kelly Gallery, even if it is a group show. So go ahead and yell at me or—
I didn’t even think. I stalked over and surrounded her in a big bear hug. “You don’t have to explain one thing to me or anyone else, you hear?”
And just like that, she broke down and cried, something I think I may have seen her do maybe twice in the ten years I’d known her. I held her tight, feeling her rail thin frame wrench with sobs.
“I hate them,” I said, my voice low and scary. “I’ve never even met them, but I absolutely despise them for what they’ve done to you.”
“I know they suck, but I still love them, even after everything.”
I kissed the top of her head, smoothing her hair down.
“Underneath all that hard shell there’s a gooey center, isn’t there?”
“Shut up,” she said into my chest.
“A big softie,” I went on.
“I am totally poisoning your lunch today.”
Then she hugged me back, hard.
My chin was propped on the top of her electric blue head.
“You are talented and fierce,” I whispered. “You’ve got an amazing work ethic, a big heart and you’re rabidly loyal in a world full of sell-outs.” I stopped and made sure she met my eye. “But if you’re waiting for Barbara and Jim Peterson to validate you, you’ll be lost for a long, long time. I’m not saying miracles can’t happen, but I wouldn’t keep a placeholder in my heart. You understand me?”
“I do,” she said, catching her breath.
“They don’t deserve you.”
She shook her head. “It’s not about what they deserve. It’s about what I believe. And I will always, until the day I die, believe in love and redemption.”
I stilled.
“Did you just sort of quote Wonder Woman to me?”
“Yeah, it was a really good movie, she said, wiping her tears and runny
nose on my tee.
“That’s okay. I didn’t like this one anyway.”
She cackled, and I felt the vibrations around my heart.
“You’re my family, ‘grid.”
“You’re all I have,” she said in a small voice.
A vulnerable Ingrid, damn it, she’s killing me.
“Hey,” I said, holding her away from my body by her shoulders, so I could read her expression. “I’m not all you have, but maybe, you know, you might want to let some people in. Maybe, you know, graduate from the bar hook-ups, too?”
“Really? Uh, okay, Sean Penn.”
She had a point. I wasn’t exactly a people person. There was definitely no sunshine beaming out my ass.
“Alright, I’ll let that go for now,” I said.
“Appreciated.”
“Oh, and before I forget, I don’t want any more of those open studio parties on Thursdays. Not until you can figure out a better vetting system for the guest list. No more coked-up assholes like last month.”
She took out her imaginary clipboard and pen. “Disinvite most people with money in Manhattan. Got it.”
I frowned.
“So, when is the next time Alice is coming over to our little slice of Wonderland? I have an apology to deliver.”
“She said she’ll come by over the weekend,” I said, finishing up the rest of my coffee and tossing the cup.
“Well, at least someone is changing patterns around here,” she said.
My brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She snorted. “Chloe moved in after your first date. It’s all or nothing with you.” She must’ve seen something in my expression or body language because she cackled again. “Alice setting her boundaries must be driving you crazy.”
Now, it was my turn. “Shut up, Ingrid.”
But she was right. Not knowing when I was seeing Alice again was an itch under my skin I couldn’t reach. I hated it and it was only Wednesday.