Read Choose Me (The Me Novellas) Online
Authors: Liz Appel
I watched the cars go by, watched people as they crossed sidewalks and hurried into restaurants and stores. I wondered how many of them had choices they were contemplating, choices like mine. Choices that were both good and horrible, for very different reasons. I wondered how many of the people on the streets were wrestling with tough decisions, were busying themselves with distractions so they wouldn’t have to face making a choice.
And I sort of wished I was one of them. Wished I had something to distract me, to keep me from having to face head-on the offer that Katya was making me.
My phone dinged in my purse and I scrambled to pull it out. A surge of disappointment filled me when I saw the name.
Lance.
Taking a quick shower. Be there in fifteen.
Still nothing from Andy. I swallowed the disappointment and hurt I felt. The last I’d heard from him was that morning, the rushed phone call before I’d hurried down to meet with Yuri. And the apartment sales rep.
I bit my lip, trying to steel myself for the evening. It was quite possible that I could just focus on the show, tell Katya that an answer would have to wait. As Yuri said, there was no deadline. I already had my return flight booked for the next morning; it wasn’t as if anything hinged on my response.
Except, everything did.
For the millionth time, I weighed my choices. I knew what was at stake.
Yuri cleared his throat and I whipped my head in his direction.
“The caterers are done,” he said. “We can go back in if you want.”
I followed him back through the gallery doors. A long table was filled with trays of appetizers and a small bar had been set up at the back of the room, bottles of wine ready to be uncorked. Two servers milled about, putting the finishing touches on the display of food.
I circled the gallery, trying to focus on the paintings on display as I waited for the show to start. Yuri’s paintings dominated one long wall of the gallery. Several abstracts, bold, strong pieces not unlike their creator. Along another wall, a series of still lifes. A bowl of fruit. A chair. A candlestick. I’d never been drawn to still lifes. Several people considered flowers similar to stills but they weren’t, at least not for me. Flowers were living, breathing entities, at the mercy of the same elements we were. Without food, without water, they too would die. Without nourishment, without care, they would wither. They wore their well-being in the hue of their colors, in the robustness of their leaves and their petals.
“Doors are opening,” Yuri said as he passed by me.
I was surprised. “Already?” I’d managed to kill almost an hour, losing myself in the artwork on display.
I looked outside. The sky was dark, the streetlights casting shadows on the bustling sidewalks. A small group of people stood at the door, waiting to enter. I wiped my hands on my dress and wished that I’d thought to touch up my make-up. It was too late now.
Lance was one of the first people through the door. He’d dressed up, donning a pair of pressed khakis and a silky, black button down. The Bapes were gone, shiny black loafers in their place.
He hugged me, his hands rubbing my back. “You look beautiful, Meg.”
I’d heard the same words earlier from Yuri, but I knew Lance’s were sincere.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m a nervous wreck.”
He smiled sympathetically. “I know you are. Want some Valium?”
I widened my eyes. “Why on earth do you have Valium?”
“I don’t. Just wondering if you wished you had some.”
I elbowed him in the side and he groaned, stifling a laugh. “I can get you a glass of wine instead
…
”
Despite the butterflies traveling at warp speed in my stomach, I smiled. I was happy he was there. With me, supporting me. I needed it.
I made my way toward the wall that housed my paintings and, just like the first show, positioned myself nearby. I pasted a smile on my face and greeted people as they stopped, making small talk, answering questions. Within twenty minutes, I’d handed out more than a dozen business cards. When I’d told people I was visiting from Minneapolis, a few had asked if I shipped my work. If I had more pieces at home. If I had a website where they could view them.
And, like the show in Minneapolis, they were more than just polite. They were interested. In me, and in my work. I felt the nervousness ebb away. Not completely, but enough so that my stomach settled and the smiles that frequented my face were more genuine than forced.
As Yuri predicted, Katya arrived late. She swept through the front door in a black, floor-length gown, a mink stole around her shoulders. She looked like the regal matriarch, a serene smile on her face as she greeted the patrons. Her eyes flitted over me and she nodded briefly before returning her attention to the group of people in front of her.
I watched her. My potential future was in the palm of her hands. A future of success, a future of financial security. I thought about the people who’d already stopped to talk, the people who’d already expressed interest in my work. Not just at the show that night, but the one from the week before.
Maybe I didn’t need her to realize success with my art, I thought. Maybe I could do it on my own. Not on my own, I corrected. With Andy.
Or maybe I did.
Lance was stationed at the hors d’oeuvres, filling a plate with stuffed mushroom caps and mini quiches. He caught my eye and motioned for me to come over.
I crossed the gallery, my heels clicking on the marble floor. “What?”
He motioned to the food. “You should eat. And drink.” He thrust a glass of wine at me.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Then, drink. Remember, wine is like liquid Valium.” He tilted his own glass and drained it.
“You’re pounding that like you need a good dose of drugs,” I said.
He nodded. “Pretty sure I do.”
“Why?”
“Not yet,” he muttered, grabbing another glass. “But soon.” He picked up his plate and moved away, heading in the direction of the still-life paintings.
I shook my head. He’d probably already had five glasses and I just hadn’t noticed.
I carried my glass of wine back to my paintings. I glanced at the clock and sighed. It was only eight-thirty. Only three and a half more hours to go. Katya had moved closer, glancing in my direction every so often.
I shook my head. I needed to just make a decision. Do it and get it over with. There was nothing left to consider, no angle I hadn’t looked at. I’d spent hours agonizing. Obsessing. There was the possibility of regret with either choice; I just had to make the one that felt as right as it could both in my head and in my heart.
I excused myself from my position near my paintings and stepped into the bathroom at the back of the gallery. With shaking fingers, I pulled out the envelope Yuri had given me. Uncreased the paper, and laid it out on the counter. Read through it one more time before making my decision.
I returned to the gallery floor. The steady hum of chatter and low music sounded like a rock concert after the stillness of the ladies room. I took a deep breath and marched over to Katya. She held up her hand in my direction, a signal to wait while she finished up with the elderly couple she was speaking with.
She turned to me and smiled. “Meg.”
I nodded in greeting. My hands were behind my back, the envelope hanging limply from my fingertips.
“I tried to reach you earlier,” she said. “Have you had a chance to look over the contract?
I tried to steady my hand as I handed her the envelope. “I have.”
She glanced at it. “I see. And you have made a decision?”
“I have.”
She took the envelope from me. “Very well. I look forward to opening this later this evening.”
A middle-aged man with a thick shock of gray hair approached and she nodded her head in dismissal.
Maybe I did need liquid Valium. I returned to my paintings, my stomach twisted in knots. I’d done it. Given her an answer. I’d thought it would make me feel better, having the indecision removed, but it didn’t. No longer wracked by indecision, I felt sick with worry, the fear that maybe I’d made the wrong choice lingering.
I drained the wine in my glass in one long swallow.
“How’s Sick Sunflower going over?”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
That voice belonged in Minneapolis.
Not in Washington, DC.
SEVENTEEN
My shock was visible.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my hand trembling so much the wine sloshed out of my glass and onto the floor.
Andy frowned. “Is that any way to greet a boyfriend who just traveled a thousand miles to see you?”
My eyes filled with tears and my throat closed up and I threw my arms around him. Wine splashed on the back of his shirt but he didn’t flinch and he didn’t complain, just gathered me in his arms and buried his face in my hair.
“Hey,” he whispered. “I’m here.”
“I know,” I said, my voice raw. “Thank you.”
He kissed my hair, soft kisses over and over, his hands running the length of my back. Then he settled his hands on my hips and pulled me away from him.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said. His eyes locked with mine. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he repeated.
“But how
…
? When?”
He smiled. “I knew I wanted to be here. I didn’t miss your first show and I decided, that day when I dropped you off at the airport, that I didn’t want to miss
any
show of yours. Not now, not ever. I was going to tell you yesterday but
…
” His voice trailed off.
“But what?”
He stared at me. “But I wasn’t sure. Had to really think about it. Coming here. With everything that was going on.”
I knew what he was talking about. Katya’s offer.
“Look, can we go outside for a second?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. I grabbed his hand and we stepped out of the gallery and into the chilled evening air.
We stood on the sidewalk, pressed up against the glass exterior wall of the gallery. I waited.
“So yesterday,” Andy began. “When you told me about the offer. I’m not gonna lie. I was pissed. Hurt. I hated that you were going to be making a choice. Me or your art.”
“No,” I protested, but he held up his hand.
“Hear me out,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if that’s not how you meant it, or if it isn’t even what it is. That’s how it felt. To me. And I was angry. So angry I almost cancelled my ticket. Just wanted to say screw it.”
I crossed my arms, bracing myself.
“But I thought about it last night.” He sighed. “Didn’t sleep at all. Just thought about you. What was going through your head, what you might decide. And I realized something this morning.”
He reached out a hand and touched my cheek, wiped away the tear that lurked in the corner of my eye. “I realized it didn’t matter what you chose.”
“How?” I asked. It did matter. Everything rested on my choice. My career. Where I lived. Hell, even my relationship with him.
“It doesn’t matter what you choose because I already know what I’ve chosen.” He smiled at me and, for the first time, I noticed the tears in his eyes, too. “I choose you. No matter where you live for the next six months, no matter what you decide, I choose you.”
The tears pooled in my eyes and slipped down my cheeks.
“I’m not gonna stand in the way of your milestones and I’m not gonna make you choose,” he said. “You can have both. So, if we need to do the long-distance thing, then that’s what we’ll do. Even if we go weeks or months at a time without seeing each other, that’s what we’ll do. It isn’t a choice you have to make. Me or your art. You can have both. I want you to have both.”
For the second time that night, I threw my arms around my boyfriend’s neck and held him close. He was more than I’d hoped for. He was more than I deserved.
“Nice little love fest you have going on,” Lance remarked, stepping out of the gallery. He held up a wine glass in a mock toast and sipped.
Andy reached out and shook his hand, pulling him in for a brotherly hug.
“How
…
?” I asked, my eyes darting between the two of them.
“Meg, meet my errand,” Lance announced. “Errand
…
Meg.”
I gaped at him.
“Look,” he said. “I wasn’t going to let you do this alone.”
“Tell me what you did,” I asked, my hands on my hips. Andy pulled on my left hand, folding it into his.
Lance grinned. “You want all the sordid details?”
“Absolutely.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. OK, so yesterday when you went downstairs to talk to Yuri, you left your phone in my room.”
I remembered doing that, tossing the phone down in frustration.
“I went in to take a shower and your phone buzzed. It was a text from Andy. Sooo, being the remarkably good friend that I am, I read it. And answered him.” He paused. “Actually, I just went ahead and called him.”