Crashing Souls (25 page)

“And I’m guessing he didn’t tell you his name.” I picked up my brushes and tossed them in the sink, leaving them
for
my cleaning lady before stripping out of my large sweater. I went to the fridge and pulled out a ginger ale, offering her one. She shook her head and I walked toward her, waiting for her to tell me.

“Mr. Andrews.” She looked at me expectantly and when I tilted my head, her eyes grew so large I thought they might pop out of her skull. “Mr. Andrews. Dexter? No!”

“Yes, Miranda. That is Dexter.” I snapped open the can of ginger ale and gulped, needing the sugar after a day of not eating. I tended to get too wrapped up in work.

“And?” She waved her hands, telling me to continue. Being ten years older than me, it was easy to rely on her for comfort and advice, even if she was a little persnickety. Although usually we talked about art, one night, years ago, I was feeling particularly desperate and spilled my guts about everything. Miranda had always held out hope for Dexter, so this was like a wet dream for her.

“And I ran into him a few days ago at the restaurant.” I set the can down and walked over to my closet, pulling out some clothes for me to jog back home in. I hadn’t gone for a run since I’d come here and hid like a wimp a week ago. My body craved the feeling of it.

“Where I’m sure you were eating alone, of course. Go on.”

I peeled off my clothes and turned on the shower, Miranda following me.

“And…we had sex.” I shrugged. “Adults have sex all the time. You have sex
all
the time. It’s not that big of a deal.” I climbed into the shower, scrubbing viciously at the paint that had found its way all over my skin.

“Then why are you running?” I pulled back the shower curtain and looked at her. The steam from the hot water couldn’t penetrate the black strands.
They
wouldn’t move and they wouldn’t frizz. She stood, her eyes knowing and her smile sad.

“Oh, you and all of your wisdom.” I snapped the curtain back and turned the water off. I’d only wanted to wash off the paint. I was about to go on a run, after all. I grabbed the towel she held out and wrapped my body impatiently. “Miranda, I love you. But I can’t do this with him. I have too much baggage now. I had too much baggage then. He isn’t built for this stuff.”

I pulled my hair up and put on my clothes. I was grabbing my running shoes when Miranda placed her hand on my arm.

“You haven’t told him.”

I looked up at her and shook my head. After a slight pause, I resumed getting ready, putting on my sneakers.

“Why not?”

I stood, smoothing my hands over my running tights.

“What’s the point in telling him now? He’s moved on. He has a family. I’m nothing. I’m his past.” I withheld on purpose, knowing Miranda would draw her own conclusion. I needed someone on my side.

She placed her arm around my shoulders and walked me out.

“Want a ride? My car is outside.” I locked the door and gestured to my clothes. She scoffed. “Oh, please. Get in the car, darling.”

We made our way down the steps, and when I opened the front door, I was greeted by a gust of wind that immediately made me miss the warmth of my heated studio. Snow fell lightly, but as I looked at the slush on the pavement, I decided it was best to get in the sleek black BMW that purred at the corner.

When we pulled off, Miranda directed him to the gallery. I looked at her quizzically, and she told me she had paperwork for me to look over.

“
So, your new work. Are we going to continue in that direction or is that a personal one? I mean, the thing people love most about you is your versatility. You can create beauty with almost anything. Should I start putting a showcase together?” She got out her tablet and scrolled while digging through her designer bag for her phone.

“It’s too soon to tell,” I whispered, looking out of the window. Christmas was coming. December was usually a hard time for me because all I could think about were those first few moments with Dexter, before he knew my struggle with alcohol. Before he knew my mother and what I’d really come from. Before she embarrassed me, pushing me back into the sinking hole. I thought back on the night of my eighteenth birthday, how Dexter had shut down after I’d inadvertently insulted him. It was hard for me to see the best in people, to rely on people, when I knew only the worst. He’d turned away from me and fell asleep, leaving me to chase away my own demons. I went downstairs and…it felt like I’d been drawn to the liquor cabinet. I was already drunk and still going when Tim walked up, wrestling the bottle from me. I lashed out and ran out of the house, out to the dock. The water was beautiful, I thought to myself, and I loved the way the light from the moon bounced off it. Tim was standing behind me, telling me things that he thought I cared about. All I wanted to do was feel free. And then I heard Dexter calling me.

“Noa?” Miranda snapped her fingers. “Noa, we’re here.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She waited until the driver came to open her door and slid out easily. I wasn’t as graceful, stepping in a pile of slush and cursing under my breath. We entered the sleek building that housed evidence of my emotional wreckage. The windows were large, and although modern, it made you want to come inside. I
looked
around, noticing they’d already moved things around in preparation for an up-and-coming artist’s new showcase. I walked into my area of the gallery. No matter what, this was my space. This was where my work lived.

I looked at one of the walls, walking closer to get a better look.

And the past hit me as tangibly as the winter breeze outside as I looked at the old canvases crowding the white space of the wall.

“He brought a few of your older paintings in. Hence the new paperwork,” Miranda said as she walked up. “You were always good. Detailed and talented. But this stuff…it’s
raw
. I envy it.” She stood beside me and my eyes watered. Six paintings, all from Blue.
The girl I used to be.

Chapter
27

M
y phone chirped for the third time in an hour. I’m outside. Let me up.

I ignored it. At some point, Dexter would give up. Noa, come on.

I turned up the volume on my movie and flipped my phone over so I wouldn’t read the incoming messages anymore. As I was getting back into it, the doorbell buzzed. There was no way I could ignore that, so I got up and walked to my front door.

“Yes?” Apparently he was going to make me be an adult about this.

“Let me up. I have someone I want you to meet.”

I ran over to the window that overlooked the front of the building, and sure enough there were two bodies, one a grown man, the other a little girl. I ran back to the door, my face twisted in annoyance and slight panic.

“You have
got
to be kidding me,” I said through the speaker. “No.”

“Please?” His voice was soft and it made me seriously consider letting them up. Before I could change my mind, I pressed the button that unlocked the front door. I couldn’t let that little girl freeze down there.

I looked down at my sweatpants and T-shirt. Good. The more hideous the clothes, the more likely Dexter would take one look and run screaming from my apartment. I was still mentally wrestling over the likelihood of it when my apartment door opened and in walked Dexter. The look in his eyes told me that him running from my apartment wasn’t ever going to happen. There went that scenario. He was holding the small
hand
of the sweetest looking little girl…who happened to look nothing like Dexter.

I smiled, figuring that was the polite thing to do.

“Hi, Phoebe,” I said, offering my hand. She ignored it and hugged me. I silently mouthed the word ‘what’ to Dexter and patted her back. He shrugged. I guessed he didn’t know I was actually asking if he knew he hadn’t sired the Asian child in front of me. One of these things was definitely not like the other.

“You’re pretty.” She took off her backpack and pulled out two dolls and a book.

“Thanks. Uh, so are you.” I turned to Dexter. “A word?” He followed me into the kitchen. When I turned to bombard him with questions, he took my mouth and made good use of it. Light pecks followed the assault and I wanted to swoon.

“Don’t ignore me again.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you; I was hiding like a coward,” I whispered, my eyes still closed. He chuckled and stepped back, making it easier to breathe. “Who is Phoebe’s father?”

“I am.” When I looked at him pointedly, he nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m not her biological father. When I linked up with Rachel again while visiting Aunt Tracey, she’d just found out she was pregnant. Phoebe’s father died. It was cancer. No one saw it coming, and by the time they found it, he was gone. So, we became friends. We sort of shared our grief. After all, it felt like you’d died. When Phoebe was born, it was like she was mine. I was there for all of the big appointments, helping Rachel out whenever I could. She asked if I would mind adopting and I didn’t, so here we are. It wasn’t until she was a year old that we decided to try being in a relationship. After a few months, I knew I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t invested in that way. Still, she never gave me a hard time when it came to Phoebe.” He looked at the little girl with
so
much love in his eyes. “She moved to Everett so we could all be closer. And one day she’ll make someone very happy.”

There was part of me that was happy that Phoebe wasn’t biologically his. That happiness scared me. It made me want something I didn’t think I’d ever have.

I placed my hand in his and we watched her play. Phoebe was an interesting child. Most kids her age, which Dexter divulged was three, would crave social interaction. They’d want to touch everything and learn. She was content to sit on her own, amongst her things, and create her own happiness.

“What should I do?” I whispered, nervous.

“Just be yourself. She’ll love it.” He grinned down at me.

“Dexter,” I started, “I have to tell you—”

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” Phoebe said, interrupting me. He looked back and forth between us, and only when I assured him it was nothing did he ask her what she wanted to eat. She announced that she’d like chicken. Dexter eyed me hopefully and I shook my head.

“Nope. No food here. I’m surprised I have toilet paper.” Phoebe giggled and I smiled at the sound. I had to hand it to Dexter, she was cute.

“I’ll go run out and get some. Stay here with Phoebe.” He grabbed his coat, and I grabbed him in a panic.

“What? You can’t leave her with a stranger,” I said, my eyes looking at him with fear. He smiled and grabbed my face.

“You’re the one person in the world that I know.” He kissed me and then kissed Phoebe’s head before running out. “I’ll be back soon, lovely ladies.”

Phoebe giggled again and I turned to her after the door was closed, fear in my eyes. I tried to hide it, knowing that these creatures smelled fear, but she went right back to playing with her things.

“
What’s your favorite color?” I asked her and sank to the couch slowly. Sudden movements might cause her to react violently.

I could tell a lot about a person simply by the color they favored. There was always a story behind it.

“Orange. Like mommy’s hair. Daddy likes blue.” Simple. She was an easy-going child. For a three-year-old, she was smart. But I knew next to nothing about children. Her speech wasn’t perfect, but it was adorable.

And she had a lisp. I was weak against her sweet lisp.

I had forgotten what Rachel looked like, but I remembered that straight curtain of red hair. And her hazel eyes, kind as she approached me to tell me her side of Dexter’s “audition” incident. I knew she had a thing for Dexter. But it didn’t bother me. I thought she was harmless.

I looked down at her little girl, whose eyes were hazel. Her hair was a few shades lighter than jet black, but other than that, she had what I assumed were her father’s Asian features.

She dropped her dolls and picked up her book. I watched as she crawled into my lap and handed me the book. I looked down at it.
Where the Wild Things Are
. A child after my own heart. I smiled down at her and opened it, clearing my throat to prepare for the reading of a lifetime.

I used my most animated voice, earning me laughter that made my heart melt. When I finished the book, she turned toward me with a smile.

“Noa,” she whispered as she turned into me. Her eyes closed and I felt myself still. After a few minutes, mine closed as well.

•••

I woke up when Dexter took her from me, missing the slight weight of her against me.

“
I told you,” he said as he kissed my lips. He stood with her in his arms, and I pointed him in the direction of the spare bedroom. It was the only bedroom in the apartment. It was also the one room I avoided. I preferred my bed out in the open with the rest of the place, a separator dividing the space.

When he came back, I yawned, stretching.

“Still up for chicken?” I asked.

“Is it wrong for me to want this as much as I do? Because if this isn’t what you want, you have to tell me, Noa. It isn’t just me anymore. I mean, I have Phoebe to think about. I’m willing. I’ll do it. But tell me if it’s what you want.”

I sat back on the couch. I’d always known Dexter to be a patient person. Our relationship was always set at my own pace. Like he knew that I would bolt under pressure. At that moment I was sitting on the couch, fighting the urge to do so. He came over, kneeling in front of me.

“I was patient before. I knew you needed it. But now? I need this. I need an answer, Noa,” he said, his hands on my arms.

“What if I can’t do this?” My mind was scrambling, thinking of ways out.

“But what if we can? Come on, Blue. What has you so scared?”

“Daddy?” I damn near cried with relief at the sound of Phoebe’s voice because I was so close to telling him everything. When he went to her, I headed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Dexter knocked on the door and I told him I’d be out in a second. I sat for a few minutes trying not to hyperventilate. When I’d calmed down, I flushed the toilet and looked at myself in the mirror. Blotchy skin and bags under brown eyes. I splashed some cold water on my face and dried off before walking out with a forced smile.