“Taylor!” I chuckle.
“Someone’s gotta say it, Piper. We can’t let Ben the bastard be your one and only.”
I tug at my T-shirt where it’s all bunched up. Oh. I never took off my purse. It’s still strapped around me. I pull the strap over my head and toss it onto the coffee table. “I know.”
“You have to get your inspiration back in time to make some pieces for his gallery opening, which is happening in less than three months now.”
“I know,” I say again, louder this time.
“This calls for drastic measures.”
“Taylor. I. Know.” I stop. “Wait. What do you mean drastic measures? How drastic?”
“I’m not saying you should meander your way into an orgy or anything, just, you know, if you can’t get Oliver to comply, find someone else. Ben damaged your confidence because he’s an asshat from hell. You need a little no-strings fun to shake up your chakras.”
I don’t want anyone else. I’m drawn to Oliver because he treats me like I’m not broken. He’s honest and blunt. He doesn’t handle me with kid gloves like my family has ever since I left Ben. I’m not sure I could handle him looking at me like I’m damaged—although the blank face I got today wasn’t great, either.
It shouldn’t matter. He’s as unreachable as a star. And why would he want someone broken like me when he has extreme-emoji Emma?
Ugh. Even the voice in my head sounds whiny and pathetic.
“Really, you should tell Oliver the truth. He’ll understand. And then maybe he’ll let you play with his penis.”
I snort out a laugh. “That’s the thing—I’m not sure he will.” I bite my lip, thinking.
“We won’t let Ben win.”
“I know.” I can’t let him win. I will get through this.
You have to plunge headfirst into the hurt to get to the heal. I’ve gone through this process before. After our sister died, I was consumed with grief, pain, guilt—every emotional color of the rainbow. I dove into the feelings and then molded and shaped them into art. It was cathartic. I can do it again.
But for some reason, it’s impossible to confront the elephant sitting on my chest. I look at a blank page, a row of old rusty spoons or bolts, car parts—items that used to spark ideas, making my fingers itch and flourish with inspiration—and I feel… nothing.
“What are you going to tell him when you run out of excuses?”
Anxiety is a bubble in my stomach that never pops. “I don’t know. The truth is too embarrassing.” And maybe illegal.
What will happen if I can’t meet our obligation written in the contract? Will Finley lose our family property? I’m too scared to ask.
“You could always come with me to the Summer Solstice. It’s one of the best festivals, and it’s on the Fox River. It’s, like, meant for us. You’ll have fun.” She drags out the last word in a singsong voice.
Living in a van by the river with Taylor, though I love her, sounds like a recipe for sibling homicide and won’t solve my problems. “I wish I could run away, but I have to stay and find a way to satisfy this contract.”
Taylor grumbles. “Work isn’t everything. Your mental health is more important. You’re hanging out with Mindy too much. She’s a workaholic.”
The door jangles open, Mindy’s heels clicking in the entry.
I sit up. “Speaking of, Mindy’s home.”
Taylor groans. “Lame. That’s my cue. Love you much, but byeee.”
The line goes dead. A startled laugh bubbles out of me even as I check my phone. Yes, she did in fact hang up on me.
“Hey.” Mindy tosses her keys into the dish on the small table between the kitchen and entry area and sets her purse down. “Who was that?”
I toss my phone onto the reclaimed-wood coffee table. “Taylor.”
Mindy grimaces with her nostrils flared.