I stuffed my phone back into my clutch after checking the time. I glanced back at my car to make sure I'd locked it before rolling my shoulders and walking into the building.
My mom's metal artwork was being showcased and she wanted her family there to share in the excitement of her exhibit. Unfortunately, Kae obviously couldn't make it so it was up to me to play the part of the charismatic daughter.
The art museum was a series of different rooms connected by single doorways. The first room was the largest and showcased the latest and greatest exhibits. This was the room that changed the most. It was essentially a large, empty ballroom, with hickory flooring and arching ceilings. Lights caused the room to glow golden and the artwork on the walls and floor to shine. This was the room in which my mother's art was presented.
It was the first art premiere of the year, an event in which the museum shows all new exhibits in every room including the front room. The mayor even showed up, so it was unmistakably a high-class event. Which meant fancy dresses and high heels for me.
Mom spotted me easily. She excused herself from the conversation and rushed over to me. She hugged me tightly and then looked around the room. "So what do you think? They've even used a few of my photos!"
I glanced at the artistic photos of landscapes on the walls and smiled. "It's beautiful."
"I'm so nervous," she admitted shakily, wringing her hands.
Shaking my head, I assured her, "You'll be fine, Ma. Everyone loves your art and they love you just as much."
"Thanks, sweetie," she replied automatically, but she didn't look convinced. She glanced at me but did a double take. She looked me up and down with a raised brow. "Don't you think you could've worn something else?"
I looked down at my outfit and back at her. Innocently, I questioned, "Is there something wrong with it?"
Her lips pursed in disapproval. "It's not very . . . appropriate," she commented, eyeing me. "You should have gone with something with a bit more taste. Something a bit classier for such an event"
Rolling my eyes, I put a hand on my hip and asked, "Is it because I'm wearing a pushup bra?"
"And your dress is strapless," she pointed out. She leaned closer to me to whisper, "Your breasts are practically falling out of that dress."
My eyes fell to my chest and I huffed. I took my hair and brought it over my shoulder to cover the majority of my cleavage. I whispered back, "Is that better?"
She nodded tersely, but she still didn't look very happy with my wardrobe choice. She warned, "Don't come crying to me when old men hit on you." When I simply laughed, she glared at me before walking off to greet an admirer.
For the event, I had decided on a strapless dress of white lace sewn in a flowery pattern. A white ribbon wrapped around my body underneath my breasts for added support. Under the ribbon, the dress widened out until it fell to just above my knee. The sheer lace would have been quite revealing if the white under-layer wasn't there. The layer ended near my thighs, so the rest of the fabric was rather diaphanous. I wore silver heels with open toes and a strap around the ankle, boosting the overall elegance of my outfit.
I had given my hair soft curls which cascaded over my cleavage, since Mom hadn't approved. I put large white hoops in my ears which almost disappeared into my blond hair. On my right wrist, I wore a silver bracelet, comprised of tiny, fake diamonds. My makeup was thick: heavy eyeliner, deep brown eyeshadow, layers of black mascara. I painted my lips a soft pink and added a bit of blush to my cheeks. Overall, I looked like a sexy, sophisticated socialite ready for a high-end party.
When a waiter in a tuxedo walked by with a tray of champagne, I reached out to take a flute. But I caught my mother's glaring look and waved the waiter on instead. I pouted at my mom, but her expression said it all: "You are not twenty-one; therefore, no alcohol. And no arguing." So I let it go with a sigh.
"There goes my plan to look old and sophisticated with the rest of them," I muttered to myself as I made my way over to the table of hors d'oeuvres.
"Ms. Valentin!" a voice exclaimed in disbelief. "I didn't think I'd see you here."
Strawberry halfway in my mouth, I turned wide-eyed towards my unexpected visitor. When I recognized Edward Manner, I popped the strawberry from my mouth and hid it behind my back. I put my hand up to cover my mouth as I murmured, "Mr. Manner, what a pleasant surprise."
He chuckled shortly and gestured to the snack I was hiding. With a smile, he told me, "Go ahead and finish eating. I sprang up on you so I'll give you time to eat that. I won't even watch." He turned away from me, looking out at the crowd as he sipped his champagne.
With his eyes averted, I faced the table and stuffed the strawberry in my mouth. I scarfed it down as quickly as possible, chewing swiftly. I glanced at the leafy top in my hand and wondered what to do with it. As I swallowed the last of the strawberry, I grabbed a napkin and folded it around the leafy remnants. I sucked my teeth just to make sure there weren't any strawberry remnants on my pearly whites, and turned back to Ed.
He noticed I had finished, so he looked to me once more, plastering his practiced smile onto his face. He lifted his glass to the crowd as he asked, "What are you doing here? I never took you as an art fan."
Chuckling nervously, I informed him, "This is actually my mother's exhibit. She asked me to come tonight."
"Ah," he stated, as if it all made sense now. "I thought the last name was familiar. Meredith Valentin is very talented. I was surprised to hear she was a welder, though. I hardly expected it from a woman like her."
My eyes peered into his, an eyebrow quirked. My hand inched towards the bowl of cashews but I refrained, asking, "How do you know my mother?" Once the question was out, I stuffed some assorted nuts into my mouth—why was I so hungry?
Ed took another sip from the flute, and I couldn't help thinking how mature and sophisticated he looked while doing so.
My assumption was champagne was served at parties like these because it made people look expensive, erudite, and established. Plus, it added just the right amount of fun to make it more of a party.
Ever since I came up with the theory, I wanted to attend a party and drink bubbling champagne in a glass flute so I could look affluent, cultured, and mature. Now I had the perfect opportunity, but Mom had to say no.
He explained, "I keep an eye on art. I'm quite the fan. When your mother entered the scene, I expected feminine paintings or at least sculpting, but not welding. It was quite a surprise for me. Has she always pursued this art form?"
With a nod, I answered, "She told me once that she got into it in high school. Her teacher called her a prodigy essentially, and she's stuck to it ever since."
"Clearly she's flourished quite well, especially to get such a grand showing at the museum," he noted, eyeing the other admirers. "And an exhibit in the front room, no doubt. Quite an accomplishment."
I found my mother in her shining golden gown, surrounded by potential buyers, the museum curator, and some of her friends. They were laughing and having a wonderful time.
I smiled and responded gently, "Yes, she's very proud." My eyes fell to my dress and I hiked it up to cover my cleavage a bit more.
His blue eyes gazed at me, and I realized how intimidating Ed Manner could be. With his looming height, broad shoulders, and haunting eyes, he was frightening without his cordial smile. So when his grin appeared on his face, I felt somewhat relieved. "I heard her inspiration is her children, but I only see one here."
"Oh, yeah," I said, looking at my hands briefly. "My brother is at college."
"Did he not come home for summer?" he inquired, placing the flute to his lips. He tipped the glass back and emptied it. When a waiter passed, he placed it skillfully on the tray and grabbed another—he obviously went to a lot of these parties.
My hair whipped back and forth softly as I shook my head. I clarified, "He's gonna finish up a summer course and then come home."
An eyebrow rose on his face, impressed. "Your brother is taking summer courses? He must be serious about his degree."
A smirk played on my lips as I thought, "And he's pretty serious about a certain girl he knows there."
Ed let his eyes fall from mine as he glanced quickly over my ensemble. It wasn't so fast it was awkward and it wasn't so slow it was creepy. He knew how to be a gentleman even when looking women over. He commented, "Before I forget, you look very lovely tonight, Ms. Valentin."
I smiled appreciatively at him and curtsied, lifting my dress slightly as I dipped. "Thank you, Mr. Manner."
"Please, call me Ed," he insisted politely. Someone across the way caught his attention, and he raised his glass to them. He smiled at me and tipped his head. "Pleasure seeing you. Excuse me."
Inching towards the finger sandwiches, I watched him cross the room in long strides until he joined a woman's side. They clinked glasses and spoke in friendly conversation. I looked away and picked at the appetizing sandwiches until I found one I wanted to eat.
After my fifth finger sandwich, I groaned and decided I needed to get away from this table if I wanted to maintain my girlish figure. I wiped my fingers on a napkin, threw it away, and started to wander the room.
To my amazement and embarrassment, one wall held a blown up photo of my brother and me. He looked wistfully away from the camera, staring into the distance, while I looked straight at the lens. My green eyes were pronounced, and it was admittedly creepy how I looked directly at myself with that intense stare.
Someone sidled up next to me, flute in hand, as they gestured towards the photo in front of us. In a deep voice, they confessed, "This is my favorite. The girl is beautiful."
My face heated up considerably as I turned to my visitor. He was young, probably a college student, with wispy brown locks and hazel eyes. A sprinkling of freckles traveled across his nose, giving him a childlike appearance. Like most men here, he was adorned in a black and white tux but his tie was silver. His smile dazzled white, as if he just had his teeth whitened.
I looked back at the photo. "I had no idea this would be in the exhibit," I admitted honestly.
He leaned against the wall, careful not to touch the framed picture. Still smiling, he stated sarcastically, "I feel like I've seen the girl somewhere before, though."
Chuckling, I jeered playfully, "I have no idea where you got that from. She's a complete stranger to me."
"Name's Logan," he introduced, holding his hand out to me.
After shaking hands, I informed him, "I'm Angela Valentin."
An eyebrow perked on his face. "As in, related to Meredith Valentin, the artist of this premiere?"
"Mmhm, she's my mother," I told him, nodding.
Lucas whistled, a corner of his mouth lifting. "Must be cool being related to a celebrity."
I released a laugh. "I don't think my mom's a celebrity, exactly," I insisted, smiling.
He shrugged, taking a long swig from his flute. Drinking it like a beer didn't look quite as sophisticated and mature. He shook the glass and offered, "Want one?"
"No thanks," I declined politely. I knew how angry my mom would be if I accepted alcohol from a college student, especially at her own party.
"Whatever you say," he said with another shrug. "But isn't it kind of awkward being the only person in this place without a glass in hand?"
Before I could reply, my clutch began to vibrate. My eyebrows furrowed and I held my finger up. "Hold on a second." I walked away, digging my phone from my purse. I quickly ran outside, moving as fast as I could without tripping in my heels. I answered the phone call.
"Hey, small fry," Kae greeted with a soft chuckle. "Ma told me it was the big bash tonight and I figured you could use some rescuing."
With a short chuckle, I told him, "The only thing you rescued me from was a college student hitting on me."
"Glad I called then," he mused, his voice smug. "But, seriously, you aren't bored?"
I shrugged a shoulder. "Not really. The place is really beautiful and Ma's finally enjoying herself. Besides, I can be the charming, social butterfly for the night."
I could sense his smile through the phone. "Filling in my shoes, huh? That can be quite the challenge."
"I can handle it," I assured him.
"All right, I guess I'll let you go. Tell Mom I'm sorry I had to miss this," he stated sincerely, a twang of regret in his words. "Hey, you should take pictures! Take some of you with the art, some of Mom, some of both of you. I want a virtual tour of this thing, got it?"
A smile fell easily on my face and I chuckled. "Got it. One visual tour, coming up," I vowed, and then we said goodbye.
Once I went back inside, I used my cellphone to take pictures of the entire room and of individual art pieces. I switched over to video, and circled the room slowly, making a couple comments. I stood in front of a few of my favorites and snapped some shots. A kind bidder even offered to take a picture for me. Afterwards, I found Mom and took some photos of her, her and her art, and her and me.
Logan was nowhere in sight.
When I finished with my photo shoot, I put my phone away and circulated the room. Mom even gave me her empty flute so I could hold it and, as she had told me, "feel dainty." I spoke with everyone: people I recognized, complete strangers. I even shook hands with the mayor.
During a bathroom break, I sent Kae a quick text: This social thing is exhausting.
A minute later, he replied: Good luck ;)
It was nearing midnight, and my mom was hammered. I figured it was a good idea to take her home before she destroyed her art museum or she started dancing naked on the hors d'oeuvres table.
As we headed out to my car, she leaned on me, stammering about like the drunk she was. She slurred, "Thanks for coming, honey. I know we old people are boring."
I made sure she didn't fall over before replying. I smiled and told her, "I actually had a lot of fun tonight. My feet are killing me and I'm absolutely parched, but it was fun."
She stopped, putting her hands on my shoulders. She wobbled a bit, her eyes glossy. When she somewhat regained her balance, she confessed, "You know why I hate your dress? Why I dislike how you look? Because it made me realize you have boobs now. You aren't my baby girl anymore. You're all grown up." And the drunken sobs started. "You're gonna be eighteen soon. Oh, God, my little girl!"
As she embraced me tightly, I patted her back. Soon, I had to push her off and practically drag her to the car. I helped her into the passenger seat and rushed her home before she decided she was ready for the vomiting portion of being drunk.
She stammered into the house, giggling obnoxiously. I watched, confused and concerned, as she wobbled into the kitchen, took out two flutes, and grabbed something from the fridge. She plopped in a chair at the dining room table and waved for me to join her.
"You aren't having anything else to drink," I informed her firmly as I set my clutch down on the table and sat across from her.
Mom waved my worry away. "No, no, this isn't alcohol."
I stared skeptically at the bottle and at her, eyebrow raised. "Then what is that?"
She let out an impatient sigh and sent me a look. It was wasted on me because she just managed to look absolutely inebriated. "I felt bad because you didn't get a chance to sip the champagne daintily, so here you are." She slid a bubbly flute over to me with a grin. "Sparkling apple sauce!"
I laughed, holding up the glass to the light. I decided not to correct her, because she wasn't in her right mind and it'd just be lost on her anyway. Instead, I clinked my glass against hers, saying, "Thanks, Ma. I love you." And I took a sip from my flute.
* * * * * * *
When I approached the front door to Hope for Youth, a familiar figure advanced at the same time. A smile bloomed on my face as I recalled our discussion on Friday. I skipped over to him, about to greet him cheerfully, when he opened the door and gestured for me to enter. My smile grew as I went to enter. But then he slipped in first, cutting me off, and laughed loudly. I watched, bewildered and irritated, as he sauntered down the hall with his hands in his pockets.
I huffed up to the reception desk, eyebrows furrowed, and I glared at nothing in particular. When Taylor saw me, she raised a brow and silently asked what happened. Angrily I told her, "Iggy is a jerk."
She looked even more confused. She stood up from her chair as she asked, "Who's Iggy?"
"Oh, yeah," I recalled with a nervous chuckle when I realized I was the only one who called him that. "It's my nickname for William. I thought it was fitting. Plus, it annoys him."
She leaned over the desk, a suggestive twinkle in her eye. Wiggling her eyebrows, she practically sang, "You have your own nickname for him? Ooh, did something happen this weekend that I should know about?"
I started to walk away to put my bag in my locker, and Taylor quickly joined my side, her expression eager. I answered carefully, "Well, he and I had a long talk on Friday. As to my weekend, Saturday night I went to a fancy party for my mom and my Sunday was spent taking care of that same, though very hung-over, mother."
She shook her head. "No, no, I need details about Friday. All you've ever told me is you had a nice talk. I need more than that."
After setting my bag inside my locker, I sighed and elaborated, "He told me a little bit about himself, I learned how he perceives the world, and then he opened the door for me when lunch started."
"Wow," she remarked, eyes wide. She leaned against the lockers and folded her arms across her chest. "That isn't like him at all. Normally he flirts a little bit, springs the fact that he's blind on 'em suddenly, and goes back to being a loner."
I slammed my locker shut, making her jump. "Yeah, well, this morning he went back to being an annoying jerk. He held the door open for me but cut me off and went in first. He didn't even apologize or anything!" I exclaimed, exasperated.
She shrugged offhandedly. "That's just how he is."
"I thought things would be different—just a little bit—after our talk on Friday," I mumbled, to myself more than anyone. "But he just went back to the way things were before."
Taylor put her arm around my shoulders and guided me out of the locker room. She put her hand on my arm comfortingly as she informed me, "Guys are jerks, Angela. It's just something we all have to live with."
My lips pursed. I looked at her with wide, imploring eyes. "Was it stupid to think that, just because he's blind and unlike anyone I've ever met before, after getting the teeniest bit closer to him, we'd be friendlier towards each other?"
She sighed as she dropped her arm and her eyes fell to the floor. She answered ruefully, "I can't tell you why that wouldn't happen. If the world worked properly, that's exactly what would happen. But since the world is a bit broken, you're going to have to come to grips with the fact that Will is a jerk and that's just how he is." She glanced at the clock. "I better get back to work."
I inhaled deeply through my nose, my chest puffing out, and released a slow exhale through my mouth to calm me down. I wasn't going to let Iggy's attitude affect me. But if he thought he was going to cut me off again, he thought wrong. I took another meditative breath.
"Angie," she called to grab my attention again, "if you need me, let me know. Don't hesitate to come to the reception desk, got it?"
I gave her an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Taylor."
She smiled before turning around and heading towards the front desk. I heard her stop to talk to a fellow worker and then start down the hall again.
Once I could no longer hear her, I released a sigh and closed my eyes briefly. I tried not to let my disappointment get to me or his attitude anger me. I had to remind myself he was truly unlike anyone I'd ever met before, so all my expectations had to be thrown out the window. That was also why I couldn't just accept that he had jerk tendencies, because he had proven to me that he wasn't an average Joe. With a shake of my head, I decided to let the incident go and just to continue being friendly to Iggy. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and then headed down the hall.
Quickly, I made my way to Mrs. Gibbens' classroom before she could scold me silently for being late. When I stumbled into her room, she glanced over her glasses to send me a warning glare. She noted the time before deciding on any action to take and pursed her lips in disapproval. She wordlessly handed me a pile of papers and sent me back to the filing cabinets.
After alphabetizing the papers and shoving the cabinet shut, I sighed in quiet gratitude. I was relieved that this was my only punishment for pushing my nine a.m. start time. It was my first official day on the job, still under probation, and I was almost late—all because I had to complain about a boy. My reason for working here was not to spark a summer romance; it was to help the kids. I needed to focus my attention on what mattered.
But Ignatius William proved a worse distraction than I'd imagined.
When Mrs. Gibbens sent me out to refill her coffee and top off one of the children's water bottles, he was there. He was standing against the mini-fridge in the recreation room, arms crossed casually. At first I tried to enter quietly, but when I realized his super-ears would hear me no matter what I did, I entered as per usual. Refusing to get riled up by his presence alone, I ignored him and went straight to the coffee maker.
He cleared his throat. It wasn't a seemingly innocuous one. It was one that subtly demanded at least a glance in his direction. I paid him no mind. So he cleared his throat again, louder and less patient. I continued to ignore him. The third one was obnoxious and edgy, meant to irritate me.
My lips pursed. I silently wondered how he knew it was me (because it was clear he knew), but I decided not to ask him. He practically had superpowers, after all. So I simply filled the coffee cup, replaced its lid, and started out the room, throwing a formal, "See you later, Ignatius," over my shoulder. I didn't look back to see his reaction, even though I really wanted to.
I returned to the classroom swiftly with two filled beverages. Although I wasn't willing to admit it aloud, I was sort of avoiding Iggy. I wanted to talk with the Iggy from Friday, not this annoying coworker. So I made it my mission to avoid him, holing up in the classroom until lunchtime. But it turns out hiding from a blind man is harder than it sounds.
Before I headed to the cafeteria for lunch, another worker I recognized but didn't know their name asked if I could grab a pen real fast. At the endless office supplies handily located on a desk in the hall upstairs, I dug around for a suitable pen.
Something clattered to the ground beside me. Curious, I looked over to find a pen on the floor. I glanced at the smug, smirking figure beside me and lowered my brows. After a few hours away from him, I thought I had calmed down. But he managed to irritate me yet again, just by his presence alone. Lips drawn in a flat line, I picked up the pen, handed it to him without a word, and returned to the frantic coworker with a new pen in hand.
I walked downstairs in search of Taylor to see if she wanted to accompany me to lunch. It was a mystery how Iggy got there so fast, but there he was, nonchalantly blocking my path to Taylor's desk. I sighed, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited for him to make the first move.
He pulled a pen from his pants' pocket slowly, as if testing my reaction. As his vexatious smirk slunk onto his face, he let the pen fall to the ground. He gestured to its still form on the floor and shrugged, as if to say, "Hey, I can't get it. I'm blind, remember?" His arms folded and he stood, triumphant.
Because I knew he was doing this to make me angry, for whatever reason, I decided to clench my hand into a fist as a quick release of ire, took a deep breath, and bent to swipe the pen from the floor. I tapped the pen on his hand, waited for him to hold it out, and plopped the pen down. I gave him a strained smile before making my way around him.
An eyebrow arched on his face in explicit confusion. His smirk disappeared, replaced by an almost disappointed scowl. Obviously that was not the reaction he'd been hoping for. But he stuffed the pen back into his pocket silently and left.
I found Taylor tapping on her keyboard rapidly, either typing an email or filling out a form. The noise distracted me from the latest Iggy incident, but I knew my anger would eventually resurface. For now, I asked, "Hey, Taylor. Wanna join me for lunch?"
Her eyes didn't leave the computer screen for a while. Finally, they locked onto mine, the slightest hint of regret in them. "I'm sorry, Angela, but I'm swamped right now. I may not even get a lunch break today. I've got emails to send, forms to fill, calls to make." She let out a forceful sigh. "It's been a busy day."
I smiled in understanding. "That's okay. Want me to get a sandwich for you?"
"You're a saint," she stated in gratitude, returning to the work before her.
So I didn't bother her further, I left and wandered to the cafeteria. As usual, I entered from the left entrance. I weaved through the tables until I reached the line. My stomach growled in response to the appetizing scents wafting into my nose, and I promised it food soon. I joined the line at the back, but a pair of navy blue DC shoes stepped in front of me, cutting me off. I glared at the back of his head, willing his luscious golden locks aflame. When that failed, I released a sigh and said nothing.
But my patience was quickly running thin.