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Maybe she needed to get out of the power suit; it was making her think that this was okay, and she couldn’t feel the need to retaliate while she was in it. Yup, all the suit’s fault.
A ping-pong rhythmic tone started chiming, and Taylor looked around the hallway for a clock or radio that had suddenly come alive before she realized the sound was coming from her. She slid her hand into a pocket and pulled out her phone, finding Marty’s name on it.
“Hello?” Taylor said after finally getting the slide thing to work.
“Red or purple?”
“What?”
“Red or purple? I have a shirt here that is going to look absolutely killer on you, and it comes in this like whore red or this light-but-dark-but-not-too-dark purple, and I can’t decide. So you pick—red or purple …” Marty demanded.
Unable to help herself, Taylor dropped her head back and laughed. Not a giggle or a chuckle, but a full-on deep belly laugh. And she couldn’t stop, tears were running down her face, and she had to prop herself against a console table to keep from falling over.
When Taylor was able to slow and take a breath, Marty spoke up, “Are ya done?” Her voice was laced with amusement.
“Yeah,” Taylor croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, but I needed that.”
“It’s totally fine, it’s so good to hear you laughing. I really have missed you,” Marty said.
“I missed you too, Marty,” Taylor whispered.
“Well, I won’t lose you again, Taylor. Derrick fucking put a ring on it!” she announced excitedly. “Okay, so whore red or light-dark purple?”
“I’m going with purple,” Taylor confirmed.
“I was leaning toward that one. Okay, I’m off to continue shopping!”
“Wait!” Taylor called before they disconnected. “This suit—what do I do with it? I’m going to the office on Wednesday—”
“Wednesday? I’m gonna have to get more suits!” Marty squealed.
“Yes, you will. But what do I do with this one?” Taylor asked, trying to keep Marty on topic.
“Oh, just throw it in my room, and I will have it pressed and ready for Wednesday. Or keep it in your room, and I will go and get it. Just don’t let Derrick put his dirty mitts on it trying to get you out of it. I can’t promise to get stains out before Wednesday.”
“Marty!” Taylor said, feeling her face light up in embarrassment.
“I don’t want details. Just put it in my room, and then you can use your room for all activities. Bye, Taylor!”
Taylor still felt warm as she made her way to Marty’s room, carefully took off the thousands of dollars of clothing, and dug until she found some leggings and a T-shirt that were buried in the back of Marty’s closet.
When she emerged from Marty’s room, she went in search of Derrick and her promised food. The sitting room he had mentioned was familiar to her—it had been the main place she, Derrick, and Marty had all hung out. As Taylor approached it, she was flooded with hundreds of memories: sleepovers and movie nights and games of hide and seek.
When she rounded the corner into the space, she was pleased to find that not much had changed. It was still filled with comfy, heavily pillowed couches, the bar in the corner still had a soda tap instead of liquor bottles, and the window at the back of the space that overlooked the garden was still curtain-less.
Derrick was on the couch closest to the window, and a square sofa table in front of him held two plates of sandwiches. The thick carpet beneath Taylor’s feet masked her steps, and Derrick didn’t notice her presence as he concentrated on his phone, his brow furrowed. When Taylor was a few feet away, he glanced up, and a slow smile spread over his face.
“Hi,” Taylor said, taking a seat on the chair across from the couch. Her blood was humming at Derrick’s heartbreaking smile, as well as all the unreleased promises from the pool only hours before. She reached for one of the plates, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. “What are you doing?” she asked, angling her chin at Derrick’s phone.
“I’m googling what a drawing room is.”
Taylor laughed and realized she had done a lot of that today. She was relaxing back into a life here, a life that, though it had a heavy load, wasn’t apparently as stressful as the constant looking-over-her-shoulder life as Libby had been.
“Why?” she asked Derrick as she bit into her sandwich.
“Because when I was bringing you to meet with Todd and Charlie in thedrawing room, I realized I had no idea why the hell it was called that,” he told her. “Do you know why it’s called that?” he challenged, shaking his phone at her.
“It’s the room where visitors are traditionally entertained,” Taylor answered in between bites of her sandwich.