Page 49 of Balancing Act
Jamie froze. Her question was innocent. After all, she had been at the game and had also picked up on the weirdness between Beth and Sarah. But she wasn’t about to let Lily know how closely she had been paying attention to her mom. This was getting messy.
“Uh, nope—no. I didn’t.” She shrugged, turning her head down against the rain that was beginning to fall harder. They began walking back toward the gym.
“Are your parents still together?” Lily asked curiously.
Jamie sighed. The question itself wasn’t unexpected, but that didn’t mean she liked discussing her family. “Um, no. My mom passed away when I was about your age, and my dad remarried, but I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“So you don’t have a family?”
“I do. Amanda is my family. She’s basically my sister, and her family has always made me feel like one of them, so I count them as family. Sometimes our family doesn’t always end up coming together how we expect it to.”
Lily seemed to accept that as an answer and didn’t push her any further. As they entered the parking lot, Lily paused again. Jamie stopped, too.
“I’m going to talk to them—my moms. I think that’s what’s best. I’m a member of this family, too. I should have a say.” Jamie admired Lily’s determination and confidence. She wished she could draw on her own and confront her own feelings. “Thanks for letting me talk it out.” She threw her arms around Jamie in a quick hug before she stepped back. “You know, the weird thing is, I kind of thought Mama had a crush on you.” She shrugged it off before heading into the gym, leaving Jamie completely dumbfounded in the rain.
ELEVEN
BETH
Staring at the canvas taped to the wall, Beth stood in her studio and feltnothing. The soft light filtering through the large windows—a pale November sun fighting to break through thick clouds—cast a faint glow over her half-finished brain dump of a painting, if she could even call it that.
The colors she’d been layering for days were dull, lifeless—drained of meaning the moment she touched them to the canvas. She had been at this for hours but, if she was being honest with herself, most of that time had been spent standing there, willing the painting to happen.
Her studio, once her sanctuary, felt oppressive today. The familiar smell of oils, turpentine, and fresh canvas, usually so comforting, now only added to her frustration. She glanced at the muted green on her palette. It had seemed promising earlier, but now even that felt flat, uninspired.
Her brushes were scattered across the worktable, untouched for the last hour. Beth picked one up, dipped the bristles into the green, and moved toward the canvas. But she stopped short, the brush hovering midair, her hand frozen. The stroke she wanted to make dissolved before it reached the canvas, leaving her in the same place she’d been for days—stuck.
This isn’t working.
She set the brush down with a frustrated sigh and wiped her hands on her apron. Her mind wasn’t in it today, and she knew exactly why.
It had been almost two weeks since she and Jamie had spoken at the café. Since Jamie had thrown up her walls so fast Beth hadn’t even had time to process it. She’d tried to talk to Jamie after picking up Lily later that day, but Jamie had been distant. Polite, sure, but distant. It had become the new theme of all their interactions, leaving Beth with a hollow feeling she couldn’t shake.
Beth tugged at the loose bun she’d tied her hair into and rubbed her temples. Maybe she could force herself to paint through the frustration, but what was the point? Her thoughts were so tangled, her mind swirling in that same frustrating loop ofJamie, Sarah, Jamie, Sarah. She couldn’t focus.
She tossed the paint-stained rag onto the table and shrugged out of her apron. She needed air. Without another thought, she grabbed her cardigan, stepped out of the studio, and let the cold November breeze hit her as she made her way down the path toward the dock. Today, there was a welcome break from the rain, the air sharp with the smell of pine and cedar. The Pacific Northwest had that distinct bite this time of year—brisk, damp, and earthy.
She settled into the worn Adirondack chair at the end of the dock and pulled a joint from her pocket. With a practiced flick of her lighter, she lit it, the familiar scent of weed curling up around her in the chill air.
She took a long, slow drag from the joint, holding the smoke in her lungs until the familiar warmth spread through her chest. As she exhaled, the smoke curled into the air, disappearing like her scattered thoughts. The water stretched out before her, darkripples soft in the fading light. The cold of the dock seeped through her jeans, grounding her even as her mind drifted.
Jamie. Sarah. Jamie. Sarah.Round and round, her mind spun. She took another long pull, letting the smoke warm her from the inside.
Beth sank deeper into the chair, her body heavy, warm, and relaxed. The buzzing in her head started to quiet, her swirling thoughts slowing like they were wading through syrup. The distant sound of birds and the occasional lap of water against the dock faded into the background as she let herself think—really think.
Jamie.
Her eyes drifted shut, and the name washed over her like a wave. Every time she thought about Jamie, there was that tug in her chest, deep and unsettling but also steady. Jamie was like an anchor, pulling her back to shore even when her mind drifted. Beth couldn’t stop replaying moments with her—Jamie’s laugh, the crinkle in her eyes when she smiled, the way her presence seemed to light up whatever room she was in.
I could love her.
The thought was soft but firm, settling into her like a truth she’d always known but had only now allowed herself to think. It spread through her, filling spaces she hadn’t realized were empty. Beth took another slow drag from the joint.
But then, like a shadow at the edge of her mind, Sarah slipped in.
Sarah.
Sarah was familiar. There was comfort in how they knew each other—how they could finish each other’s sentences, how their shared history was woven into every glance, every inside joke. There was a kind of ease there that Beth knew she could slip back into like a well-worn sweater. But comfort wasn’t thesame as joy, was it? With Sarah, she felt steady, sure, but it was a quiet sort of love—safe and predictable.