Page 45 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)

Molly

I lean against the doorframe of Keyana’s studio, watching silently as she dabs colorful details onto the wings of a moth on her canvas.

It’s been a busy week of tying up loose ends at the Hummingbird, now that Robin and I have moved past our fight.

My fear and anxiety about what happens next is fading into a calm acceptance of the unknown, and everything’s falling into place, including the glasswork I came here to do.

A few minutes go by without Key noticing me, but eventually she steps back to consider her work from a different angle, and I take the opportunity to make my presence known.

“It looks fantastic from here.”

Key jumps. “Jesus Christ, Molly. How long have you been standing there?”

I shrug. “In the grand scheme of the universe, not long.”

Key rolls her eyes and wipes her hands on a towel hung from the pocket of her smock. “What’s up?”

“I have a surprise for you,” I say, smiling coyly. “Remember what I taught you about installing a window?”

Key squeals and runs into the gallery space at the front of her store, looking around for what I brought. She spots the large, flat object covered with an old blanket near the front door. “Show me!” she demands, making grabby hands in the direction of the package.

I whip off the blanket with a “ta-da!” Key gasps, then drops to her knees to examine the detail work. I watch as she traces the copper outlines of the glass shapes.

When I sat down to sketch out ideas, I thought of the beehive painting I saw her working on the first time we met.

That became the basis of the window: a tessellation of hexagons in golds and yellows.

Every other hexagon holds an image from Key’s art.

Some are flowers she’s painted on murals at the inn and on canvas, brilliant red amaryllis and pink peony and the soft purple Ozark wild crocus we saw that day on our hike.

Other hexagons highlight insects she’s depicted in her works: bumblebees, of course, and praying mantises, ladybugs, and fireflies.

It took almost as long as the windows for the board-game store and the donut shop combined, but it was worth it to see this look on her face.

“Can we hold it up to the light?” Key asks.

I nod. We each take a side of the frame, hoist it level with the giant windows of her storefront, and watch as the afternoon light sparkles through the panes, creating dancing dots of color throughout the gallery.

“So…you like it?” I ask Key, who has been uncharacteristically quiet.

She turns to me with tears trailing down her round cheeks. “It’s perfect,” Key says. “It’s…it’s me. It’s my art. It’s my brain made of glass and copper.”

“It’s not quite as intricate as your paintings that I used for inspiration,” I say, preparing to apologize for the inexact color matching and lost details, but I stop myself. Even if it’s not perfect, it’s the most impressive piece I’ve ever made.

“There’s not a single thing I don’t love about it,” Key says, colorful patterns from the window dancing across her face. “Dammit, set it down so I can hug you.”

Laughing, we carefully place the window back on the dolly and embrace. Key kisses me on each cheek, leaving a little moisture behind from the happy crying.

“So are we installing this thing or what?” I ask.

A brilliant smile stretches across Key’s lips. “Hell yeah.”

—

A couple hours later, Robin meets me and Key for tacos at our favorite food truck. It’s the day before Halloween, a beloved holiday in haunted Eureka, and everyone has decorated accordingly. The weather has turned lightly chilly, which feels amazing after sweating our way through the installation.

We chat for a while as we eat. One of Key’s eyebrows arches judgmentally when I hold up my al pastor taco for Robin to take a bite.

“So,” Key says, wiping a stray bit of salsa from her lips, “y’all seem pretty cozy to be getting divorced next week.”

I ball up the foil from my tacos before replying. “It’s been good. Getting closure.”

“Mm-hmm, closure.” Key takes a judgmental sip from her margarita. “Sounds very healthy.”

I squint at her, telepathically yelling, You recommended the lesbian way.

Robin shifts on the wooden bench. “We actually wanted to ask you for a favor,” she says.

“Our court date is next Friday afternoon, right after we’re supposed to finish signing over the inn to Clint, and we need a witness to testify that we’ve lived in Arkansas for the past sixty days and that we make each other’s lives, um, what was the word? ”

“?‘Intolerable,’?” I finish for her. “Consistent indignities that make your life intolerable. ”

Key looks from Robin to me, skepticism all over her face. “Aren’t you tolerating each other pretty well?”

“Well, she leaves her tools all over the place,” Robin says, looking at me with a teasing grin. “I stubbed my little toe on her power sander yesterday, and it still hurts.”

“And she always tries to talk to me about random crap while I’m reading,” I add.

“See?” Robin says, turning back to Key. “We fight. It’s intolerable.” I wonder if, like me, she’s thinking about our fight after Clint’s tour. About how fighting can sometimes end with understanding ourselves and each other better.

Key sighs. “What exactly does testifying entail?”

“It will be easy,” I say, pulling a folder from my bag to hand to her. “I already typed up a letter with some evidence. I can send you the digital file in case you want to make any edits before you sign it.”

Key skims the text. “But this makes you out to be the bad guy. Hostile behavior? Refusal to help cover Robin’s living expenses? Playing cruel pranks on her?”

“It’s a fault-based divorce,” I explain. “It was my idea. One of us has to be the villain. And since Robin’s more of a public figure, if we made it her, it might get noticed. We don’t want an Ali Krieger and Ashlyn Harris–style publicity storm on our hands.”

“I don’t like it either,” Robin says, grabbing my knee under the table. “But after talking it all through with Danica, this is our fastest and easiest route.”

“Even though it involves asking your Black friend to lie in court, potentially putting herself at risk?” Key asks, examining us over the top of the folder.

I inhale, my hands going clammy at the idea of anything bad happening to Key because of us. “Oh my god, Key, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about it like that,” I say, feeling like the worst best friend on the planet. “We can find someone else—”

“No, I’ll do it,” Key says, her mind made up.

“Because nothing in this letter is technically a lie, and I know more than anyone else how much you did make each other’s lives hell back in 2018.

And because I think a state telling you what decisions you can and can’t make about your adult relationship is bullshit.

But you should’ve thought about that before asking. ”

“We absolutely should’ve,” Robin says, contrite. “I’m sorry, Key.”

Key sets the papers down on the picnic table and laces her fingers together. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? I obviously had my doubts at the start, but you two seem happy together. Why throw that away now? Why not see where it goes?”

It’s a fair question, one I’ve been asking myself a lot in the past week. Why do we insist on following the plan when things have felt so good?

I give Key the same talking points I’ve used on myself lately.

“We care about each other, deeply. And we want what’s best for each other,” I say, looking only briefly at Robin’s encouraging smile.

“Which means letting Robin find her inspiration as a chef and open a new restaurant as soon as she figures out what and where it should be. And it means letting me get back on the road to keep honing my craft and making windows and seeing new places. We got what we wanted out of this arrangement. We’ve made up.

We’ve learned a lot about who we are now.

And we’re mature enough to know we should let go before it turns sour again. ”

Key looks at Robin. “And you agree? This is what you both want?”

Robin clears her throat. “Yes. It’s going to be hard to say goodbye, but we made this decision for a reason. We’re on the same page.”

“So you came back to Eureka, rediscovered parts of yourselves you’d thought you’d lost, reconnected with old friends and with each other, you’re happier than you’ve been in years, and you take that all as a sign that you should break up and leave the town that healed you?” Key asks, straight-faced.

Robin and I are both silent for a moment, looking anywhere but at each other. “We’ll come back to visit?” I say awkwardly.

“God, y’all are exhausting.” Key closes the folder I handed her. “But fine. I’ll testify. And I’m holding you to that promise to visit. You’ll always have a home in Eureka Springs.”

Before June, I thought coming back here would rip me in two.

Now it’s the idea of leaving the inn behind that unsettles me.

Walking away from everything we rebuilt, all the memories, old and new.

Waking up in some strange hotel bed without Robin beside me.

The thought feels like a black cloud drifting overhead.

I wave it aside and say, “Deal. How about another round of margaritas?”