Page 23 of Silver Linings

We settle into our work with gentle but firm instruction from Sera as needed. When we’re done forming the dough into balls and placing them in a greased bowl to rise, Sera says she’s going to make us all something to eat, leaving me and Kena to rest with a glass of wine each.

“How’s everything at the Atelier now that you’ve been there for a bit?”

He heaves out a deep sigh, worry lines bracketing his mouth. “The work itself is amazing. I’m getting a lot of great client referrals and working in the most insane homes…” He lets the sentence drop off.

“But?” I coax.

“But I think there’s some jealousy from other designers. Sometimes, I feel like I’m on the design world’s version of Selling Sunset.”

“Are they bullying you?” My hackles start to rise. Kena dealt with enough bullying when we were growing up that just the thought of it happening in our adult life makes me borderline homicidal.

“Calm down,” he laughs. “No one is bullying me. Just petty glances and sharp tongues. It’s a little stressful but also flattering.”

“Okay, but if they–”

“Bring the intensity down. You’re channeling Bob again, and it’s a little scary.”

He always says this when I get defensive of anything.

When I argued that Summer is the worst of the four seasons, he likened me to that six pound hell demon.

But I stand by my controversial statement.

Summer in the city is a sweltering cesspool of humidity, the scent of steaming trash, and under-boob sweat creating a slip-n-slide under your shirt.

Sure, the daylight hours are nice, and seasonal depression takes a hike once the sun comes out, but I, for one, am glad it’s the end of September.

“How’s it going at the store?”

“It’s slow progress since we can only do small sections at a time. We painted the left wall behind the register last night, and it already looks so much better.”

“What’s next on the plans?”

“Probably the bookshelves. I think they’re going to take the longest. They’re in bad shape, and a lot of the shelves have to be replaced and painted. They’re bowing under the weight.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to close down the store for a couple weeks so you can do everything quickly?”

“I can’t afford to.” I look away, knowing he was worried about this very thing happening. “After paying Pat, all my spare cash is going towards the renovation, and I can’t close the store down and still have money to pay Holly and Carmen when the store is barely breaking even on a good day.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“It’s not great. That’s why I need this to succeed.

I didn’t realize how bad the store was doing before I took over.

Pat never hinted at or wanted us to do anything to increase sales.

She always said getting a book in a person’s hand was all that mattered, but the store has been in a deficit more months than not.

God,” I drop my head and stare down at my lap, “maybe I was too rash.”

I turn to look at my best friend of over a decade and see compassion lining his features.

“You know how steadfastly you believe I can do anything I want to do? How frequently you’ve told me that over the years?”

“Yeah…”

He grabs my hand and tucks our joined hands against his heart, like whatever he’s about to say, he needs me to hear, to understand but isn’t sure that I will.

“There is not a single thing you can’t do, Silver.

The world is limitless for you and your potential.

All you have to do is reach out and take it. ..and when you have it—don’t let go.”

I want to say I’m scared—scared that I’ve gotten in too deep, that I’ve taken on a project so big, there’s no possible way I could finish it.

That even if I did, it’s destined to fail no matter what.

That the anxiety I’ve been hiding from him and everyone else sometimes feels so paralyzing, so isolating, it’s like I’m on the Zero Gravity ride at the fair and it won’t stop spinning.

It’ll just go round and round, scrambling my brain until I’m just a husk.

I’ll never feel the solid ground again or take a steady breath.

But I don’t.

I do what I always do when someone feels too close to seeing the version of me I want to hide away, even Kena after all these years.

Don’t let anyone see how much you may need them, don’t worry the ones who are close enough to you to notice.

This carefully constructed version of me I give to the world is all for show.

I’m so good at it now, I even trick myself.

“You’ve been listening to too many motivational podcasts.” I paste a smile to my face as I pull my hand from his grip and run it through my hair.

Sera comes back into the room carrying a plate of focaccia bread topped with rosemary and a few bowls of her homemade Bolognese.

I reach out with grabby hands like a starving toddler, but before I can grab a bowl, she swats me away like an Italian Nona.

“I’m going to serve my wife first. She’s been working hard on her manuscript all day.”

I harumph and settle back in my seat. “I guess, if you want to be romantic or whatever.”

When she comes back into the room, I sit up again and take one of the steaming bowls of piping hot tagliatelle and meat sauce. Nothing makes me happier than carbs…except maybe sweets.

I’m taking a bite larger than my fist when she asks, “So, Silver, tell me about the sexual tension between you and the handyman.”

I start choking on my dinner while Kena pats my back with too much enthusiasm.

“There is no sexual tension,” I cough out. Yeah, and I’m the pope.

“You could have cut it with a knife the other day at the store!” Holly shouts from her office.

“You were basically eye fucking him at karaoke,” Kena adds.

I scoff, but it comes out high pitched and reeking of denial.

“First off, you are not even in the room, so you don’t get an opinion,” I lob back at Holly. “And second, of course I was. The man looks like he stepped out of a GQ cover shoot.”

“He’s a nice guy, so what’s the problem?” Always count on Sera to get straight to the point as she tears into her piece of focaccia.

“There isn’t a problem. It’s just not like that between us.” It is, but if I had to end it, then there was no point in bringing them into it.

By the looks on their faces, no one believes me.

I’ve never been one to back down from a guy I’m interested in, and they know that, but I don’t exactly want to explain.

We kissed last night, and it was so Earth-shattering that it scared me shitless, and now I must disassociate, or I’ll end up like my mother.

I don’t think I could even explain it if I wanted to. So, I don’t.

“It’s okay if you like him, sweetie,” Kena remarks too gently, as if he’s trying not to spook a skittish animal.

“I know.” I fight for nonchalance and take another bite while I think of something convincing to say.

“He’s obviously attractive, but I don’t want to risk making things complicated when I have so much riding on the store.

” That’s not even a lie, just another convenient reason why I have to keep things platonic from now on.

My explanation seems to appease them, because they all nod and settle into a conversation about a new gallery that just opened where the artist uses various body parts to paint his pieces, and that’s honestly enough to make me want to go.

“Even his di—” I start before Kena cuts me off.

“Every. Usable. Appendage.” He over-enunciates every word.

“Let’s go this weekend.”

We all agree on a day and time, and I realize my anxiety has settled from the stress of the day just by being in the presence of my people.

I don’t need to shake things up further by risking an unknown variable like Hendrix.

No, it’s best to keep things platonic. But my mind keeps going back to that kiss, his forest rich eyes boring down into mine with intensity and a need to explore—me, us, whatever this connection is.

This might be harder than I thought.