Page 70 of Wicked Design
Chapter Eighteen
Forgiving usually came easy for Clover. She had more flaws than she wanted to admit and had never expected anyone else to be a saint, except for her parents when she’d been a rotten teen.
Van Gogh was testing her patience big time. Twice more, he’d had to postpone their evening together for stuff involving Zeke, Jacob, Portia, and other people she’d never heard of and didn’t care about.
To his credit, he did apologize profusely. “We’ll get together for that meal at Castillo’s, babe. I promise.”
She gripped her smartphone to temper her irritation. “When? I’m asking only so I can plan my work. I don’t want to get involved in something I have to up and leave before it’s finished.”
“Does tomorrow night sound good? If that’s okay with you then we’ll—hold on, I have to take this other call. Be right back.”
“Wait! Tomorrow’s fine.”
He’d already put her on hold.
Ten minutes later, she was still waiting.
Hurting as she never had, she killed the call and lay across her bed, wishing the comforter still smelled like him rather than fabric softener. He hadn’t been here in days, and it was killing her.
Unwilling to confess her feelings to Lauren or Jasmina, who might get in Van Gogh’s face and make things worse, Clover phoned her mom to catch up on stuff, give her a chance to forget how lonely she felt. Hanging with Van Gogh, texting him, and having him Skype her had filled more hours than she’d realized.
Her mom answered. “Hey, honey.”
“Hey.” Clover pushed up on the mattress. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“What kind of question is that?” Pure love filled her mother’s gentle voice. “Nothing’s more important than us talking. Give me a sec to turn off the burner. I was getting ready to make Dad his favorite pancakes.”
Blueberry and caramel topped with slivered almonds. “Don’t stop on my account. I can call back after you guys eat. I should.”
“No, you won’t. Dad doesn’t mind waiting. It’ll give him more time out front with Pete, soothing his feelings about his lawn. The kids are digging it up with their bikes again. I swear, if it wasn’t illegal, Pete would break their little legs.”
He’d never been a nice man and her parents were too decent to evict him from the colony. The way Clover felt right now, she would have willingly slugged him. “What a jerk.”
“Ah, yeah, he can be at times. What’s wrong? You sound funny, like you’re getting a cold. Is that why you’re in a bad mood?”
Nursing a wounded ego was more like it, and she couldn’t keep her pain in any longer or pretend it didn’t exist. “I’m not pissed, more like confused.” And sad. “I met a guy.”
Until this moment, she hadn’t mentioned Van Gogh to her folks and wasn’t sure why. Maybe deep down she was afraid she’d jinx something by broadcasting their relationship. She also wanted to avoid humiliation if things didn’t work out. Her mom knew about the Seth Cummings debacle in middle school. Although she did her best to soothe, her sweet concern made Clover feel like the biggest dumbfuck around.
Her mother spoke. “You’re not sure you like him?”
“I loved him before he knew I existed, so that’s not the problem.”
“He doesn’t like you back?”
“He did until a few days ago.”
Chair legs scraping sounded from the other end. Her mother sitting. “Did you two fight about something?”
Maybe they should have to clear the air. “No. We went to a party and Van Gogh—that’s his name by the way.”
Her mother whistled softly. “How cool. Is he related to the famous artist?”
“No. It’s the nickname he goes by, since he hates his given one. Who could blame him? It’s beyond pretentious. The real Van Gogh is his hero. My Van Gogh paints portraits and stuff, but also inks for a living, you know, tattoos. He’s going to give me one as soon as he figures out a design that will look good. His chest tat is amazing. Dad would really appreciate it and would probably want one.” Clover struggled to laugh then lay back and draped her arm across her eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Mom.”
“About him not liking you any longer? Are you sure he doesn’t?”
She wasn’t certain of anything and hated to say what had brought this on. It sounded beyond stupid, but she needed a second opinion on what was happening. “We make dates for dinner or other stuff, but right before he’s supposed to pick me up he keeps canceling.” She told her mom how shy and attentive he’d been in the beginning then about the people he’d met at the party and how they were monopolizing his time. “I know them liking his designs is important to him, and I’m trying to be supportive, but— Am I overreacting? I’m not sure, since I’ve never felt about anyone like I do him. I want us to work out. Did Dad do this to you after the initial glow wore off but you were still dating?”
