Page 54 of The Auction
“She doesn’t need the stress,” she agrees, squeezing my hand. “And I already knew. Don’t worry—I’ve been keeping it from her.”
We go over the care schedule for next week since I won’t be around much.
She asks about myartcommission and I change the subject to ask her to arrange another overnight nurse to help fill the gaps. She’s already on it.
It shouldn’t surprise me, how on top of things Shanae is. It never does. But it still makes me grateful every damn time.
My mother is sitting by the window when I check on her, a book in her lap and her eyes on the pasture beyond. The horses move slowly in the golden light, grazing near the fence.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she says softly, looking up.
“Hi, Mama.” I lean down, kiss her forehead, and settle the blanket around her legs. “You good here for a bit?”
She nods. “I’ve got everything I need.”
I stay there a little longer, just to breathe in the comfort of her presence. Of her voice. Of this moment that could’ve so easily slipped through my fingers.
When I finally pull away, I head back to the studio—my space, my sanctuary.
That feeling of drowning is threatening to pull me away. And there is only one place I can let it all go.
The Italian takeout is going cold on the counter, untouched, the smell turning my stomach the longer it sits. Her favorite place. The one she used to beg for when we were younger—extra garlic knots, creamy pasta, the kind of food that sticks to your ribs and tastes like home.
But the box is still closed. The food untouched.
And the girl it was meant for is still not fucking here.
I call her again.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
I pace the length of the kitchen, jaw clenched so tight I can feel the tension pulsing behind my teeth. Every step is a fight not to let this get under my skin.
It was hours ago when she texted she was going out.
I didn’t see it and then when I replied and asked about dinner, she didn’t answer. No big deal. I can make a decision without her.
I ordered food while maintenance erased the rest of the evidence that I nearly burned the entire building down this morning. Only a few cabinet doors needed to be replaced so no big deal.
It was fine until my mind started working against me. Where she was. If she had another date. What is going on that’s she’s hiding. Refusing to tell me why she did all this to begin with.
When the door finally opens, I don’t think—I justreact.
She strolls in like nothing’s wrong and hums some quiet tune under her breath as she kicks off her shoes.
Like I haven’t been pacing this fucking apartment for hours wondering where she was.
“Where the hell have you been?”
She blinks at me, eyebrows lifting like I just accused her of murder. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve been calling you.”
Her arms fold across her chest, slow and deliberate. “And?”
“And you didn’t answer.”
