Page 38 of Reckless
Kelly, Britney, Avril, Hope, Miley, and Isabel seated at some sunlit brunch table in Virgin Cove.Glasses on the table.Coffee.Flowers.Six women in varying stages of beauty and danger.Kelly in profile, laughing at something one of them had said, though even in the still image she had the tightness around herself, clearly holding in with effort.
I stared at the photo too long.
Then typed to my mother.Stop inviting Kelly to things until I speak to her.
Then I set the phone facedown.
Roman, still across the room because we were sharing space all day like men who enjoyed each other when in fact we merely tolerated similar air well, said, “That expression never leads anywhere useful.”
I leaned back in my chair.“She’s at brunch with your wife and all her friends.”
He lifted one shoulder.“Most women do that without destabilizing technology companies.”
“She’s not destabilizing anything.”
“You texted our mother not to invite her anywhere before you could speak to her.I’d call that measurable destabilization.”
“Do I have a mirror behind my desk for you to know that?”
“No, maman wants an update on you because you said that.”
I gave him a look.
He smiled.
The afternoon dragged.Because my attention kept spliting around a practical reality I couldn’t ignore anymore.
Kelly was going to keep saying no if I framed this as my problem.She might even keep saying no if I framed it as our problem.
But if I framed it as what my plan was, a limited arrangement that allowed her to retain control over the social damage and me to contain the thing I’d already started, then maybe she’d hear enough reason in it to stop reacting to the shape of the insult and look at the structure underneath.
By four I had her schedule from the family group chat.Kelly was showing a townhouse in Virgin Cove at five-thirty with the agent under whose brokerage she’d recently licensed.After that, she was free.
I left the office and then Manhattan before Roman could comment.
The drive back out to the coast gave me forty minutes to decide whether I was making a tactical error or the only possible move.
By the time I parked outside the townhouse development, I had narrowed it down to this one fact.Kelly was angry because she’d been cornered.So the only way she listened was if I gave her room inside the argument.
The townhouse she was showing sat in a clean line of expensive coastal properties built to look relaxed while charging aggressively for it.Pale clapboard.Trim hedges.Good light.Better location than substance.I sat in the car long to see Kelly walking the prospective clients to the front step with another woman I recognized from a local brokerage event.
Kelly was all business.Warm smile.Hair pulled back.Clipboard in one hand.The sort of focused, grounded version of her that made immediate sense with the teacher background.She was good with people when she wanted to be.Open without being soft.Present without giving away more than she intended.
She saw me the second her clients drove off.I knew because her shoulders changed, just enough.She said something to the other agent, who turned, followed Kelly’s line of sight to my car, and then looked back at her with a whole conversation in one expression.
I got out before Kelly could decide to pretend she hadn’t seen me.
She met me halfway across the little front path, stopping far enough away that even in public the distance read as deliberate.
“What are you doing here?”
I looked at the townhouse.“Good light.Inferior kitchen.”
“Leave.”
“Not yet.”
Her mouth went flat.“Do you have a personality disorder?”
