I just feel tired.
“Look, I don’t know what you heard,” I tell him now, my fingers tight around the phone, “but your information clearly sucks because I’m working on Petal. And I’ll email Robert about the dissolution. The sooner I’m not married to you, the better, honestly.”
I don’t let him reply to that, pressing End before he can say anything else.
The sun has fully set now, the villa dim as I make my way downstairs. True to her word, Chess is in the kitchen, and there’s a frosted martini glass on the counter filled with a bright yellow liquid.
I reach for it, the stem bitingly cold.
“It’s my own concoction,” Chess says. “Limoncello, obviously, a little bit of that gorgeous floral gin Giulia brought the other day, some elderflower liquor…”
It could be antifreeze for all I care right now. I suck down almost the whole thing, putting the glass back on the counter with a raggedy sigh as Chess raises her eyebrows and reaches for the cocktail shaker.
“I take it the phone call didn’t go great.”
I accept a refill, leaning back against the counter, one arm wrapped around my waist like I’m trying to hold my insides together.
“He talks like I’m the one who fucked everything up,” I say. “Like I tricked him or something by magically not having a baby. That’s what started all this. Once he’d decided he wanted kids, it was like that was the only thing that mattered.”
Chess is quiet for a moment, taking a sip from her bottle of mineral water before saying, “Did you want kids, Em? Really?”
“I did,” I insist, but even as I say the words, I can hear how unconvincing they sound.
I drink more, the lemony taste bright on my tongue. We’ve never talked about this, not really. Chess knew we’d been talking about having a baby, but she’d never asked me outright if it’s what I wanted. No one did.
Not even Matt.
“I mean, I didn’t not want kids, I guess. It was just that it still felt kind of vague to me. Like something future me was going to figure out or suddenly wake up and know the answer to. Or that I wanted them for him, if that makes sense.”
She nods. “That’s very you, Em. You live to make other people happy. It’s the one thing you have in common with Nanci.”
Chess so rarely brings up her mother that I’m actually stunned out of my pity party a little bit.
“Did you just compare me to the person you wrote an entire book about? A book where the thesis is, ‘this person is both terrible and useless’？”
Chess rolls her eyes, and picks up the dishcloth on the island next to her, flicking me with it. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way! Well, okay, I kind of did because it’s a trait you have to shake off, girl. Nanci never has. At least not where men are concerned. Making me happy? That was not exactly the highest of priorities, but some dude she met in the frozen foods aisle at Publix, well, he got whatever he wanted. And look where that’s led. She’s on her fourth husband, Em. Fourth.”
Chess holds up four fingers. “And living in his shitty condo in Florida even though I bought her a house in Asheville last year. But nope, she sold it because it was Beau’s dream to retire to Florida.” She shakes her head. “And it’s not even the pretty part of Florida. The beach is like a two-hour drive away, and Nanci hates everything about it, but, hey, if Beau’s happy, she’s happy!”
Stepping forward, she grabs my shoulders, giving me a light shake. “That could’ve been you! But it’s not because you’re free of all that now. You just have to get free in here.”
Lifting one hand, she taps my forehead.
It would be nice if life were as easy as Chess seems to think it is. But then, I remind myself, she doesn’t know how bad it all actually is. She doesn’t know about the money Matt’s asking for, or this new threat. I could tell her, but again, something stops me.
“Well, now that you’ve warned me I could turn into your mother, I am indeed a new woman,” I tell her, and she grins, pressing a smacking kiss to the place she’d just poked.
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks!” she singsongs, and I laugh, putting my now-empty glass back down.
I watch her back as she begins rifling through the cabinets for dinner supplies, and think again about Matt’s call. He’d heard I was working, and suspected it was on something new.
Chess is humming to herself, something from Aestas, and I keep my voice casual as I ask, “You haven’t talked to Matt recently, have you?”
She turns around, pulling a face. “Matt? Jesus Christ, no. Not since you split up. Why would I?”
She looks so baffled that I feel stupid for even asking. It was Rose, surely. Something to do with all this legal wrangling.
“I just wondered,” I offer lamely. “You two were close, too.”
She turns back around, pulling down a large serving dish. “Only because we both loved you. Once he was out of your life, he was out of mine.”
She spins back around, squinting her eyes at me with exaggerated suspicion, her mouth twisted to one side. “Why? You haven’t been talking to Nigel, have you?”
That actually makes me laugh. Nigel was Chess’s last serious boyfriend, some rich tech bro who was obsessed with cryptocurrency and said “San Fran” instead of San Francisco and owned sunglasses that cost more than the down payment on my house. Still, Chess had been completely crazy about him, and their breakup had hit her harder than I’d expected.
Now, I joke along with her, saying, “Just every other Friday. We’re talking about starting a book club. Maybe getting a time-share.”
“You fucking traitor,” she replies, and I laugh again. The drink has relaxed me, and I’m thinking about getting back to work on the book after dinner. I want to write a chapter about Mari’s mom, about Lilith and the connection between Marianne Godwick’s short story and Mari’s book. It was clear her mother’s death had had a huge effect on Mari, and given Lilith’s influence on Victoria in Lilith Rising, it feels like there’s something to say there. About the ways in which a legacy is both a gift and a curse. And given the villa’s own legacy of both horror and beauty, I thought I could tie those two ideas together somehow, really dig into the idea of how artists are inspired and influenced.
Normally, that thought would fill me with a kind of giddy excitement, an itch in my fingers to get back to work.
Now, though, there’s a weight in my stomach.
What if you write it, and it’s all you wanted to be, and then Matt sues over the fucking thing?
He can’t, I remind myself again. Or he can, but he won’t win.
But would that matter? Wouldn’t it just mean more lawyers, more bullshit, more—
That’s when I feel it.
Not a sudden thing, more like a slow-motion wave approaching the shore.
It’s been months, but I recognize the sensation immediately, and the terror makes me feel cold and hot all at once.
My head swims, the room tilts just the littlest bit, and I feel sweat beading on my forehead, my upper lip, the small of my back.
“Em?” Chess asks, but I’m already sprinting away, heading for the tiny bathroom in the hall.