“Matt told you about that?” Rachel struggled to keep her voice steady. “About my photos, I mean?”
“Photos? No. He mentioned that you studied art history. My cousin had the same major at UCLA, but she owns a smoothie shop now. Benita’s Batidos.” She shrugged. “They taste like dirt. But the Instagram is impressive.”
Rachel tried to think of a tactful way to ask what the woman’s angle was and failed. Maybe she could cultivate the offer into a strategic friendship. Once her divorce hit the news cycle, Sofia could be a powerful ally.
“What would hosting involve?”
Sofia pinched the air between her fingers. “Very little. A few planning committee meetings. And the hosts typically commission a collection from a local artist.”
A familiar warmth spread through Rachel’s body at the mention of an exhibit. Before she met Matt, she had envisioned a life filled with creators and patrons brought together by her curatorial eye. Now she had to settle for rearranging the landscapes in her dining room. “I would work with a local artist?”
“Work with? No, no.” Sofia waved again and added a soft chuckle. “Lyric Patterson is consulting for us. Have you heard of her? She’s worked for the Met. I convinced her to help us find an artist and curate the event.”
Rachel knew of Lyric Patterson. They’d both attended Howard and applied to the same graduate programs a year apart. Rachel had read about Lyric’s success through the regular alumni newsletters. She’d interned in Europe, been mentored in New York, and made a name for herself curating pop-up exhibits featuring artists of color around the country. It was as if Rachel had drawn up blueprints for the professional life she’d abandoned, and Lyric had found them, dusted off years of neglect, and then built her career.
“Lyric’s amazing,” Rachel said, while her insides steeped in envy. “I’m sure she’ll put together a wonderful collection.”
“No, what’s amazing is that you’re willing to help us out with this. I promise it won’t be a burden. All we need is your gorgeous face and the Abbott name.”
And that was it. Sofia’s real reason for putting her vendetta aside and inviting Rachel to host: She needed a flashy distraction from the scandal, and Matt and Rachel were at the peak of their moment. Sofia wanted to sell two-thousand-dollar tickets to see the Washington “It Couple” up close and in person.
“So we show up and greet people?”
“Exactly,” Sofia said, beaming as if she had given Rachel another gift. No need to worry your little head about actual work, just keep posing for the cameras. “You’ll do it then? Oh, that’s wonderful. It’s a relief to know the gala will be in your hands.”
Rachel tried to match her enthusiasm. “Tell me where and when to smile.”
Sofia touched her arm with a soft laugh. “You’re funnier than I thought. Let’s talk more about the gala next Saturday.”
“Next Saturday?”
Sofia frowned. “My anniversary party? It’s our fortieth. You’re both coming, right? People would notice if the mayor wasn’t there.”
“Right, yes. We wouldn’t miss it.” Rachel forced the smile that Sofia wanted, one that suggested fawning gratitude that she was married to someone who mattered.
CHAPTER FIVE
The only laundromat in Oasis Springs had forty washers and dryers, a Pepsi machine, and a television mounted onto the wall that played CNN twenty-four hours a day. Nathan had considered changing the name to something like Fluff n Dry, or the Rinse Cycle, but in the end, he stuck with Oasis Springs Laundry Center, because he believed in truth in advertising. This was not some quirky, upmarket laundromat. It was just a place to wash clothes.
Owning a small business was never the plan. He was supposed to go to college like his brother and major in something that would make him useful. His abuelita pushed him to pursue a degree because getting an education had changed her life. “It made me into a woman,” she used to say proudly, pointing to the diploma on her wall. Nathan heard the part she didn’t say out loud: that he needed to become a man. “Boys like you will always be underestimated. If you attempt nothing, no one will expect more.”
She died two weeks before his first application deadline, and if Nathan weren’t grieving, he might have remembered her advice. Instead, he deleted his admissions forms as soon as the money she left him hit his bank account.
The real estate listing was for a self-service laundromat with a studio apartment attached. Later, he would wonder if he was seduced by the business model: the automated service, the small and sporadic customer base, the ease of living and working in the same building. He’d made a cash offer for a business that wasn’t profitable, instead of doing the smart thing and calling his brother before he signed any paperwork. Joe would have swooped in with his big MBA brain and a PowerPoint presentation to lecture Nathan about how the local market didn’t justify the overhead. But Nathan had always been better at gut feelings than thinking things through. Yes, the decision was impulsive, but he had learned a lot over the last eight years. Front loaders were more efficient than top loaders, even though they cost more up front. Providing coin-operated machines meant people without a bank account wouldn’t have to buy prepaid cards to wash their clothes. Owning it also made him feel useful to people who were often overlooked in Oasis Springs, like frazzled single mothers waiting for a landlord to fix their dryer, or overworked domestic workers venting about their employers’ finicky appliances.