If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,89

both sound so much alike.”

“Rest assured, we’re both here. Bird, by the way.” Three-way calls with my technologically challenged mother were some form of living purgatory.

“I just saw the article! It’s amazing! I’m going to bring it to church this weekend and show everyone. I’m going to frame this one like all the others.”

“That’s great,” I said.

“Though . . .” I waited for my perfectionist mother to throw out the “but.”

“Yes . . .”

“You have such beautiful hair. I wish they wouldn’t always have you tie it back like that.”

“I have to wear that headdress with my hair pulled back. I’m a cockatoo in that pic. Cockatoos don’t have big red curly masses of hair. But thank you for the compliment.”

“Well, your father and I are very proud of you. We are still talking about what a nice trip we had to New York to watch you on opening night.”

“Thank you.”

I heard Jessa mumble something under her breath. Ever since my fame, I had become the new “perfect” daughter. I think Jessa had become a little jealous. Well, I knew she did because she had told me in her own way. We weren’t competitive, and we never blamed each other for our parent’s mission for perfect children, but it didn’t make me feel any less crappy about all the attention I would get on these calls. It wasn’t like our parents meant to make one of their daughters feel superior over the other, but when they gushed over me, it was like Jessa didn’t exist. I knew the feeling, it was called Jessa is a the perfect student/athlete in high school or Jessa is in the top five in her class at GW-Law.”

“How are you doing Jessa?” I asked. I was done with the mom-pride and to be honest, this entire conversation. I wanted to get back to the article about Ash. I couldn’t tell them. They didn’t really know about him. Jessa did in the vaguest sense: an artist I dated for a few months who broke up with me. I minimized it greatly to her. She didn’t know how we met, or about his illness. The distance made that easy. Jessa wouldn’t have understood our relationship; all she would have done was try to convince me I was crazy for even being interested in him.

After a few more minutes of catching up, I artfully sashayed out of the phone call so I could get back to the more interesting task at hand.

It was Thursday, and WATT’s show was launching that evening. I knew people in New York who could get me in if an invitation was required, but the difficult part would be finding an anonymous artist. I rolled up the paper and rushed back to my apartment.

Javier was in the shower. He was a few rooms away but I felt so distant from him, not in space, but in time, my mind being pulled back five years.

I heard the squeak of the shower knobs being turned and in a couple of minutes, he was out, walking into the kitchen in a towel, his jet black hair slicked back.

“I woke up and you were gone,” he said in his sexy Spanish accent.

“I woke up around five, I didn’t want to disturb you.” He wrapped his arms around me and inhaled the scent of my hair. I could feel him throbbing behind me, and normally I would oblige, but I was still stewing in disbelief over the article I had found. I slithered out of his grip.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just loopy. I couldn’t get much sleep and now I’m tired. I think I’ll nap.”

“Okay. Well, I need to check in on the set today. Will I see you tonight?”

“Not sure. Call me when you’re done, okay?” He kissed me longingly and went back to the bedroom to get dressed. Javier and I had been dating on and off for about a year, but seriously for three months. Yes, the Javier, the set designer that Jordan had been trying to hook me up with for years. I had some issues committing again (what could be the reason for that?) especially since my career exploded and I had to do so much traveling. I had decided I would date my career for the next few years and then look into a long-term relationship once I was able to settle.

But Javier was persistent, and hot, and Latin, and he was often with me on the road, so it felt right to give