let you know that I won’t be able to help plan the event. I believe my mother told you I would have time to help, but my schedule is downright crazy these days. So sorry for the miscommunication.
There. All set.
I’m one tap away from closing out of the message box when bubbles appear on the screen. Before I know it, a new message from Callie sits in front of me.
Shit.
Callie Camden-Baccus: Aw, that’s no fun. I was really looking forward to catching up with you! Your mom says you’re, like, working as a secretary at a museum now or something. I was super excited to hear all about it!
Oh, for fuck’s sake, a secretary?
Mind you, I have zero issues with that career; it’s a very noble job to keep someone else organized and on top of things, but I worked insanely hard to move up in my current career. Like, backbreakingly hard, to be honest.
Pettiness and anger flood my veins, and I can’t stop myself from responding.
Me: Actually, I’m not a secretary. I’m one of the main art curators for the Met.
Apparently, she has more to say too.
Callie Camden-Baccus: Oh, that’s so cool! I bet that job is tons of fun! But I’m sure it’s also hard for someone like you, who moved to New York with plans of being an artist. Don’t let that get you down, though, Ava! Everyone back home doesn’t think of you as, like, some failure or anything. We all know it’s VERY hard to make money off art and are still super proud of you. ☺ ☺
Jesus Christ. I was definitely being too nice with the Jackie the Ripper comment.
I exhale a painful breath and stare up at the ceiling of my kitchen. Following my artistic passion has been a bit of a sore spot since I graduated from Columbia, and Callie’s backhanded comments are like salt in an open wound.
Truthfully, I haven’t picked up a paintbrush in over a year. I’m just…I don’t know what I am. Scared? Lacking confidence? Not talented? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s been a lot easier to focus on other artists for the time being.
A sick lump feels like lead in my stomach. How is it possible that, all these years later, Callie Camden can still get so far under my skin?
I try not to be a bitter person; I really do. And I make a point to never hate anyone, but damn, leave it to Callie to make that feel like an impossible task. Another message pops up in the thread, and like some kind of masochist, I make myself read it.
Callie Camden-Baccus: And by the way, I was hopeful that you would be able to help plan the reunion but had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to handle it. It’s a HUGE responsibility, and you need to be really good at organization and management to deal with it. I know those have never been your strong suits, so I totally understand that you won’t be able to do it. Thanks for letting me know. And don’t worry, with my years of experience hosting and planning prestigious charity events, I’ll be able to get it all squared away! XOXO, Callie.
There are so many things inside this message that make my brain want to short-circuit.
Instantly, I’m pissed. Beyond pissed, actually.
Like planning a high school reunion is hard? Like it takes some kind of special skill and experience to make sure there are finger foods and a freaking veggie tray?
Get over yourself, Callie. Anyone can plan a reunion.
Before I can stop myself, I’m typing out a response to her bullshit.
Me: You know what, Callie? I just took another look at my schedule, and even though I am super busy with work, I’ll be in town for the two weeks prior to Kate’s wedding. I’m sure that’s more than enough time to help plan a simple reunion. So, scratch what I said earlier and count me in.
There. Suck on that.
Callie Camden-Baccus: Oh my goodness! This is great news, Ava! What’s your email? I will send over all of the details ASAP! And phone number too, just in case I need to call you!
I stare down at her last message.
Oh, holy shit. What did I just do? WHAT DID I JUST DO?
A boulder of anxiety and regret crash-lands inside my chest, and I give it a moment, just on the off chance it’ll actually kill me before I have to deal with the consequences of my hair-trigger