I pointed the fork at her. “See, there you go again. Trying to build that story of yours. I’d like to read it.”
“The story about you?”
“Any of your stories,” I said. “You give me a talking animal story and I’ll answer more of your questions.”
Amelia laughed and pushed away from the table. “What if I don’t have any of the talking animal stories anymore?”
“First off, there’s no way you threw those out,” I said. “And second, if you’re going to lie and say you did, then write a new one.”
“Maybe I’ll write about a monster,” she said. “Who gets angry too much and too fast. Who runs when someone asks a serious question. Who has bad habits. Who eats other people’s food.”
“Oh, so I’m the monster,” I said. “How creative.” I placed my fork down and shoved the plate aside. “Does this story tell the part when the monster saved the pretty young girl… more than once? Or the part when the pretty young girl thought she was in some fairy tale and wanted to kiss the monster, but he did the right thing by stopping her?”
Now her cheeks burned even hotter.
“I’m the writer,” she said. “So, I could write how the monster made her feel pretty and then ripped her heart out.”
“Only for safe keeping, love,” I whispered. “Trust me.”
“It’s still my story to tell,” Amelia said with a flirty undertone that threatened to waste the rest of my day. Which I was fine with.
“So then tell it,” I said.
“Nobody wants that story, Josh. They want yours.”
“Some blog does, love. Remember?”
“It would help me if you answered some questions though.”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“Depends on what this could mean.”
“So now you’re suddenly invested in this story.”
“You know what happened with us,” she said. “Or didn’t happen. And it’s been such a long time. I’m curious.”
“Now you’re talking about two different stories,” I said. “That’s a lot of talking and writing.”
“What’s your price then?” she asked.
“Price?”
“Food? Whiskey? What?”
I simply smiled.
That was my answer.
And Amelia knew exactly what it meant.
Finish what we had started all those years ago.
I was late for an appointment and I knew it.
My phone buzzed over and over, and I kept ignoring it as I enjoyed a cigarette and small talk with Amelia.
“Someone wants your attention,” Amelia said.
“I’m supposed to be somewhere,” I said. “Not worried about it.”
I was worried about it though. Worried about the appointment. The fucking letter. What I had done the night before. And masking it all with Amelia’s company was only good for so long.
We walked our way back to the gallery and I walked her to her car.
“Story for a story?” she asked me as she opened the driver’s door.
“Deal,” I said. “And it’d better be a good one.”
“Same for you,” she said.
“Believe me, love, I could tell you things that would keep that little blog of yours alive and well for a long time.”
“It’s not my blog,” she said. “I kind of want nothing to do with it.”
“You keep changing your story about what you want.”
“Maybe I just want to talk to you, Josh. You sort of… you were a big part of some stuff for me.”
“I’m not sure if that’s good or bad,” I said.
“Neither am I,” she said with a smile that felt like an electric prod to my heart.
“Let me ask you something,” I said. “What was your favorite piece from the showing?”
“I don’t know, there were so many, Josh.”
“Come on. Give me something.”
“The eye one,” she said.
“I knew it,” I said.
“What?”
“Why did you like it?”
“Just the way you did it. The close up on someone’s eye…”
It was Michelle’s eye. But that didn’t matter. It was for artistic purposes only.
“What about it?” I asked, pushing at Amelia.
“I don’t know. Just… you created this entire scene in an eye. Like the eye itself was its own world. It was just… inspiring… I don’t know, Josh. You’re making me feel like a weirdo talking about it.”
I put my hand to the door and kept that as a barrier between us.
“You know how I knew you’d love that one, Amelia?” I asked.
“How?”
“Because of your eyes. Because of the way I used to stare at them when you’d talk. You always talked about a bigger and better world. Forever stuck in whatever story you were writing, but were too afraid to tell me about. Yet you did tell me everything. With your eyes. And it doesn’t hurt that your eyes are