My brows lift. “Miniature? Miniature what?”
“It sounds a little bizarre.” She fiddles with her fork and her cheeks turn pink.
Is she nervous?
She bites her lip and then explains in a rush. “Basically, I recreate various buildings, different types of architecture, cottages, windmills, apartments, things like that, but scaled down. And then I post pictures of it. I know it sounds . . . odd, but it’s a whole thing.”
“No, it’s amazing.”
I’m struck silent for a moment, and thankfully the food shows up and I can think for a second while steaming platters of food are set before us.
There’s this whole world happening all around me that I’ve been completely oblivious to. It’s an odd realization, being no more than a side character, in the periphery, completely unaware of other people’s realities.
We eat and I ask Presley questions about the world of miniature art and how she got started with it.
“Don’t laugh, but I was fascinated with doll houses as a kid and it sort of turned into an obsession.” But then she laughs, blushing further.
“I won’t laugh. It’s actually—it’s really cool.” I hold up a hand. “That sounds lame, but I mean it sincerely.”
She grins at me, scooping some tabouleh onto her plate. “So what about you? What are you going to do now?”
“Actually, I have a hobby too. I’m not sure I could ever turn it into a career but—” And suddenly, I’m not nervous to tell her exactly what I want to do. Presley’s willingness to be vulnerable and admit her passions has given me a strength I wasn’t aware I needed.
“What is it?”
“I’ve been designing dresses for drag queens. So, I guess you could say it’s fashion design.” My face heats at the admission. I poke at my food with my fork. “I design and make dresses.
Her brows lift. “Are you serious?”
I nod.
“No shit, Jane. I never would have figured, you’re always so . . .” Her eyes drift down to my sensible pink blouse.
“Drab?” I wave a hand. “It’s fine. You can say it.” I pluck at the offending garment. “My parents bought me these professional work clothes. I dress like this because it’s expected. Or I thought it was. I do a lot of things that are expected.” I get jobs I don’t want. I sleep with men because everyone else does. I wear my clothes like a costume. It’s my drag. But not the fun, colorful kind. It’s literally dragging me down.
I should design myself new work clothes. Something with a lot of color. Maybe that’s why Eloise is always wearing vibrant outfits, to be the antithesis of our staid parents.
She waves a hand. “Wear what you want. Look at Mark, he grows a beard and puts glitter in it for the holidays.”
“Oh, speaking of Mark, I should probably warn you.” I rub the cloth napkin between my fingers. “He mentioned to me that he might have a thing for you. I’m not sure if you’re into him or not, but if you are, he’s not the relationship type. If you’re looking for no strings attached, then go for it. But otherwise . . .” I shrug.
She snorts. “Yeah, not surprising. The office Casanova won’t be satisfied until he’s boinked the entire staff. Hannah is still hung up on him. You know that’s why she’s a bitch to you, right? She was pissed when he cut her loose and started pursuing you. Jealousy is not a good look on her.”
I snort. “It’s not much to be jealous of. We were never a real thing. And it’s over. He was a mistake.” I shove a bite of falafel in my mouth.
“Did you know his wife died?”
I almost spit the food out on the table, stopping myself and swallowing before speaking, trying to reconcile those words with my knowledge of Mark. “Wait. Mark was married?” How is that possible? How did I not know this?
“He doesn’t talk about it. They were young when they got married. Not even twenty, I think.”
Once again, the world shifts beneath my feet. Just when I thought nothing else about this day could surprise me, it goes and knees me right in the gut. “I had no idea.”
“There’s no reason you would. I only know it because we went to the same high school.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, but he probably doesn’t remember me. I wasn’t very memorable. Besides, he was with Katie, and they only had eyes for each other. It was one of those stories, you know? Love at first sight, high school sweethearts, the whole thing.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died. Some freak skiing accident in Tahoe. So sad, right? She was young, beautiful, and they were happy together, by all accounts anyway.”
I lean back in the seat, food forgotten. “He’s never said anything. I would never have known.” And now I feel kind of bad for telling him to fuck off. Not that his wife dying makes it okay to lead women on to get them into bed, but still.
Presley shrugs. “I didn’t know either of them well, but I did know Katie’s little sister. And through the grapevine of people we went to school with, I know he hasn’t been the same since she died. So, yeah, I know he’s a total douche sometimes, but I think it’s how he’s coping. We all handle things differently. Maybe he’ll get through it, maybe he’ll be a ball sack forever, I don’t know. I’m not excusing him, I’m just saying, it seems like he uses sex as an escape. So it’s nothing you should feel bad about.”
Mark was always desperate when we fooled around, like in a fever. Not with desire, but with the need to forget, even just for a few moments.
It’s not really so different from some of the methods I use to cope with my anxiety, becoming hyperfocused on certain tasks, other people, avoiding things I know will trigger my anxiety. Or I used to, anyway. Except he’s hurting people. Me, Hannah, who knows who else.
Have I hurt people?
My mind jumps to Eloise and my gut twists.
