My skin bristles at Kattar’s ‘bet’ forming a thousand tiny thorns under the thin petals of my rose-colored dress. His eyes aren’t angry, but they’re dead serious, and I feel the need to fire back sharply - in defense of myself and Mrs. Moon.

“Who cares what your dad thinks? What does he have to do with this?”

“Nobody.” Kattar shrugs, coolly, “And nothing. What does he have to do with anything?”

The casual way he says it catches me off guard. I stare at him bewildered, unsure whether he’s angry, or if he really doesn’t care. He’s never talked much about his dad in the past…I guess because there’s nothing to say.

Kattar flips the sandwich over on his plate with two fingers, as if afraid to dirty his hands. 

The silence thickens.

I can’t help but ask, with a shy half-laugh, “What’s got you so meditative all of a sudden?”

He looks at me quickly with an irritated, almost angry expression.

“Oh, my bad, I guess I should be talking about race cars and explosions, right? Forgive me if I don’t have a lot of interest in them at the moment.”

Stung.

The thorns begin poking through the surface, causing little burning sensations in my chest and on the tip of my tongue.

I try to think of something sharp to say back, but the words fail me - there’s a thin silence - like a light spell - begging to be broken by a…

What?

An apology? A confession? A kiss?

I’m tired of just being angry and sullen, and then sad all over again.

One of us needs to grow up.

But he should grow up first.

“Hey-”

Kattar’s phone begins buzzing on the counter and I immediately recognize the ringer. 

His agent.

Kattar sighs, shading his eyes with his left hand - waving the other, “Just let it ring. I’ll call him back later.”

But the fact that he’s still calling after all these weeks tells me that he doesn’t know…

How long is Kattar going to leave them waiting?

He flinches - almost shudders - not at the sound - but at the silence when the phone stops ringing.

“I’ll finish the tree-” I start to say.

“Please don’t.”

*

I feel disgusting. Kicking my way through the snow, raising clouds of frosty pixie dust besprinkled with small pebbles and bits of broken asphalt.

I just want to wash off my skin and unlive today. I shove my key into the lock with enough force to pierce the strongest of hearts and the hinges disturb the stillness of the empty room with a long, low moan.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I mutter under my breath. 

It’s crazy to be talking to the door, I know. This isn’t ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ and there’s no magic in this little hovel of mine, just a tired-out princess.

“And a prince changing slowly but surely into a beast.”

Metamorphosis my foot.

So what if I am becoming like Mrs. Moon? There’s nothing wrong with that. 

I think I’ve known her long enough to know that she doesn’t do anything just for the heck of it, and if she was annoyed with Kattar's father she must have had a good reason. I don’t get how Kattar could take his side over hers.

And to compare us to his parents?

As if I dumped him. 

As if the two of us had ever been anything.

The angry warmth mixes with the flustered, embarrassed warmth that only makes me angrier.

I toss my jacket onto the back of the couch and throw myself onto the cushions.

It’s only 3 p.m.

I’m not sure what to do with the rest of my day. 

I don’t feel like starting another painting - though I could go get my prints made. Shannon and I have a meeting with Invita Minerva Journal on Monday about the article they’re planning around my collection…

As if by magic my phone rings as my thoughts turn to Shannon, and I’m happier than I can account for. 

I guess I just need a distraction.

He’s more pleasant to be around than a certain someone has been recently, though I can’t imagine why he’s calling when we just had a meeting earlier today. I’m unable to keep the curiosity out of my voice as I answer the phone.

“Hey, are you busy…?” He asks.

This conversation seems familiar.

I’m not in a time loop, am I?

“No?” It’s more of a question than an answer, and I guess Shannon picks up on the hesitation.

“The Journal wants to move the meeting up to today if you’re willing,” he explains quickly, “I guess they’d prefer to take the whole Christmas week off, so they’re trying to get their stuff done now. Do you think you could be ready by 4 o’clock? I can come pick you up-”

“-No, that’s alright,” I say quickly, “I’ll take the train and meet you at the office by 3:45.”

“If you’re sure,” the voice says a little slowly from the other side of the line. “I’ll meet you there then.”

“Will do,” I hang up quickly and start to pull on my jacket before I realize I’m still wearing my ‘present’ dress. For a minute I debate whether I should change or not.

But then, who cares what Kattar thinks?

I slip my heels on and step outside closing the door behind me with a decisive slam that sounds like something exploding.

*

“Somebody looks cute,” Shannon jokes, eyes laughing, as I march up in my little dark cloud, “Nice dress. Did you take up formal speed walking recently?” 

“Ha ha ha,” I say flatly, almost determined to stay angry, but the goodwill in his expression forces me to relent. “Sorry, Shannon. I’ve just had a horrible - aggravating - frustrating day, and I don’t feel the greatest right now.”

“There’s no need to apologize about that,” he says with a nonchalant shake of his head, “We all have good days and bad days. Shall we get going? It’s freezing and The Journal’s office is about 10 blocks from here.”

“Yeah,” I breathe, half through a sigh, “Let’s do this.”

He hesitates for a minute with a quick glance at my outfit.

“Are you sure you’re alright in those heels?”

“I’m fine,” I smile, “you practically live in heels when you’re as short as I am. It’s easier than yelling when you want to get someone’s attention.”

“I can’t imagine you’ve ever had trouble getting attention,” he smiles playfully, “You’re just Venus condensed.”

I smack his arm, trying not to smile - or blush.

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m serious,” he smiles, raising one hand as if to swear, but laughing all the time, "As a Veggera Foundation affiliated agent my job is to find works of art. I know one when I meet one."

There’s another quip at the tip of my tongue, but I stop short, staring up at his face, smiling at me so brightly.

I just wish it was…

“Thanks,” I say sincerely.

He just smiles, then pushes me forward playfully- “Now hurry up and walk like you mean it, before I have to carry you - I’m freezing to death.”

*

It’s almost 6 p.m. when we get out of the interview. A light snow falls and melts upon contact with the sidewalk like ice cream in the summer sun or cotton candy on the tongue. 

“Geez, my feet are killing me,” I moan, as we head back to the office, our footsteps multiplying into thunder from the echoes.

“‘I live in high heels’ she said 'It’ll be fine' she said,’” Shannon teases, “I’m going to start calling you Monica.”

I roll my eyes at the 'Friends' reference, raising my fist at him with mocking severity and smiling in spite of the soreness.

"I will take these off and crucify you with them."

“No, no I’m sorry,” he says, still laughing, “We have been walking for a while. We can find a cafe somewhere for you to sit down, and rest a bit.”

“No,” I sigh with a small smile, “I think I’ll just go home. It won’t kill me to muscle through and I’d rather not be out late. I’ll just soak my feet when I get home.”

“Well you don’t have to do that,” he says kindly, “I’ll just drive you back if you’d rather go home.”

“I…” my heart flips at the thought of getting in a car, “No, no thank you…I…”

There’s something like concern in his expression…I should explain…

“I’m still not okay getting in cars ever since the accident. I know it might sound dumb but-” 

“No, don’t say that,” he says gently, and the expression in his eyes makes my heart change pace, “You need your time to recover.”

Yeah.

But also - as much as I don’t - don’t care - what Kattar thinks. Not even a little bit.

I’d rather not hurt him that bad.