I rub my belly, thinking about the exams that are slowly but surely approaching and where those two will be by then. “Alright. I’ll help you study if you help me pick out a few books for financial accounting.”
“Deal,” he says quickly as he turns onto the street of my condo. “Hey, P? Take it easy, okay? I want to see you way fatter on Monday.”
I punch him in the arm, and he only laughs. I giggle too, despite myself, and take an extra-long time opening the car door. I don’t want to ruin the happy moment, but my home looms behind me. I have to go.
“Bye Matt. Thank you,” I say, reaching out to lay my hand on his quickly before exiting the Lexus. Matt waves as I go, and after closing my door, I stand on the sidewalk and wave in return until the motor starts roaming again, and Matt drives away.
What a great evening that was, I think to myself. His kindness is a balm to the raw wound of Alex’s absence.
Reaching the condo, the sound of footsteps approaching can only indicate that Maria’s still up, and, not surprisingly, she chatters anxiously at me, pushing my nighttime vitamins into my hands. I realize I don’t care if she tells Alex I was out, or even the description of the car that brought me home. Maybe then I’d get a sliver of his attention.
I dutifully take the vitamins and head to the bedroom. I run myself a hot bath before turning in for the night, taking a bit of joy in feeling the babies rolling around inside of me in response to the warm water. They seem to love a bath just as I do. I fill the tub with bubbles and turn on some relaxing music. On a whim, I text Alex, asking him where he is, and if he will come home.
I love you, I type to end the message before sending it. Sighing heavily, I finish bathing and shimmy under my sheets. The silk is cool on my bath-warmed skin.
I check my phone one last time before putting it on the nightstand. Not surprisingly, Alex hasn’t replied. With an extra pillow tucked between my legs for comfort, I eventually find slumber, as lonely as ever.
Chapter 22
Manhattan, March 22, 2021
Petra Van Gatt
I put the finishing touches on the painting and stand back, admiring my work. I spent the whole weekend finishing it, and being able to stand back and look at it finally done fills me with pride. I hear the door to my atelier creak open and Maria enters, holding a tray with a mug of steaming hot cocoa and a huge snickerdoodle cookie. She has sort of given up on getting me to sit down and eat a full meal and relented to my ever present need for sweets.
“What do you think, Maria?” I ask her brightly.
Maria walks over, sitting her tray on a side table. She gets a good look at the enormous canvas and gasps, holding both her hands to her heart.
“Oh gosh!” Maria breathes out. A chuckle escapes me at her shocked expression. “That’s very, um, daring…”
I sit my paintbrush down, raising an eyebrow at her. “Well, yeah, but do you like the colors, the shape, the texture?”
Maria composes herself, brushing her hands down her apron. “Oh, you paint very well, of course! But it’s such a… very… erotic portrait of Mrs. Van Lawick.”
I glance back at the painting and try to see it through someone else's eyes. Okay, yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have shown it to her, but I’m so used to see Yara’s naked body for the sake of this painting that I’ve become totally desensitized to nudity, or at least to hers. But it’s what she wanted, anyway. Yara had commissioned the portrait in this precise position—kneeling on the floor, legs spread apart—and lack of clothes, and I’m just following the photo I took of her faithfully.
While I refocus on the canvas, Maria keeps setting out my midday snack, occasionally casting worried looks at Yara’s painting. I enjoy my cocoa right there on my painting stool, back pain be damned.
“Any word from Alex?” I ask, before she can leave.
“Unfortunately not, ma’am. Yesterday he came home late and left very early in the morning,” Maria says carefully, not wanting to upset me.
I huff a frustrated breath. But really, I already knew that he hadn’t said a word. Since the day I testified, I haven’t seen him. But just as I finish that thought, my iPhone rings. Instead of Alex’s name flashing on the screen, it’s Matt’s. I juggle my cookie to my other hand and answer.
“Still meeting at the library today?” he asks.
“Absolutely. I’ll be there shortly,” I chirp back, happy to have a reason to get out of the house.
I finish my snack and go to change out of my paint covered clothes and into something a little more proper for the college library. An ivory cable-knit sweater, brown riding boots, and dark blue jeans should do the trick.
I forgo Matt’s invitation to come and pick me up, deciding to call my driver instead. I’m envisioning a brawl between him and Alex downstairs, if Alex just so happened to come home as Matt pulled up.
The trip through town is a long, boring drive, but I arrive right on time. As soon as I prop the door open to the library, the smell of old books hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m overcome with nostalgia, remembering being deep within these stacks searching for rare editions. I hold the memory close to my heart as I look for Matt, eventually finding him at a table deep within the maze of the second floor.
“Hey Petra!” he whispers enthusiastically.
“Hey!” I whisper back, adhering to the ubiquitous quiet library rule. “Nice to see you, Mr. Bradford.”
Matt makes a face like he’s smelled something bad when I utter the name, and it causes me to chuckle as I join him at the table. Matt fills me in on what he’s studying, and even though Kant isn’t my favorite philosopher, I stick with it and do my best to help him with Kant’s deontological moral theory. I ask a few questions here and there, following his notes, and we fall back into a rhythm, just like old study days. It’s obvious Matt didn’t need my help; he knows Kant better than Kant knows himself. A smile filled with pride settles on his lips as he speaks so eloquently about the Kantian ethics and Kant’s opposition to utilitarianism. And before we know it, we have reviewed everything about Kant and Matt seems to be finished for the day.
He closes the huge tome with a “thunk,” exhaling in relief. “That really went so much faster with you here.”
“I’m so glad I could help,” I reply genuinely. These little, mundane things that Matt invites me to do make me feel like I’m living a normal life again. It helps to forget all the negativity in my life. Maybe we should do it more often.
“The only issue is, I blocked out so much of my schedule for this study session and we are done way too early.” I laugh at his expression; Matt taps the pen he is holding on his lips as he considers the situation, looking around. His gaze lands on something and his whole face lights up.
“Oh, let’s play chess,” he blurts out excitedly.
“What, really?” I turn around to see the chessboard he is referencing. And sure enough, there is a set nestled under a window, flanked by two ancient chairs. I have never seen a chessboard here before, but maybe someone had just forgotten it there. Matt and I had played a few times throughout our freshman year, but mostly online, and as far as I could tell, we are pretty evenly matched. It makes for a fun, unpredictable game. At first I think it seems kind of silly to play the afternoon away, but the more I think on it the more I come to the conclusion it’ll be a nice distraction from my real problems. I check my phone quickly to make sure my wayward husband hasn’t tried to contact me, and when I see my notifications empty, I power the phone down and put it in my pocket.