Chapter 3
745 Words
By the time they finished inspecting the last site that afternoon, it was already close to 5 p.m.
That evening, the company hosted a lakeside barbecue. Several long tables were set up in a large courtyard overlooking the water.
When the food arrived, Stanley didn't sit beside me.
He sat next to Faith, helping her grab skewers, pouring her drinks, and handing her his jacket when the temperature dropped.
"Stanley, I don't eat cilantro."
"Got it."
Without hesitation, Stanley lowered his head and carefully picked every piece of cilantro off her skewer.
I sat alone in the corner. A few cold skewers rested untouched on my plate.
A moment later, Marshall walked over carrying a fresh plate of hot food. He placed it in front of me.
"Eat something."
"Thanks."
He glanced at me. "Why are your eyes red? Smoke bothering you?"
I touched the corner of my eye. "The wind."
Marshall pointed toward a spot closer to the wall. "Less wind over there."
I shook my head.
At some point, Stanley's gaze drifted our way. His eyes lingered on Marshall for a second before moving away.
After dinner, everyone split up.
Some people sang karaoke in the courtyard. Others started card games.
I wandered down to the lake by myself and sat on a large rock near the shore.
The tide had come in. Waves rolled against the stone over and over.
Footsteps approached from behind. It was Stanley.
"What are you doing out here alone?"
"Looking at the lake."
"It's pitch-black outside. What's there to look at? You've been sulking all day."
"I'm fine."
"Really?" He picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water.
"Marshall came over to talk to you twice. What were you guys talking about?"
"He asked if I still paint."
"And?"
"I told him not anymore."
For a moment, Stanley didn't say anything.
Then he sighed. "Delia, what's been going on with you lately?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? You wouldn't even pour me a glass of water. You wouldn't pack my charger. You wouldn't do anything."
I turned toward him. "Stanley. When was the last time you poured me a glass of water?"
His mouth opened, but no word came out.
"When was the last time you asked whether my eyes hurt after spending all day color-correcting your work? When was the last time we sat down and had a meal together?"
He looked away. "I know I've been busy. There are a lot of projects right now..."
"You're not busy." I cut him off.
"When you were picking cilantro off Faith's food today, were you busy? When you adjusted color palettes for her, were you busy? When you designed her villa, her studio, her art room, were you busy then?"
His back stiffened. "You went through my sketchbook?"
"You left it on the couch. I found it while cleaning up."
Stanley inhaled sharply. His tone dropped. "That's work. She pays design fees. I provide design services. It's a business relationship."
I nodded. "How many designs have you made for her?"
He hesitated. "...More than ten."
"How long did that take?"
His jaw tightened. "...A little over two years."
I laughed softly. "What about our house?"
No answer.
"Seven years, Stanley. Seven long years. From tiny apartments to owning this place. From junior drafter to project director."
The lake rippled under the moonlight. "You promised that once things settled down, you'd design our home. I waited until now. You never even drew the first line."
"Delia, I..."
"You don't have to. I never cared about the house itself. What I cared about was whether I was still part of your future. Every time you said 'next month', I believed you."
I smiled bitterly. "Seven years of hearing you say 'next month'. Those designs were just work... But were they?"
I turned toward him. "You designed a place for her to live. So carefully that you chose the curtain fabrics. You planned which flowers would bloom in her garden, thought about where the sunset would hit her windows, painted every detail of her future. Down to which direction every room should face. And me?"
I laughed quietly. "I couldn't even make it into the hidden pocket of your sketchbook."
His throat bobbed. "Delia, I..."
"You don't need to explain." I stood. "I just wanted you to know something. I'm not blind."
Then I turned and walked away.
Behind me, I heard him call my name. I didn't bother to stop.
- Writer
