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There were many reasons Dean might not be home. Grocery shopping. A medical appointment. Calling into the hospital, to visit his colleagues. I’d flick him a quick text now, and then try to catch him again when I finished at the gallery.
I stared at the screen on my phone and spent a few moments composing a message to him.
Hey. Hope you’re okay today. I’ll be at the gallery this evening, but I can call in to see you on my way home, if you’d like? Let me know X
Did that sound needy? I was aiming for light-n-friendly. No. I wouldn’t achieve anything by overthinking this. I pressed Send, watched until it popped up with Delivered, and then shoved the phone in my back pocket. Nope. Not looking at it again until later.
By the time I drove to the gallery, I’d checked my phone a dozen times. Tested the ring tone and vibrate option, to make sure they both worked, and refreshed the screen more than once.
I had to face it. He wasn’t in a hurry to reply to me.
Anxiety clawed at my chest. Was he drunker than I thought last night? What if he didn’t know what he was doing? What if, in the cold light of day, he realised what a colossal mistake he made?
No. This wasn’t an alcohol-fuelled one-night stand. He knew me. He got me. I had to hang onto the belief that there was a good reason he wasn’t hitting up my phone.
I dragged my hands through my hair and let out a huge sigh. I had to push Dean out of my head for the next couple of hours. This was important. Elizabeth might expect me to be nervous, but I should also be excited. This was my debut show. The biggest thing I’d ever been a part of.
I peered in the rear-view mirror while I applied a coat of pink lip-gloss. The brunette hair still surprised me, but I loved it. This was Steph 2.0—the newer, smarter version of me. And I would own this show.
With my phone switched off, I couldn’t listen out for it ringing, and it forced me to focus on Elizabeth and her plans to display my pictures. I loved her ideas. The postcards that viewers could take away as mementoes. The printed footnotes under each image. The little side-room for the smaller set of prints, where I captured the same stretch of sand every day for a week, displayed as a series of digitally stitched-together landscapes.
The focus of the exhibition was my sand art, and it looked amazing blown up onto large printed boards. I touched the linen-like surface of one of the Batman images and marvelled at how different they looked in here. How professional.
Elizabeth called me over to the sound-system in the office. “I plan to have ocean noises playing in the background,” she said. “Seagulls and the gentle splash of waves. The lighting for the sand art is warm yellow and orange spots, to simulate the sunset. I’ll be ready for a final walk-through on Friday. It’s going to look fantastic.”
I nodded and forced a smile. “Thank you. I can’t believe how good it all looks.”
Her blue eyes sparkled. “I’m confident that your sales will more than cover your costs, and that always helps. I’m looking forward to hosting your next exhibition.”
My next one? “Already?” My brain fritzed out with excitement.
“Yes. We can pencil in some dates now, if you’d like?”
I laughed. “I’ll have to get back to you. Thank you.”
Eventually we were done, and I escaped to my car. Only there, did I switch on my phone.
There was a text from Dean, sent an hour ago.
Something came up. Talk soon.
That was it? Something like what? I chewed on my fingernail while I tried to reassure myself with all the reasons I considered earlier. If he’d gone to the hospital, he might be driving at the moment, since it was an hour from here.
I typed a reply, paused, and then sent it.
No worries. Hope everything is ok. X
What else could I say?
*
There was nothing further from Dean that night. I awoke on Thursday with scratchy, tired eyes and a feeling of impending doom. I was also exceedingly late. In my rush to shower, dress, and get downstairs to work, I’d forgotten to take my meds. I’d take them at lunchtime instead. It was no big deal.
Lou was unwell today and didn’t come to work, but though the café was busy, the day dragged. I had a buzzing headache, which made it difficult to focus, and I messed up a couple of drink orders. Damn. At this rate, I’d be looking for another job soon. I couldn’t even hold down simple barista work.
It was only when the café closed, later than usual from all the extra business, that I remembered my anti-depressants. I didn’t want to take them now, and then another dose in the morning, so it’d be easier to just skip today’s pills and start over tomorrow.
There was nothing back from Dean. That hurt. The lack of communication couldn’t be an accident. And even if he lost his phone in a freak mishap, he could always contact me on the café landline. There was no good excuse for his radio silence.
I walked King past Dean’s house on the way to the beach. Like yesterday, there was no SUV, and he wasn’t home. Where are you, Dean? I’d send one last text and wait for him to reply.
Hey. Miss you. Call me back when you can. X
I went to yoga, to try to put myself into a Zen mode, but that didn’t cut it. What would I do for the rest of the evening? Art didn’t appeal. Maybe I’d grab my camera and go exploring. Take King for another long walk in the twilight. Not taking my meds this morning could account for the headache, but it also meant I could have a drink. Only one. I wouldn’t go crazy.