The Villa(68)
“Look, I knew I was right, but I still wanted just a little more proof. And come on, Em. Ostrich Moment? Surely you think I’m a little better than that.”
“I knew I hadn’t read that shit,” I reply, and she actually laughs a little.
“Anyway, as soon as I saw you there on the floor, I realized you needed to know what happened between me and Matt. For us. But also, for the book.”
“The book?”
“Honestly, as soon as I read the first pages, I got it. I understood all of this had happened to lead us right here. It’s why Matt had to leave you, it’s why we needed to come to Italy. It’s what the universe wants for us, to finally write together. Like we should have been doing this whole time.”
My world is slowly tilting on its axis, but Chess keeps going, pacing around the room. “I can’t write these self-help books forever, Em. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. Do you know how boring it is to come up with mantras? Do you know how fucking sick I am of lemon water? I don’t even like lemons, Em. And there’s no future in this. The only way this ends is with me streaming my vagina on Facebook Live, or being canceled for making one fucking misstep, and I want something better than that.”
She stops in front of me. “You’re a great writer, Em. Better than you know. Those cozies aren’t setting the world on fire or anything, but that’s just because you’ve been too scared to do anything but play it safe. You’re great. Honestly. And I want you with me. I want us to write together.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have slept with my husband,” I reply, my voice flat, but Chess is, as always, unfazed.
“Haven’t you been listening? That was part of this journey, Em. It was an ugly part, and I’m so sorry I did it, but without it, who knows what might have happened? Maybe Matt would have actually fucked with your birth control. You might have gotten pregnant and felt a whole lot more trapped in a marriage that was slowly killing you. You might have gotten even sicker. In a way, that one stupid afternoon is the best thing that ever happened to you. To us.”
“That’s … actually fucking nuts, Chess,” I say, but she only smiles at me, that beatific smile that has gotten so many women to download her app, even though it costs fifteen dollars a month and is just the same shit she puts on Instagram, slightly repurposed as “Your Daily Chess Move! ”
“I told you, stupid,” she says, touching her finger to the tip of my nose. “It’s fucking love,” she says. “You’re my best friend, Em. I did something that hurt you, but I promise, I’m going to make it up to you.” She leans in close, pressing her forehead to mine. “And, admit it. Admit that you never would’ve started that book without me. Admit that Matt leaving you and you deciding to come here with me and writing something that actually mattered to you has made your life better.”
I’m about to laugh at her, to tell her she’s so horribly wrong, but …
She’s not.
I am happier without Matt. I have loved writing this book about the villa more than I ever enjoyed the Petal Bloom books.
And, I realize, I like this story the best. The story where every mistake, every bad day, was leading me here.
Because the other story is that my husband, the man I thought I loved, was making me sick with his very presence. That he slept with my best friend. That the life I was so proud of was never actually real.
That the person closest to me in my life is lying and manipulating me.
I don’t want that to be the story. I can’t be that story. And after all I’ve been through, shouldn’t I get to decide how my story ends?
So I reach down and thread my fingers with hers, squeezing tight.
Chess squeezes back.
We sit like that for a long time. Then she sighs, and I watch as she unfastens the anklet, tossing it to the floor.
“You wanted me to notice it,” I say, looking at the piece of jewelry winking in the lamplight.
“I did,” Chess confirms. “And I gave you that bullshit line about my mom on the phone. The last time I talked to my mom it was to threaten her with legal action, for fuck’s sake.”
“Why not just come out and tell me?” I ask, and when she looks at me, I roll my eyes. “If you say something about ‘agency’ or ‘self-knowledge,’ I’ll tackle you again.”
“Then I guess I’ll be quiet,” she replies, making a gesture like she’s zipping her lips. She used to do that whenever I’d tell her a secret.
Chess and I, we have so many secrets.
“So, we’ll write the book?” she asks after a beat, and I think about Mari’s pages, hidden away.
The truth inside them.
Chess really does want to write this book with me, without even knowing just what a gold mine we’re actually sitting on. That means something. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it does.
And then I remember the secret I’m still keeping from her.
“Matt’s after my money,” I say, and her head snaps up.
“What?”
I nod. “He wants this massive cut of all things Petal Bloom, and he’s threatening to try for anything I write after that, too. Specifically, this book.”
“Fucking dick.”
“To be fair, you’re the one who told him about me writing it.”