All Damn Day | Post Malone

Chapter 19

Sophie

Three swift knocks on the door break her eyes from his, and she reluctantly steps down from her stool to cross the short distance to the door. Her steps feel rigid on the vinyl floor, like she's walking on a very shaky plank overlooking shark-infested waters. She's not completely sure why–this whole thing was Cathy's idea to begin with, so it's not like she'd be upset about it. But it still feels like something she wants to keep private, like there's something fragile here that she needs to protect. It's not as cut and dry as she'd expected–not with all these confusing, conflicting feelings–and she supposes she just wants the breathing room to figure them out before inviting in another opinion.

"Hi Cathy," she says once she's opened the door, seeing Cathy standing on the small porch step with her work bag on her shoulder.

"Hey, sweetie," her mentor says, silver bangles on her wrist jingling together as she adjusts the strap of her tote bag. She's wearing sunglasses, unfortunately, so Sophie can't see her eyes. It's an obstacle she finds particularly inconvenient at the moment, because now she doesn't have the guide of her eyes to prepare her for whatever it is Cathy will say. "How ya feelin'?"

"Better, thank you," Sophie says quietly, her hand still wrapped around the door handle. She pushes an escaped strand of hair behind her ear–her curtain bangs weren't quite long enough yet to stay put, to her slight annoyance. "How did the shoot go today? I hope I didn't make too much of a mess of things." It's not until after the words leave her mouth that she realizes the double meaning they could hold, and she wonders if he can hear their conversation. Probably, he can. The space isn't really big enough for privacy, but the layout is situated in a way that Cathy hasn't been able to spot him sitting at the island yet, which Sophie is immensely grateful for.

Until Cathy steps through the doorway.

She doesn't know how it happens. One second Cathy is in the sun standing on concrete and the next her heeled boots are clicking on the shaded hardwood of the guest house.

"It went great. The photographer wasn't pretentious for once. And don't worry about it, honey. You know I'm a tough old broad by no—" her words stop mid sentence, and Sophie's eyes fall closed, all the air leaving her body in a single, resigned breath.

She closes the door, the soft click of the latch seeming too loud to her in the sudden absence of Cathy's voice. It's all of a two second pause, probably, but it seems like an eternity before Cathy speaks again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."

Sophie panics, spinning around to face Cathy with wide eyes and flaming cheeks, her arms pressed tightly between her back and the door. Her hand is gripped around the door handle so tight she thinks she might have a permanent imprint of it on her palm now.

"I don't have company," she says quickly, her voice too high pitched to be believed. It's also a blatant lie, in a way, but very very true in the way she means it.

Cathy looks at her over her shoulder, raising a suspecting eyebrow in her direction, and Sophie can practically hear what she's thinking.

She clears her throat, trying to calm herself down enough to speak normally. "I mean I do, obviously, but I don't," she stumbles out. "Not company, company."

The older woman just keeps staring, her dangly silver earrings glinting in the sunbeam that's streaming through the windows, and Sophie doesn't like the suspicion she sees there.

That suspicion is correct, obviously. But still.

Sophie feels frozen—which is strange, since she can feel her cheeks blazing—and she can't figure out what to say. It's like her brain has stopped working, and either Cathy senses this or there is a God somewhere because with one final look, she's released from Cathy's scrutiny.