Let's go.

Part 18: The Gallery

The living room begins to darken as the sunlight fades with the setting sun. I reach across my desk and turn on the lamp. It basks my desk in enough warm light so I can read the time on my wristwatch. The small watch face shows that it is almost 6 pm. Layne still isn't back from the city.

Ben picked him up early in the afternoon and when they left, I couldn't help but notice how their friendship already had the easy comfort that typically comes from years of knowing each other. Layne fits with my family, I thought to myself. And I am curious how he will react tonight. I haven't told him that Brooke is married to my cousin and that tonight isn't just about meeting an artist I think he should know--tonight he is meeting my chosen family with a couple of blood relatives thrown in the mix.

As I am sitting at my desk finishing my work, my phone rings. My stomach flips--a new trauma response to every ring since Jerry's deep drawl greeted me on the other end of the line. I rise from my desk and begrudgingly pad into the kitchen. I let the phone ring once more before answering hesitantly.

The voice on the other line is Brooke. She's apologizing and telling me that the young teenager who lives down the street from us and who usually watches the girls, was unavailable on such short notice. Brooke has two little girls aged seven and four. She asks if she can drop them off with me as she finalizes the party details at the gallery and I eagerly agree. I hang up the phone and rush to get ready for the evening before she arrives with the girls.

I dress in a dark navy silk blouse, a camel-colored suede skirt that falls past my knees, and knee-high leather boots in a rich mahogany. My outfit is a nod to the seventies, a deliberate fashion choice to match the gallery's aesthetic tonight.

While I'm swiping mascara on my lashes, my doorbell rings and I hear young voices calling my name through the door, accompanied by a flurry of excited giggles. I set the mascara down on the counter and rush to the front door.

I swing the door open dramatically and say in a cackling witch-like voice, "Who are these gremlins knocking on my door?"

My question is answered by squeals and more giggles. Annie, the eldest, is the first to squeeze past her mother and tightly embraces my hips with her strong little arms. Lily, the four-year-old, is quick to join and clenches her tiny hands in my skirt. I squat down to hug them tightly to me.

"We haven't seen you in over two weeks--we've missed you," Brooke says to me and a sly smile spreads across her face. I can tell that she is curious about this new man in my life who has kept me away. Brooke is my oldest friend. We have grown up together and I have always considered her my family, even before she married my cousin.

I grin at her and say, "I have missed you three too," then I tug on Annie's long dark braid. She smiles up at me showing a grin that is missing a front tooth. She reaches for me and returns a tug to my dark strands.

Annie and Lily have inherited the thick dark hair and green eyes from my family, rather than Brooke's beautiful, bright blonde hair and deep chocolate eyes. Brooke has a classic charm and an easy confidence. She is dressed in a light blue cashmere sweater and a pair of perfectly tailored palazzo trousers. She looks every inch the owner of a chic art gallery.

"I'm excited to meet him tonight," She says with a cheeky grin.

"Excited to meet who, Mommy?" Annie asks.

"Auntie has a special friend, honey," Brooke replies and winks at me knowingly.

My heart always warms when Brooke and the girls call me auntie--a term of endearment made even more special when bestowed by chosen family.

"Auntie, is it Santa?" Annie asks me, her tone serious and her eyes as large as saucers.

Brooke and I chuckle, and I reply, "No, honey he isn't Santa."