Kathleen stared at the phone, then set it down carefully on the counter. She knew what she wanted from the night and she hoped Veronica would be agreeable.
The moment she stepped out of the cab, she spotted Veronica waiting near the entrance. The woman looked effortless in black, her posture relaxed, the line of her dress clean and graceful without drawing attention to itself. She was like someone who always knew what to do with her hands.
Kathleen’s stomach fluttered.
Veronica smiled. “You look beautiful.”
Kathleen blushed, unsure what to do with the compliment except file it away and pretend it hadn’t unbalanced her. “Thank you for coming.”
“My pleasure.” Veronica offered her arm, and Kathleen hesitated for a second before taking it.
Inside, the gallery was already half full. Modern art hung on white walls—abstract angles, explosive colours. Some pieces hurt her eyes while others confused her.
An older woman in a cloud of perfume swept up to her. “Kathleen!” There were air kisses and then an assessing look at Veronica. “And who is this?”
Veronica extended her hand with grace. “Veronica.”
“Friend from work?” the woman asked.
“Um… yes,” Kathleen said, because anything else was too hard to explain.
“Lovely. Have a good time, dear.”
As the woman drifted away, Veronica raised an eyebrow.
“She’s a friend of my mother’s,” Kathleen muttered.
Veronica didn’t comment, instead turned her attention to a large painting. “What do you think it is?”
Kathleen studied it. “It looks like clothes in a washing machine.”
Veronica tilted her head. “You reckon?”
Kathleen giggled. It wasn’t something she did often, but it surprised them both.
The night went slowly. The jazz trio played in the background and Natalie Carson floated from group to group wearing a silk dress and confidence.
Kathleen kept trying to hold herself together. She knew her expression had flattened. Knew her shoulders were too high. But each time someone asked about her work, she felt her edges fray.
Veronica noticed every time.
When someone pushed too hard, she stepped in. When a drunk man started rambling about government grants, Veronica inserted herself between them and spoke in a tone so firm the man backed off mid-sentence.
Kathleen could breathe again.
Later, she murmured, “I hate these functions.”
“You’re doing fine,” Veronica said. “You don’t have to be the most interesting person in the room.”
“I don’t want to be,” she said honestly. “I want to survive the next hour.”
“Stick with me. We’ll do it together.”
They made it through the rest of the evening without incident. Kathleen gradually relaxed. She found herself laughing, listening to Veronica instead of bracing for what might come next.
Natalie eventually found them, babbling about “light against resistance.” Kathleen introduced Veronica as a friend. That was the easiest.
“You’re a sly dog,” Natalie whispered, jabbing her in the ribs.
