44 Charles Street

“That’s a little harsh on both of you,” Avery said gently. She liked Todd. Just not for Francesca. She had never thought it was right, even in the beginning when they did. Avery had never thought he was interesting enough for her.

“Maybe it isn’t,” Francesca answered. “I don’t know what I want anymore. Arty, conservative, married, not married, living together, not. It’s all so goddamn complicated, and at this age everyone is damaged. They’ve all been screwed over by someone else, and so have I.” She was thinking of Chris when she said it. He readily admitted to being relationship-phobic, and she was beginning to feel that way too. “Maybe I’m too comfortable by myself now.” She’d been desperately lonely at first without Todd, but she wasn’t anymore. She liked doing what she wanted without having to consult anyone. “My roommates keep me company. I have Ian as the token child in my life, my artists to drive me nuts, they’re kind of like having permanent adolescents in your life. Why do I need a man?”

“When was the last time you had sex?” Avery asked her bluntly. “You might not want to give that up quite yet at thirty-five. It’s kind of nice.”

“Oh that.” Francesca grinned sheepishly. “I don’t even miss that anymore. I just turn it off.” It had been more than a year since she and Todd had stopped sleeping with each other, and having sex, before he left. “And I don’t have to shave my legs.”

“That’s attractive,” Avery teased her. She was worried about her. She seemed turned off, or shut down. It had taken her longer than expected to get over Todd, and it had obviously been a more traumatic disappointment than Avery thought it would be at first. But five years was a long time. And her struggle to keep the gallery and the house had been frightening for her.

“I do want to do some new things though. I’m going to Art Basel in Miami this year, just for the hell of it. I’m not showing there. And next summer I want to go someplace other than Maine. I had a great time, but it reminds me too much of Todd. They’re his friends, not mine. I don’t know, maybe Europe next year. But not with my mother,” she said, and Avery laughed. They both agreed that Thalia was high maintenance, and traveling with her would have been a nightmare for Francesca. “Maybe I’ll take a trip with Marya next year, if she’s not married by then,” Francesca said pensively. She loved talking to her stepmother. It gave her perspective about life, and she was so kind. She was a terrific friend.

“Is Marya getting married?” Avery looked surprised.

“She might. She hasn’t decided yet. She and Charles-Edouard are in love. He’s getting divorced.”

“That’s interesting. They’re terrific together. You know the old saying, there’s a lid for every pot. You just have to find yours.” The trouble was that Francesca wasn’t trying, and it wasn’t going to fall down the chimney in a white beard and red velvet suit into her arms. Avery remembered too easily all the men she had gone out with before Henry, the bad relationships she’d had, the disappointments, the heartbreaks, and the good relationships too. Avery hadn’t been desperate to get married either, but she did want to find the right man to spend time with. She never settled for less. It had taken her until she was fifty to find him, and the minute she met him, she knew Henry Thayer was it. That hadn’t happened to Francesca yet, and Avery hoped it wouldn’t take her as long. At least she was enjoying her life in the meantime. But Avery couldn’t decide if Francesca’s roommates were a good idea or not. They kind of blunted her hunger for meeting anyone, and it was too easy to just content herself with being with them, with no relationship in her life.

Her father came out of the barn that was his studio then, and smiled at both women as he put an arm around their shoulders. “How’s my favorite business partner?” he asked as he kissed his daughter. “Are we rich yet?”

“Maybe next year.” Francesca grinned. But the gallery was doing well. Better than it had the year before. Little by little, she was building the business, and it was making a small profit, more so than before, although not a big one yet. But it gave her hope. She was hanging in.

Before she left Connecticut after the weekend, Francesca promised to invite them for one of Charles-Edouard and Marya’s world-famous dinners, and her father was thrilled. He liked them both, although he had only met Marya twice, and Charles-Edouard once, but he thought he was a great guy. And he loved the Cuban cigars he had shared with him, even if Avery disapproved of their smoking.