20- I'll wait for you tonight

"Dad?" - I hope I get good news from him right now, but it's so utopian that I laugh at the thought, as I look around to make sure I don't kill the pigeons of Foley Square with my car.

"Valerie, I'm busy this weekend." - he says all in one breath, making me frown, not understanding why he felt the need to tell me, but I open my eyes when I remember the dinner to which he invited Ethan to get to know him better.

"Perfect!" - I exclaim enthusiastically, but at the same time trying to hide the euphoria of the moment, but I realize it was too wonderful to be true when he starts talking again:

"I'll wait for you tonight." - he says with the same neutral tone and authoritarian at the same time, while my expression goes from electrified to perplexed:

«What?!» - I can't hold back my anger and I start complaining in vain:

«We can't. Ethan works late. "- I find the first excuse that comes to my mind, but he cuts me off before I can finish speaking:

«His NE-Museum closes at six in the afternoon, Valerie.» - he observes, and I can imagine his satisfied expression at this moment, while I mentally curse him and the research he has surely already done on Ethan.

I close the phone in order not to let my father hear the cry of agony coming from my lips, taking advantage of the fact that the windows are closed and no one can hear me, as I hurry to look for the address of Ethan's museum.

NE-Museum.

I try to remember my father's words, so I take a different street when I realize that the museum is not very far from here.

It is already five in the afternoon and I have neither Ethan's number nor time to wait for him at home to convince him, but I know I will need more than a fake tender expression to make him decide to accompany me tonight.

I've been able to avoid him in the last couple of days as he has avoided me, making me understand that he hasn't forgotten my gesture and is mad at me to the point of not speaking to me, but after Meredith's confession I can't look him in the eye for how disgusting his attitude is.

But now I'm forced to beg him to pretend in front of my father.

I press my lips in a hard line in anger, then slap a curly lock that ends up in front of my eyes as soon as I stop in front of the giant glass structure, but, before I regret having made it this far, I get out of the car in a hurry and I slam the door loudly, attracting the attention of some passers-by.

I don't know if I'll be able to look him straight in the eye and ask him to go to my dad for dinner or threaten him not to touch my best friend again.

I would have laughed in the face of anyone who had told me that one day I would have as a roommate an unemotional whorehouse who treats women as if they were all prostitutes at his disposal.

I pretend a forced smile when I enter the sliding front door, even if more than a smile I get a deformed grimace.

I frantically look around for some employee who can tell me where that bastard's office is, but the entrance hall is full of empty chairs, so I advance to the giant central space as soon as 'For further infirmation' grabs my attention.

"I'm looking for the director of the museum." - I ask in a tone as kind as possible, to which the woman on the other side of the small window responds by giving me a long look from head to toe, then nods slowly and grabs a phone between her fingers.

«Valerie is looking for him.» - I add immediately afterwards, and then turn my back on her and wait for her to draw my attention.

As soon as my eyes land on the walls that surround me I hold my breath, and then close my eyes when my attention is captured by the largest of the countless paintings that surround me.

I glance quickly at the receptionist, who is still waiting for the first ring, then I take the opportunity to turn my back to her again and let myself be dragged from my feet to the nearest painting.

I scrutinize it carefully with my eyes, as if it could help me understand what the artist meant, but it is not difficult to notice the tiredness that marks the face of the painted man, as he holds a black blanket in his arms.

Before I even understand the message of the first, my eyes fall on the nearest painting, this time so colorful that it seems to explode with joy, even if the subject is a rusty gun.

With my lips parted in surprise and slightly calmer than before I take further steps forward, noting that this is the first time I have entered a museum, even though I have enjoyed drawing mundane faces of women that I imagine have my mother's face.

I started sketching the first drawings in my diary, but when I realized I didn't want to write anymore, I decided to vent my anger with a pencil.

"Um ... Lady?" - the thin voice of the woman behind me forces me to return to reality, so I turn my heels to hurry in her direction:

"Ethan Johnson left the museum less than half an hour ago." - she makes me understand in a monotonous tone, but I'm so busy cursing him mentally that I leave the room without saying goodbye, arriving back to my car with the hope to find him at home.

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