House of Beautiful Things
A Short Story
Welcome to Love + Travel, where new horizons are explored within and beyond.
Last week, I shared a glimpse into a cycle with I Lost My Name. You can also check out the entirety of my writing, here.
Yesterday, I went to a writers’ workshop hosted by
and facilitated by the lovely pairing of and .
It’s always such a privilege to connect with other writers, imagine new worlds, and see what comes up when challenged to think beyond the here and now. For one exercise, we were asked to list, rapid-fire style, the words that immediately come to mind when we think of ourselves.
What surprised me wasn’t the variety within the list, but the frequency with which the word “committed” rose to the surface. There are some weeks that the writing comes easier than others, but no matter what, I always leave my heart on the page. I always give effort. You, as a reader, deserve that. I, as a writer, owe you nothing less.
Cheers to a week ahead of doing our best.
R.
Sounds of jazz and clean up followed Cali into the hall bathroom. From the outside, the threshold blended seamlessly into its surroundings, concealing what was hidden within. Its beauty lay in the flush façade, escaping detection by those not in the know. Once inside, the passage was anything but discreet. Carved stone displaying spiraling vines and raised flowers complimented the exit. Before turning off the water and stepping back into the hallway, Cali eyed how the hard surface and soft imagery combined to create something unforgettable
“There you are. I was hoping you didn’t leave yet.”
Cali spun to see the evening’s host, Viv, turning the corner wearing a soft smile and a silk robe. She’d changed out of the dress she was wearing earlier that evening, and Cali smiled internally at the privilege of seeing Viv in this altered state.
“Not yet. I was just cleaning up.” She dabbed at the wet spot on her dress with one of the napkins stacked by the side of the sink. “Gravity loves to prove its worth when I’m eating chocolate and wearing light colors.” Her pale-yellow dress, damp from her efforts, was now canary at the sight of the offense, but better the dessert had fallen on her than anything of the host’s.
Viv’s home was casually luxurious in a way that made you want to touch everything and nothing at the same time. The space, a perfect reflection of its owner, was a smattering of art prints and comfortable fabrics. Cali had yet to see a set of matching lamps or two throw pillows that were the same. Everything looked as though it had a story to tell or was selected, as the jib door had been, for a story to be told about it. Guests’ eyes roamed gleefully over the many bright, textured, and inviting things. Where a home can be the site for concealing the more intimate parts of one’s life, Viv thought the opposite because guests dined under the watchful eye of a bare assed, life-size, portrait of her lying coyly in the sand. Everything seemed a discussion point that posed more questions than gave answers, like why an analogue clock was on the ceiling of the den and a coat rack, the kind resembling a bare tree branch, stood oddly in the middle of the hall. It was a place where anyone could find something to delight in, even a klutz who spilled chocolate mousse on themselves.
“The stain came out, and now I have a sunspot on my dress,” said Cali, trying to sound optimistic. She gave the fabric a final rub with the tissue before crumpling it into a ball. Viv extended her hand, taking the waste from Cali’s fist as they walked towards the sounds of running water and someone stacking plates. They stopped in the sitting area off to the side of the kitchen.
“Do you think it was karma?” Viv asked, nodding in the direction of the spot burning bright.
Cali slid into an armchair and replied, “What do you mean?”
“I heard you over dinner.” Viv’s robe split to the thigh as she settled onto the sofa, crossing her ankles on top of the coffee table. Her feet rested near a book Cali once saw in a museum. “You said, ‘Some people don’t deserve forgiveness, they should be reminded of their wrongdoing every chance they get.’ You felt it important for others to be marked, and then the same happened to you.”
Cali was stunned and, quite frankly, a little embarrassed. Between the spot on her lap and now this analysis, she felt exposed. “I didn’t see it that way.” She pulled the end of one of her braids between her fingers. “So, you believe in karma?” she asked.
“I believe each of us is an ocean,” Viv began, “And the powerful churning from within either delivers a lullaby to the world or drowns everything in its path. There’s no in-between. Energy sent to the shore comes back to the sea; I think the falling mousse was a wave returning home.”
Newly stirred, Cali replied: “That’s certainly one way to look at it.”
Viv shook the arms of her robe out gently to the side of her, like a heron drying its wings. The soft material fell without restriction as she looked over herself while doing so. Cali eyed her like one of the many precious things in the room.
The evening’s dinner party was a refined but intimate group of guests. The mutual friend that introduced Cali and Viv cancelled for lack of childcare which initially bummed Cali out. Being in someone’s space after only two occasions together seemed sudden, but now it revealed itself to be more than enough for them to flay her with their point of view. Cali thought being seated on the same side of the table with three guests between them would have removed her from earshot, but she was apparently wrong.
“How’d you hear me from halfway across the room?” she asked.
“I keep an ear open to the sounds I like,” Viv said plainly.
Before Cali could respond, the chef for the evening popped his head through the French doors separating the two spaces to say he was finishing up. His wife and two other dinner guests, who stood around the kitchen island for moral support while sipping wine, trailed behind him to say their goodbyes.
Cali remarked that the wife was lucky to be going home with such a wonderful cook. Viv encouraged the group to take whatever food or wine was left, much to their delight.
Before taking his leave, the chef entered the sitting room to say he’d be in touch.
Viv responded with “Oh, don’t bore me with your survey questions!” which drew a laugh from Cali. “The feedback is always the same. Tonight was excellent.”
He turned to exit, and she called behind him, “But do put some water on for me, please, before you go!”
She looked towards Cali, “Do you want anything?”, who responded no with a quick wave of the hand.
The chef said, “Sure,” then added, “And no need walking me out, I know my way.”
Viv’s complacency on the couch offered no indication that she intended to do so. She ended their exchange with “Have a good night!”
The jazz music ended abruptly, followed by the shutting of the front door moments later. The apartment was mostly silent except for the sounds of the city below penetrating the windows.
Cali spoke first, “I didn’t realize he created the vibe too.”
“Yeah,” Viv chuckled and pulled her legs onto the sofa and crossed them underneath her. “He has a wonderful team that curates the whole evening.”
As if on command, the lighting throughout the house changed. From her seat, Cali could see straight down the hall from which they came. A lamp nestled within a bookshelf at the end of the path now cast the coat rack in a dim red light and still gave no sign a bathroom lay within its walls. The chandelier over their heads turned amber.
“Timers.” Viv coolly said, “Which means my evening is coming to a close.”
“Oh, should I get going? Did I miss a hint somewhere?” Cali looked genuinely concerned.
“No,” Viv said with a laugh, “I’m enjoying our time together. The moon will let you know when it’s time,” she replied while gesturing to a replica of the lunar surface on a console across from them.
Cali brought her eyebrows together in a confused look. “Are you going to turn into a werewolf or something?”
“No, but I do shed my skin,” Viv grinned.
Cali laughed, “Got it! Not weird at all.”
They both shifted in their seats. An ambulance passed somewhere in the distance
“You know, I can relate to your hesitation to forgive.” Viv planted one leg on the floor and then crossed the other on top of it.
“Yeah?” Cali replied quietly. She rubbed her thumb over the piping on the chair’s arm.
“Forgiveness can feel like the betrayal of a former self. Like we’re willingly putting down what another version of us had to clutch against their chest while escaping a minefield.”
Cali let the words wash over her.
Viv continued, “Letting go, even of something unhelpful, can feel like the unprotecting of a precious thing.”
“Exactly!” Cali exclaimed. She looked towards a window with its shimming expanse in the background. “Forgiving feels like letting my guard down. I’d be unprepared for another attack.”
“That’s the thing! Life isn’t meant to be a battle. Trust me, I get it! It took me a long time to reshape my environment and even longer to reshape my mind for safety. Lots of tears, but it was worth it.” Viv placed her hand on her heart. “You deserve to be free of hypervigilance. You deserve a life where you aren’t suspicious all the time.”
Cali nodded. “What I hear you saying is – now that I’ve internalized my self-worth, I don’t need to carry around a sword defending it.”
“And that’s exactly what forgiveness is! Letting go of a weight we’ve been carrying,” Viv replied softly. “Pain,” She nodded and looked out beyond the space they shared together, “It leaves a residue.” Feeling as though the point landed, and sensing the heaviness of the room, she shifted to a cheerier topic
“Kind of like what my lipstick did to your blunt,” she smirked referencing the first time they met.
“You said it was matte!” Cali feigned outrage. “If I would have known I wouldn’t have shared!”
A hollow whistle emerged from the kitchen – the chef’s parting gift.
“You know,” Viv began in a playful voice, “It’s almost like we kissed.”
“Viv,” Cali peered at her through her lashes. “That doesn’t compare at all to the way I kiss.”
“Oh yeah?” Viv shot back while walking towards the kitchen. “Well, now I’m intrigued!”
She silenced the whistling with a turn of the burner’s knob then pulled a mug from the cabinet to the side of the stove. Viv stood at the island, in the center of the kitchen with the kettle, a bright red fuming rooster in one hand and a cup shaped like a chick in the other.
“Have a slice of cake with me.” She threw the non-question over her shoulder to which Cali replied, “Why not?”
In the framing of the kitchen’s parted doors, holding ceramic farm animals amongst brass kitchen fixtures, Viv was a picture of elegance and eccentricity. She crossed back into the sitting room and placed the teacup and a slice of cake big enough for three on the coffee table of beautiful things.
“Aren’t these so cute?” Viv asked, pointing to the spoons shaped like miniature shovels sharing the plate.
“Adorable. Why didn’t you bust these out for dinner? They would’ve been a hit.”
“Nah, they’re for making the everyday special.”
“Everyday special? A bit of an oxymoron, don't you think?
“Being alone together is an oxymoron, too,” Viv uttered with the slightest tilt of the head. “Don’t you think?”
Heartbeats filled the silence between them.
Cali didn’t know what to make of the comment but enjoyed the ease of their back and forth. She decided to deflect and instead respond with a question of her own, one that was heavy on her mind.
“Why do you have a clock on the ceiling of your den?”
“I like to lie on the floor. It helps me reset.”
Once again, as if Viv’s décor was listening in on their conversation, the moon erupted into the sounds of a cuckoo clock. A small bird in an astronaut helmet emerged from the top and did a circle above the surface before tucking back inside as if nothing happened at all.
Cali, amused, turned to Viv and said, “Girl, that’s so weird!”
“I told you the moon would let you know,” Viv smiled knowingly. She stood and stretched a bit, letting out a sigh while clasping her hands overhead. Upon reflex, Cali stood as well. Viv pulled her into an embrace and said, “That’s all for me, my Cal, but please, stay and enjoy the cake.” Viv caught one of Cali’s hands before it returned to her side and held it between her palms. She looked her in the eye and said, “This was fun. Let’s get together again soon.”
Cali remained standing, unsure of what to do next as Viv started down the hallway awash in red light. “You don’t want your tea?” Cali asked, trying to salvage the moment before the space bird made its appearance.
“Nah, it’s too hot.”
As Viv approached the rack, she rolled back her shoulders, allowing the robe to fall off her naked body as she rested it on a twig, the lamp silhouetting her retreat. Before turning the corner, she paused and looked towards the sitting room and said,
“You can let yourself out once you're done.” Her voice was followed by the shutting of a door.
Convinced this was a rouse or some kind of test, Cali sat back down to see if Viv would emerge once again. After the first minute, she took a bite of cake; after the third, she lifted the tea to her lips. Around the six-minute mark she decided this situation she found herself in was right up the alley of a woman who offers guests an eyeful of her butt cheeks over dinner. Upon finishing the cake she never asked for, Cali washed her plate, stacked it neatly beside the sink, and left wondering if their shared evening was another oddity in a house of beautiful things.
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TODAY’S TIDBIT
Amy Sherald: American Sublime has arrived at The Whitney Museum and will be on display until August 10th, 2025.
In this exhibition, Sherald paints subjects in her iconic grisaille - shades of grey - to decenter race as the defining element of identity. I, for one, can’t wait to see the viral portraits of Breonna Taylor and First Lady Michelle Obama.
COMMUNITY CORNER
🧊 In this tale of numbness, ice serves as a location and way of being.
’s We Are Not The Same in Snow is hauntingly beautiful.🎨
dropped a reminder that we are both the artist and the paintbrush. Self (Generated) Love hooked me from the very first line.😒 The game changes when we are motivated by love. And yet, I understand Writing from Bitterness because for a long time I was living out of spite.
, this resonates.LET ME KNOW
Was the tension between these two palpable?
How did you think the story would end?
Do you prefer to host or be a guest at a dinner party?
Thoughts on forgiveness? Has it ever felt like self-betrayal?
Marvelous pieces. What I adored most was the language and tension between Cali’s disguised feelings of pain, resentment, and apprehension. Untoward forgiveness when the chocolate mousse stained her vanilla dress. And she was called out by her previous comment as Viv reminds her,
“some people don't deserve forgiveness, they should be reminded of their wrongdoing every chance. You felt it important for others to be marked and then the same happened to you.”
It seemed like Cali’s entitled evening was a divine intervention by an elegant and eccentric woman called to remind her of the definition of avoidant forgiveness
“Do you think it's Karma?”
“What do you mean?”
Cali didn't think this far in reverse until she was flayed by the wisdom of Viv
“Energy sent to the shore comes back to the sea; I think the falling mousse was a wave returning.”
The language was rich, too, and profound in The House Of Beautiful things such as,
• “…privilege of seeing Viv in this altered state
• Gravity loves to prove its worth when I’m eating chocolate and wearing light colors
• “…even the klutz who spilled chocolate mousse on themselves.”
• “Enough to clay her with their point of view.”
Last but not least,
• “It’s the beauty laying in flush façade, escaping detection by those not in the know.”
She alluded by dressing down with the writer’s symbolism indicative to challenge her apprehension eyeball to eyeball.
In closing, The mission of The House Of Beautiful was to clarify Cali’s pain and define the character of her forgiveness.
“Energy sent to the shore comes back to the sea”
*Finger snaps*
You cooked with this one!
I want more.