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And you too.
It was kind of hard not to see the similarities on the daily, in this house and in this life. Ramses and Brielle were still giving me space, time, but they didn’t have to do much to make me feel like I fit in here. We all just had such similar interests. Ramses and Brielle were runners too, and though I clearly didn’t have that gene, it might be something I could get into.
Apparently, I had the genetics.
“This is so cool,” I said, and he smiled. I looked at him. “I thought you were more into metal pieces, though.”
His studio was filled with sculptures, and he noticed me looking at them.
“Usually, yeah.” His brush glided along the canvas, full and sweeping. He was so good at skies, and I found that crazy since Ares and I liked to paint the sky too, the world and the universe. He shrugged. “My mind is just taking me here these days. It’s hard to fight it when inspiration comes.”
He smiled after he said it, and it seemed a lot of inspiration had hit him. He had new pieces all over the room, more sunsets. More skies. None of these things had been here the first time I’d been in here.
I wonder what changed.
Wells had alluded that Ramses had some kind of block that had kept him from creating new work in here. He’d said life had gotten in the way.
I sipped my milk. I had my own life changes, my own struggles that had gotten in the way. Things, at least these days, were feeling more like Ramses’s skies. The sun was bright, the world better.
“So, my godson’s parents have been missing him,” Ramses continued, painting. “Was thinking about suggesting to them Dorian spend more time over there. More specifically, in the evenings and at home in his own space for the night.”
I froze, clenching around my milk.
“So he will be doing that, I think.” Ramses nodded, his strokes not missing a beat. “Going home each night and being in his own space.”
Oh my fucking God.
“And don’t worry. I’ll talk to him about that,” Ramses said, a smile in his voice when he wheeled back on his stool from the canvas. “Love my godkid. Adore him, but he’ll know all about that. Like I said, his parents have been missing him anyway.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I…”
“Mmm.” Ramses waved a hand, this conversation clearly as awkward for him as it was for me. “Like I said, I’ll handle it, but when he does come back, we should probably all have a talk. We can keep Royal and December out of this, and whatever rules they establish at their house Brielle and I will leave them to figure out.” He faced me. “But here, we all will have an understanding. I’m not dumb. I know you kids are eighteen and almost on your way out, but yeah…”
He didn’t have to go on, and I waved my hands.
He seemed relieved by this, wheeling back to the painting. This was definitely as awkward for him as it was for me, and I totally wasn’t used to having parents around. I mean, I hadn’t really.
It was different. It was awkward but in a weird way, it was kind of nice.
Mostly because it was normal.
Ramses continued to paint for a while, and I watched him in silence. He knew I enjoyed art as well. It came up quite a bit at the dinner table, and of course, Ramses and Brielle knew I’d helped Ares with his senior project. Ramses had even come by the school to see it, which had been cool. He was actually really prolific in the art community, and that was something that had definitely come up while in my previous seclusion.
I’d researched all about him before I’d met him, Brielle too. I just wanted to know them, but with all my searches, all my facts, it could only give me a snapshot. Knowing them was actually getting to know them and being with them. They were these awkward normal moments.
They were painted sunsets and amber skies.
“Uh, before I forget,” Ramses paused, wheeling back. He used a long reach to grab something from his desk, and when he came back, he gave me an envelope.
I nearly dropped it upon seeing what was inside.
“Bocelli tickets?” I gasped, and Ramses chuckled. I pulled them out. “Are these real?”
“Very much so, yeah.” Ramses cocked his head. “We’re hosting him at one of our Chicago galleries.”
I knew Ramses had a few, but this was fucking Bocelli. The dude was like the Van Gogh of this century, and people just didn’t get tickets to things like this. I pulled a veil of hair out of my face. “These are like auction only, right?”
And had to cost him like a million dollars. Tickets to see Bocelli’s work were always done through auction, and the artist always donated the proceeds to local art programs. Whatever city he happened to show at actually.
