Yeah, he’d lean into that.
He turned back to the positive—his work, one he loved. His offer for the property in the FirstArrondissementhad been accepted. His new restaurant with Chef Marcel was officially a go.
His work plans were progressing, and with a smile on his face, he decided to take a peek at a major item in his Operation Madison planning. He left his office and walked over to the new dance space in the house, situated in the former second salon, wanting to surround himself with thoughts of him and Madison. The contractor had finished installing the sound system, lights, and bar. Thankfully, she didn’t spend time in that part of the house, so she hadn’t suspected anything. Brooke had arrived with the items they’d agreed upon yesterday, and the space looked like something straight out of Little Havana.
He couldn’t wait to unveil it with her.
But since he wanted to see a friend—and he couldn’t bother his best one at work—he decided to seek Sawyer out.
Sawyer, he knew, would understand, having just gone through something similar.
Doc answered his knock with a mumble, blue paint brushed across his chin like he’d put his hand to his mouth in thought. He wore a white smock that looked like a Jackson Pollock exhibition and held his paintbrush and a palette with dark blue and white paint on it. “What?”
He coughed out a laugh. “You’re sounding more like Madison when you work. I thought I’d swing by to say hi.” He paused before adding, “I think I just ended the relationship with my parents.”
His friend’s entire frame straightened, his paintbrush sliding across the palette in a streak of white. “Well…that’s monumental. Come in.”
“You weren’t going to let me come in before I told you that, were you?” he joked, strolling into theatelierhe’dcreated with Sawyer in mind. “By the way, I figured out a way to give you a private entrance to your studio so you don’t have to walk through the house. It’s actually building off an idea Axel had for the restaurant. I know how much you love it here. I don’t want you to have to go.”
Because he was family…
Sawyer was putting the palette down on another messy work desk and grabbing a well-worn paint rag to clean his hands. “You can tell me about that later. Let’s talk about your parents. What happened?”
“I decided to follow my own advice.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and ambled around the room. “The one I gave you about your parents not too long ago…”
With the light streaming in through the skylights and the blue sky of Paris above, he walked his friend through the events and the texts and the relief he was now feeling.
“Am I wrong to feel so good?” he finally asked, holding his friend’s thoughtful gaze.
Sawyer sighed. “Phoebe and I have talked about this subject from every angle, as she’s been going through the same thing with her mother.”
“Except her mother tried to ruin her dreams,” Kyle observed. “Mine were more like your parents, your mother especially. They thought they were entitled to enjoy my fame.”
Sawyer pushed his gold spectacles up his nose. “Standing up for our right to choose how we want to live our lives and who we want to live them with is the greatest gift we can give ourselves. I realized I’d always been attracted to the Age of Enlightenment because one of its tenets is about using reason and respecting choice.”
Leave it to Doc to bring the conversation back to philosophy. “So what quote has best helped you in all of this searching?”
Sawyer’s mouth tipped to the right. “It’s from a psychiatrist,of course.The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of its parents.Carl Jung.”
He tucked his hands in his pockets as he recalled all the parties his mother threw. She was always seeking acclaim and attention; likewise, his father wanted to be respected and accepted as one of the guys. His parents shared a desire to be with the in-crowd. Was he now doing something they wished they had? Or was it that he’d reached a higher level of success than they ever had, and now they wanted to grab some of it for themselves? Perhaps they saw it as their due as his parents. God, he didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t need to understand.
He nodded, still lost in thought, then said, “Both of my parents have always craved attention. Maybe that’s the thread that keeps them together. I’ve never thought it was love. Theirs was some kind of pact about maintaining a certain status and lifestyle.”
As he finished, he realized his voice had gone cold. That’s the way they made him feel: cold and undernourished. Maybe that’s why he’d wanted to work on hotels and restaurants. He’d liked creating places where people could feel welcome and enjoy themselves while feeding a deep human need, one of eating. He worked with people who made an art form out of it. Madison came to mind, and he smiled.
Sawyer walked over until he was standing in front of him, a soft smile on his face. “We can speculate on what that part of an unlived life is for them, but can we ever truly know? I suppose it comes down to the individual in question having a sense of self and loving it. Had my mother loved herself, could she then love me? Who was made supposedly in her image, to her mind?”
He blew out a breath. “Deep thoughts like usual, Doc. Thanks for sharing them. There aren’t too many people you can talk to about something like this. I suppose I wanted to make sense of it so I could move past it. I don’t like to let badfeelings linger. There are too many good things in life to enjoy. You and all our friends are top of the list.”
“Madison as well, I imagine.” He gestured to a blank canvas in the corner. “She’s taking shape slowly for me, but once I understand her better, I’m going to get moving. Seeing you together at Brooke and Axel’s for Sunday dinner helped inspire me. You’re right. When she looks at you, love shines through her gold eyes. I finally captured the colors. They turn from a platinum gold—her usual cool and collected regard—to a beautiful, light warm gold.”
His throat thickened. “Doc, you have a gift. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you aren’t a master. I can’t wait to see how you capture her.”
“We’re beginning soon.” He turned to the canvas again. “Feel better?”
“Yeah, I do.” In fact, he could feel happiness spreading inside him as a smile formed on his face. “Talking with friends and about the woman I love has a positive effect on me. Thanks.”
“Good.” He picked up his palette. “Now, I’d like to paint the outline of her if you don’t mind. Our conversation inspired me.”
