“What’s the difference to you?” She propped her elbows on the table and came closer, squinting me over. “What makes someone an artist versus a painter or a musician?”
“The product,” I said. “I paint because I like painting. It’s funny to make weird shit. But when you play, there’s passion and fury and heartache behind it. When you’re up there, you’re like a piece of art yourself. When I’m painting, I’m just thinking, ‘how can I make this the weirdest, coolest thing anyone has ever seen?’”
“Humor might not be an emotion, but the joy it provokes is.” She laid her arms on the Formica and interlocked her fingers, smiling. “We have different styles with our art, but that doesn’t make yours any less legitimate than mine. Just like a screamo band, or a country band, or a pop singer. They aren’t any less of artists just because we produce different kinds of music.”
“We’re gonna have to agree to disagree.” Raising my arms at my sides in surrender, I shrugged. “When art becomes nothing more than a product like it is for pop singers, I don’t see it as art anymore.”
“Now the commercialization of art, that’s another conversation. One that I can talk about for hours.” Gwen sat up, tucking one of her legs under the other. “But that’s not the conversation we’re having. You don’t even sell your art. It’s for fun, for entertainment, and for laughs. Mine is for relaxation and peace. Both are art.”
I just waved her off.
“Don’t dismiss me.” Mouth falling open, a smile played at the corners of her lips. “You know what? I don’t even think it’s about your definition of what art is and isn’t.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“And what is it then?”
“Self-esteem issues,” she said, nodding quickly. “It’s typical among men like you, you know.”
“Alright.” I reached for a napkin at the edge of the table and patted it against the corners of my eyes. “I’m ready for your daily dose of emasculation.”
“Actually, I’m trying to do the opposite.” She studied me carefully. “You were the weird kid in school. You outgrew it, but in your head, you’re still the awkward nerd. So now, you have chronically low confidence.”
That wasn’t where my self-loathing came from. But I’d entertain it. “Do I?”
“You do.” A curt nod. “You disguise it with sarcasm, but I guess as your… I don’t know, whatever I am, it’s my job to compliment you. So don’t argue with me when I tell you that you’re an amazing artist, because you are.”
Her admiration had my chest warming more than the coffee in my hands ever could. Of course, I would never say that aloud. Why? Well, I didn’t know. Rhiannon would probably have a good answer if I asked.
“That sure was a bossy way to give a compliment,” I said.
“Never claimed to be passive.”
“I could say the same thing about you.” I narrowed my gaze the same way she had hers. “Maybe your sarcasm is a disguise for your low self-esteem.”
“Oh, no. It’s not my low self-esteem.” Gwen shook her head, tone still playful. “It’s a defense mechanism because I’m afraid of letting anyone in. In Rhiannon’s expert opinion, anyway.”
I had said it to poke fun. Because that was how the two of us communicated. We teased and bickered. It was the root of our friendship. But I didn’t believe her self-esteem was low. Gwen had a robust sense of confidence. I envied it.
“That one checks out,” I said.
But she had nothing to be afraid of.
I would cut off my own hand before I dare raise it at any woman, let alone Gwen. If that was what she was afraid of, if shefeared that I was putting on a show, and one day, my true colors would too closely resemble her ex-husband’s, she didn’t need to be afraid. This brash, sarcastic asshole was me.
I was no sheep in wolf’s clothing. What you saw with me was what you got. Beneath the rough exterior, yes, I was a humanitarian. But I was, in fact, the brash, sarcastic asshole I showed to the world. That was me. I was more than that, just as everyone was more than one thing, but this was no façade.
Maybe that wasn’t what she feared.
“Why do you think that is?” I asked.
Confused, Gwen asked, “Why do I think what is?”
“Why are you afraid of letting anyone in?”
Something between a scoff and a laugh escaped her. “Why is anyone afraid of letting people in?”
