Page 36 of Xavier

Eight

Her

Present Day

I was eight years old the first time I realized I loved color. I loved the way the world was essentially just blocks and lines and dots and endless permutations of different colors. Colors shaped our feelings, our behavior, the way we tasted food, the way we heard music.

My mother once served me a slice of ham and pineapple pizza and I refused to eat it because it lacked the speck of black that olives made when scattered over a slice of supreme. Even before I took a bite, I knew it would not have that flavor, what the black represented. That's when I knew my relationship with color was more than just through sight.

Unfortunately, it was also around the time that I realized I could not draw. While even the most simplistic drawings of my classmates would be obvious representations of houses and gardens and their pets, I couldn't put pencil to paper to draw what I saw in my head.

So I gave up the dream of being an artist, and doggedly pursued my love of dance instead.

But I never, ever, not for a second, gave up my love affair with color, or the joy that the perfect shade of yellow on spring’s first daffodils could bring me, or the way the rain would intermittently wash out the world and coated it in shades of grey and sadness.

But it wasn't until that day, that day standing in front of the paint swatch wall at Home Depot with Xavier, did I ever think that I could make something with my obsession. I had never thought that there was any room for me in the world as an artist, but that day he awakened something within me.

I pull the crumpled envelope out of my pocket, remembering the first time he returned it to me, pushing it into my hand almost twelve years ago.

How we've changed since then.

He looks almost nothing like the thin, lanky, shy but intense boy from back then; his too long bangs hanging way below his forehead, trying to stay hidden from the world.

But his eyes.

Nothing has changed there.

They're still the same deep, dark green that draws the truth out of me with just a glance.

I wonder what I look like to him. Am I what he thought I'd look like at this age? Is he disappointed with how my body has changed?

And would I react the same way, if he touched me like he did back then?

I push the breath from my lungs, and with it, the thoughts of our past. Whatever he was back then, he's different now.

Hard. Both in body and mind.

"I paid for you, you're mine," I can hear him say from our meeting earlier today, confident, in charge. 18-year-old Xavier would never have said such a thing. I guess I’m not the only one who has left that person behind.

“Hey, Isa, I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Cameron says as he walks past my open office door.

I tuck the envelope into my top drawer and wave to my business partner.

“Yeah, the, er, the meeting was quick.” I say, pushing the actual details of the meeting away.

“I brought you lunch from Donnini’s. I thought you might not have had time to eat.” He lays the small container on my desk.

I thank him for his thoughtful gesture with a smile. Not for the first time, I wonder where I’d be if not for Cam. Not here, that’s for sure. But just how much worse off, I don’t even want to wonder. His natural business acumen melds perfectly with my desire to just stick to the creative side and work with our customers. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s ever considered us in a romantic sense, or if he just knows that I never have and never will think of him in that way. The revolving door of women in and out of his office at all times of the day certainly doesn’t scream ‘pining for me,’ that’s for sure.

"How did your meeting go with Ash?" he asks through a mouthful of salad while sinking into the sofa opposite my desk.

"It was fine. Early days there, they still have a bunch of construction to do before it's anywhere near time for us to come in. But I wanted to go in and get a feel for it."

Cameron nods and takes a drink from his water tumbler. "Who did you meet with? Jade? Or the charity director?"

I take a breath, trying to keep my voice light. "Er, no. Not today. I met with their lawyer." I stop short of saying his name.

"Oh, the guy who bid on you on the auction? What's his name again?"