Page 22 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

Chapter12

Tristan

Late Sunday afternoon

I always keptmy coffee shop closed on Sundays, and that would be the day I spent with Carlos. We’d visit galleries, grab lunch, talk about our latest projects and strategize over how we could break into the world of mainstream art.

On one of those Sundays, Carlos pulled me aside and told me the ArtBox needed a teacher for their six-week oil painting course. I wasn’t a veteran of using oil paint, and I was no teacher, but Carlos begged me to do it with the promise of making it up to me somehow. I already agreed before he started reasoning that at the very least, I might impress the other teachers there. Maybe I could carve out some influence?

It seemed an inevitable thing that the night before my teaching debut, my brain would keep me awake while churning through a thick rotation of these types of thoughts: what was I thinking taking this on? What if I’m not any good at this? I could get up there, in front of all those people with their canvases propped up on their easels, and choke. What if I opened my mouth and nothing came out?

And then there were the fantasies of Nikki as one of my students. It didn’t even make sense that she was dressed in a skimpy cheerleading uniform as she splashed edible paint on herself, but the image was so compelling I found it hard to keep my mind straight.

I tossed and turned, only to get up at four in the morning to fire up my coffee machine. I sat behind my counter, taking deep mouthfuls of hot coffee while pouring over my teaching plan for the day.

Why wasn’t I this nervous about my dinner with Rochelle instead?

Well… maybe I wasn’t nervous because it was just dinner, and I knew what to expect. We would sit, eat and talk about the process of valuing my art, not unlike what I did with Carlos during our strategy lunches. We set the time for tonight at a restaurant she chose, and I would meet her there after having enough time to get back home and scrub the paint from underneath my nails.

I spent the day sketching out a new canvas, after obsessing over my teaching plans made me more restless than I’d been since college.

Now with only fifteen minutes left until my class started, I stood in the doorway of 25B and stared into the room full of eager students. They were here early, which wasn’t ideal. I wanted to get in there and have some time alone to unwind, shake my nerves loose a bit.

Clutching my lesson plan and fighting the echoes of crippling social angst, I forced my usual smile and walked in. Every eye turned to watch me as I went to the bulky oak desk in the front of the room.

Trying not to make eye-contact with anyone, I took in the easels lined with canvases, set up in rows. Behind the easels were long, thin tables that could better be described as a detached shelf propped on iron legs. These tables had varied tubes of paint, brushes and palettes set down for the students in an organized display that was honestly a bit intimidating. My own desk sported the same pattern of supplies along with a large canvas resting on an easel that I dropped off to Carlos weeks ago.

The easel faced the classroom; a completed painting of a woman walking away, holding an umbrella as her only defense against the rain. She was framed by a cobble-stoned path at her feet, and towering evergreen trees at either side. The colors were warm and bright, the kind of image I thought of when picturing a sun shower in the park. The students would be replicating this painting, which was something I put together as one of my first pieces during my college years.

I let my chest rise and fall once before flicking my glance to study the faces of my students. They stared back at me with mostly excitement, chattering among themselves softly while watching me.

My lips tightened as I didn’t recognize a single one of them. Nikki wasn’t here. I closed my eyes and shook my head at myself, arguing against the drop in my stomach. Why was I disappointed? It was still early, and Nikki said she’d come. Even if she didn’t show up, that had to be fine. Things were different now. We weren’t in the same place we were when we both made coffee for a living.

I opened my eyes and surveyed my students with more care this time, choosing the one who seemed to be paying me the most attention.

“Uh, excuse me,” I started, making eye contact with one of my students. She startled and sat straighter. “Could you please help me open the windows?”

I thought better of my request after she nodded and hopped off her stool, rushing to the nearby window, and I raised my voice. “Class, today we’ll be working with oil paint, which requires a good amount of ventilation. It’s important to have proper airflow. If you could please open the windows and then take a seat, we’ll begin class in five minutes.”

I straightened and turned to the whiteboard behind me, which had my name already written out and the name of the class. I asked my students to do something for me before introducing myself. That wasn’t right. The class hadn’t started yet, and I was already making mistakes. A wave of overwhelming pressure pushed against my chest as I turned back to my desk. Looking at the chair, I wished I could’ve collapsed into it, but instead I gripped my lesson plan with trembling fingers.

“Tristan, my boy!” A familiar, deeply accented voice sounded from behind me, and I almost tore my notes in two.

“Uncle Henry?” I turned to look at his gleeful face as he rushed toward me in his usual shuffling gait.

“I am here and ready to paint.”

His obvious excitement should’ve gripped my attention, I should’ve smiled or laughed to see him bouncing on his toes in his dress pants and shirt, but the sight of Nikki rushing in behind him stole all of my focus.

She hurried in, as if she couldn’t keep up with the old man in front of her and was worried about losing him. Her face was tight with relief at seeing him stop, and then her eyes shifted, wide and open as she swept them over me. Heat skittered down my spine as her cheeks grew pink. She swallowed and lifted a hand as if to wave hello at me from across the room, despite that we were standing a few feet apart with only Uncle Henry separating us.

I took in her oversized-but-knotted-at-the-waist, purple Joan Jett and the Blackhearts tee, her skin-tight faded jeans, laced up canvas shoes and her hair pulled back from her face and twisted into a clip. This was a Nikki I hadn’t seen in a long time. As she put her hands to her tee and twisted the hem of it, I decided I liked this look a lot better on her than her corporate one. She wasn’t Nikki the ball-busting criminal defense lawyer dressed like this. Like this, she was my Nikki. My beautiful best friend. It made me want to step closer, touch her shoulder and tell her she was going to be fine. Instead, I took a tighter grip of my lesson plan and nodded to her, sure that she could see the flush through my skin as much as I could see hers.

“Are you ready to teach?” Uncle Henry asked, drawing us back to him.

“Oh.” I let out a breath and tried a smile. I wasn’t a shy, quiet teen anymore. I was a grown man with a business and a budding art career. I had to believe on some level that I could do this. “Yes, Amo. I’m glad you’re here, I think you’ll enjoy it. Class is starting in a couple of minutes if you both want to take a seat somewhere.”

I looked at Nikki as she parted her lips and nodded. I could swear she wanted to say something to me, but instead, she steered Uncle Henry away. Once her back was turned, I lifted a hand to my brow and wiped away a thin layer of sweat. The trembling nerves and fast beating inside my chest couldn’t have been because of Nikki. They were there because I was uneasy about teaching the class.

The clock struck four and I surveyed my students, straightening and clenching my hands behind my back. I willed my voice to come out clear and strong as I said, “Class, it’s time to begin.”