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This is the first birthday wish I’ve made since Bethany died, So, I think about her.— and wish that somehow, she’s getting to see everything that’s happening and that she’s at peace. I blow out my candle and blush while Carter sings “happy birthday.”
When I open the gift he brought, tears fill my eyes. It’s beautiful set of paint brushes, all gleaming handles and perfect brushes the color of sun bleached wheat. And each of them is embossed with a three leaf clovers. My name is etched in gold on the handles.
“Oh my God, Carter.” I gasp and look up at him.
He grins. “Do you love them?”
“So much.” I finger the handles lovingly and longingly. For all the drawing I’ve done, I haven’t painted anything yet.
“Are you ready for them?” Carter asks like he was reading my mind.
“Yes. But you know that, don’t you?” I shoot him an appreciative smile.
“I do. I can’t wait to see what you’re working on.”
“Not until it’s done.” I demur.
“You get to listen to my music while I’m trying to cobble it together.”
I shrug, “That’s an occupational hazard of being a musician. When your house is ready for the piano, you can have all the privacy you need.”
He nods. “Yeah, and I understand. There’s a song, I work on at home, on a synthesizer that’s on my computer. I’m not ready for anyone to see it, either. So, I get it.”
“Oh, a song?” His cryptic words peak my curiosity.
Now, it’s his turn to demur. “It’s private, I’d have to know you really well to share it with you. “ he says with a wicked gleam and I laugh, .
That’s something that’s coming a lot easier to me, again. The last two months have been idyllic.
During the day, we sit in this sun drenched room and work, but there are moments punctuated by great conversations and fantastic meals that we usually prepare together in my kitchen.
We’re both night owls, and it’s in those hours, when the sunlight’s disinfecting quality disappears that we work. And then, he leaves. And we pretend not to feel the pull of each other’s need as we say goodbye. He hasn't slept here again since that first night and it’s getting harder and harder to let him go.
“Thank you for this,” I wave at the cake and the balloons before I pick up one of the brushes and run my finger along it’s soft, blunt bristles.
“You’re welcome. This time with you and the piano, it’s exactly what I needed. I just wanted to say thank you.”
I flush and wave my hand dismissively, but inside I’m glowing from the way it feels to hear my sentiments echoed so closely.
He sits at the piano and runs one hand over it, and plays a scale.
“You know, I hadn’t played the piano in months before I came here.” He says, his voice thick with nostalgia and what sounds like shame.
But, I can’t understand why. “Not even when you were alone?” I probe, surprised.
He shakes his head and stares at the keys. His finger still moving over them in a soundless ripple.
“It was… disorienting. For most of my life, the piano had been a holy place for me. I’ll never understand why my father discouraged me from playing, after my he died and my whole life fell out from beneath me, I couldn’t bear to look at one. But I’m done living for him.”
I envy his ability to shed this shackles. I can’t wait to do the same.
27
Carter
Between Now and Heartbreak
While I clean up the cake and candles, I stew in my own juices.
