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“It smells delicious,” Bastian comments and then looks at me pointedly to inform me, “Lasagna.”
“The guys all love it when I make pasta, so … I hope you like carbs,” she says with another one of those laughs I heard before I walked in. A nervous kind of laugh which has me wondering what she has to be nervous about.
“The guys?” I prod.
“Carter and his brothers,” she clarifies as I absently open the gift and mentally try to place her from back when we lived here, but I don’t remember an Aria. A single sheet of tissue paper’s already out before I realize she’s intently watching me open the gift bag as she chews the inside of her cheek.
I don’t have to pull out the rest of the tissue paper to see it’s a frame I can easily remove from the bag.
With the empty bag cradled in my right, and the frame in my left hand, I turn it over to see a beautiful drawing of Sebastian and me. It’s a sketch of a photo I remember from years ago when we first got together.
It’s all done in a deep blue charcoal, but so finely sketched and on a thick cream canvas. The multiple shades of blue add dimension and capture the details perfectly. I’m awestruck for a moment at how thoughtful the gift is. And how breathtakingly beautiful it is.
We were only two kids really, barely out of high school and trying to find our way through the shit life we were born into.
Sebastian’s holding me on his sofa, and I’m nestled in his lap with my knees pulled into my chest, looking at the camera while he’s looking at me. I remember when Carter took this picture, only days before we ran away. Bastian asked him to. I remember it like it was yesterday.
“Do you like it?” she asks nervously, and her voice brings me back to the present.
“It’s beautiful.” I have to clear my throat as I set it down on the round beechwood table in the center of the room. “I love it,” I admit honestly. “Thank you.”
“Let me see,” Bastian asks and even though I move to hand it to him, he stands behind me, both of his hands on my hips as he peers at it over my shoulder.
Watching his reaction, I see how his expression softens. I can tell he remembers too. Some memories here weren’t the worst. Some of them are the best.
“Carter showed me the picture a couple of days ago when he was telling me about how him and Sebastian were so close growing up.” Aria’s voice grabs my attention. “He told me all about how you stole Sebastian’s heart. It was such a sweet story,” she says, and her voice is nearly singsongy.
I wonder which version of the tale she got, because I don’t remember it being “sweet” exactly.
“You drew it?” Bastian asks, and my mouth drops open when she nods.
“You’re so talented,” I comment.
“I’m so happy you love it,” she says cheerily, more at ease than she was a moment ago. “Carter thought you’d like it but … you know, he’s a guy and I think he likes to make me feel like I’m good at drawing, so he’d say just about anything to make me smile.”
“Is Carter your…?” I don’t finish, not sure if Carter’s married or dating. The least Sebastian could have done is told me that much.
“Oh,” her eyes widen and her gaze moves from me to Sebastian, then back to me. “I’m with Carter. I’m his … fiancée,” she tells me and when she says the last word, she smiles, a kind of sweet, innocent smile and then looks down at her hand. Her ring finger is barren. “No ring yet, it’s been a little crazy recently.”
“Let me take this to the kitchen. I’ve got to make a quick call and I’ll be right back,” Bastian says and without waiting for a response, he leaves the two of us. The kitchen is in the back of the house and I listen carefully as his footsteps disappear.
“Crazy, huh?” I prod, not wasting a moment to get details on what happened this past week while Sebastian was here and I wasn’t.
“We found out we’re expecting,” she says and lifting her voice a little higher, immediately tells me, “Congratulations, by the way.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “I meant to say that first thing, but I swear my head isn’t on right.”
“First, thank you. And second, you can blame that on the baby now and for probably the next eighteen years or so I’ve heard.”
My comment makes her laugh again, and any bit of jealousy I had vanishes knowing she’s with Carter.
“Congratulations to you too,” I tell her and prod again, my left hand resting on the table, “I haven’t seen Carter in … gosh,” I blow a strand of hair from my face, remembering him as a sixteen-year-old kid, “in years.”
