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I nod. “I spent years drawing and painting. Having the talent is one thing—it makes it easier to learn and get better. But that doesn’t mean you’ll be able to make magic happen from the start. It takes practice.”
“Did you always paint?” Kylie asks.
I nod again. “It was my life at one point. I always thought I wanted to become an artist. It sounded so dreamy.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because unless you’re incredible, it’s a hard market to break into. I met your dad, and you came along, and I realized I had to do something different to make life happen. It was still a hobby for a while.” When David died, I just couldn’t paint anymore. I felt like all my creativity bled out of me. But now that Kylie and I are doing art together, I realize how much I missed it.
“Here,” I say and stand. “Let me show you what I mean.”
I open the closet door and step in, retrieving stacks of paper. I put them on the bed before I return and bring out two or three canvases, too.
“See these?” I say, paging through the stack of papers until I find the right ones. “This is where I started. Not that great, huh?”
“They’re better than what I can do.”
“I already had art classes here. But look at this.” I page to other pictures. “And then these.”
“You’re getting better,” Kylie says. “This one is amazing.”
It’s a picture of David. He’s smiling, looking down at something not in the picture. A lump rises in my throat. Kylie reaches out and touches David’s face.
“What is he smiling at?” Kylie asks.
I think back to the photo I took of David, the one I used for this painting.
“He’s smiling at you, baby girl.”
Kylie looks at me and delight fills her face. It warms me. I bite back tears because I don’t want to ruin this moment. Kylie is so pleased that the emotion on her dad’s face is because of her.
“We should finish that picture so it can dry, and we can put it up in your room,” I say.
Kylie nods and I put away my art again. It’s been so long since I’ve expressed myself. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. I commit right then to start doing art again. It feels like that part of me was locked away, but it’s back again. I don’t know why, but I’ll take it.
We finish the picture and put it up in Kylie's room next to the other pictures she’s so proud of. She tilts her head.
“I want to do art classes,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“Can I?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll look into it and see what we can find.”
The excitement on her face is worth it. If she wants to do art, I’ll let her go to classes. It’s therapeutic in a way I can’t explain and it’s good for her to find a hobby she loves so much that she wants to dedicate her time to it.
I love how enthusiastic she is.
I love that she wants to be like me.
“Can I watch a show now?” she asks.
I nod. “And have a sandwich, so you don’t only run on sugar.”
Kylie nods and heads to the living room, where she turns on her fairy show. I hear the famous jingle.
At the same time, the doorbell rings and I walk to get it.
