Page 72 of Blank Canvas


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Being the odd man out has never been something that bothered me. Throughout my middle and high school years, I had been the subject of bullies. People who thought I was weird because I didn’t dress the same or socialize the same or join all the clicks. So, instead of getting to know me, they said hurtful things, threw food at me in the cafeteria, or rigged my locker. After a while, it simply became a part of who I was and I accepted it.

When Kelsey came along, I often questioned if she was truly interested or if befriending, then eventually dating me was a prank. It took months for me to believe she cared. When she ended our relationship, the questions came back again. Nothing but heartache came from our breakup, so I brushed the idea under the rug where it belonged.

“As long as you’re there, it doesn’t matter how strange everyone acts.” I hug her to me, bury my nose in the hollow of her throat and inhale. “Meeting new people is always uncomfortable. But these people matter to you, so I want to know them too.”

I hold on to Shelly for three breaths, then let her lead me from the bedroom. After we stop in the kitchen to grab the Crock-Pot of sweet-and-spicy meatballs, we get in my car and drive toward the party. On the drive over, Shelly gives me small tidbits about everyone who will be in attendance. When she starts talking about the seventh person, my mind goes numb.

She said a lot of people would be there, but I didn’t think it’d be more than a dozen. Jesus.

My heart runs rampant as the whooshing of my pulse fills my ear. I take a deep breath. Then another. And just like she always has, Shelly settles the craziness inside. She grips my hand a little tighter. Rubs her thumb in small circles over my skin. Tells me everything will be okay, that she won’t leave my side. Reminds me that everyone at the party is cool and fun and can’t wait for us to arrive.

I steer the car into the neighborhood and take in the homes on the street. Most are two-story and look to be built in the last twenty to thirty years. Simple yet clean and elegant. Yards with tall trees and manicured landscapes. Flower beds and wind chimes and welcome signs. Strategically placed lights to illuminate sturdy magnolias and clustered palms.

I park on the street two houses down and take the Crock-Pot from Shelly when we exit the car. She laces her fingers with mine and guides us toward the house. “They’ll love you,” she says softly, kissing my cheek.

Not bothering to knock or ring the doorbell, Shelly twists the knob and walks us inside. Just as the door closes, a husky gallops around the corner with a little girl hot on its heels.

“Sparty!” she shouts over the music and chatter. “No, sir.” The girl’s bossy tone says she is not to be messed with. Before the dog collides with our legs, it screeches to a halt like a speed skater on ice.

Not releasing my hand, Shelly squats down and the dog steps up to lick her face. “Hey, Spartan. This is Devlyn.”

Woof, woof, woof.He cocks his head while looking up and assessing me.

Shelly rises and ruffles the fur on his head. “Be a good boy.”

The little girl reaches us and wraps her arms around Shelly’s midsection. “Hi, Miss Shelly. Sorry if Sparty was a jerk.”

With a laugh, Shelly says, “He’s just being himself. Clementine, this is my boyfriend, Devlyn.” Shelly wraps her free hand around my bicep and molds herself to my side. “Devlyn, this is Clementine, Autumn’s daughter.”

Autumn. She and Jonas own this house. They also are expecting a baby any day now.

I untwine my fingers from Shelly and offer Clementine my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Clementine.” The girl looks at my hand as her forehead bunches into crooked lines.

About to ask Shelly if I did something wrong, Clementine wraps her arms around me as if we have been friends all her life. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Devlyn.”

Shelly leans into my ear. “She’s a hugger.” I chuckle and return Clementine’s brief hug.

Minus the unexpected hug, everyone else greets me with the same enthusiasm as we walk deeper into the house. One by one, I put faces to the names of people Shelly told me about. Some of them are how I pictured them in my mind’s eye, others the complete opposite. When Shelly introduces me to her brother, Micah, and sister-in-law, Peyton, I half expect to get the big brother lecture. But Micah surprises us both with a brief hug and big smile.

As the night wears on, I learn why Shelly is so bonded with these people. Her people. Every person here has been kind and wonderful and accepting of me. They smile my way and spark up conversation as if we have been friends just as long as anyone else here. They ask about my work and I ask about theirs. The easiest conversations are with Rex and Reznor from the tattoo shop. They show me pictures of pieces they have done and I show them my art too.

And before the night ends, I feel as if I am just as much their family as everyone else in the room. It stirs new meaning to the term family in my life. Studying the face of each person, I home in on the connection they share that is nothing like what I have ever known as family. Love. Consideration. Tenderness. Friendship.

When it is time to say good night, every hug and promise to see them again is heartfelt and genuine. Nervous as I was before we arrived, every person here made me feel as if I belonged. As if I were their family.

We load into the car and I drive us home. Our fingers laced together and resting in her lap.

“Did you have a nice time?”

I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “I did. Thought I’d be more overwhelmed, but everyone was very welcoming.”

She leans across the console and rests her head on my bicep. “See. I knew there was nothing to worry about.”

The drive home is quick with less traffic on the roads. When I turn onto my street and spot the white SUV not far in the distance, I bring the car to a halt. Even from half a block away, I know who is parked in front of my house. The woman who just won’t give up.

Shelly straightens in her seat. “What’s wrong?” When I don’t answer, she follows my line of sight. “Is that?”

“My mother?” My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “Yep.”

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