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“I need to get back to my life—”
“Because that minimum wage waitressing gig is a high priority,” Damien threw back at me. “Come on now; it sounded like you had a good thing going on there. You’ve sounded happier than you have in a long time. What gives?”
“Look, you can stay in the apartment until you find something if that’s what’s concerning you,” I said sharply, getting immediately defensive.
Damien let out a low whistle. “Wow, girl, something’s definitely gotten you all worked up. Wanna tell Papa Damien what gives?”
“There’s nothing to tell. It’s just time for me to leave.”
“Okay, fine. But something’s gone down with you. Something big. Something that’s got you running scared. I know you, Meg. I can hear the panic in your voice. But I think you should give yourself some breathing room before making big decisions. This apartment isn’t going anywhere. You can get another shitty job. You said yourself that you’ve been painting, really painting for the first time in years.”
“Yeah, I have. But I can paint anywhere. It doesn’t have to be here,” I argued.
“Then why haven’t you?”
His question hit home.
Because it spoke to my heart.
And I didn’t want to think with my heart. Not anymore. My heart was a bastard.
“I’ll text you when I’m leaving,” I said, ending the conversation.
“Okay, honey. Take care of yourself, and I’ll talk to you soon.” I hung up with Damien feeling worse than I had before.
“I can paint anywhere,” I said to the room at large. Speaking to myself.
I opened my closet and found the painting I had done the first night back. I hadn’t looked at it since I had done it.
It felt too raw. Too real.
I looked at it now.
It was a mess of watercolors. Sunsets and sunrises all mixed up in a sea of color. And in the middle were black sketches of two people. One girl with hair like fire. One boy with a smile like a sun.
They floated on their backs in the middle of that cacophony of color. Arms outstretched, but their fingers tightly clasped together. Holding on. Never letting go. And their faces were turned toward each other.
Always toward each other.
Because those two people only ever saw each other.
“Ugh!” I groaned, wanting to throw the painting out the window.
But I wouldn’t hide it away. I was tired of pushing things away. Even if they hurt.
I had to get out of the house. I felt as if I were suffocating.
“Mom, I’m heading out for a bit,” I hollered to the back of the house where she and Whitney were making homemade bread. Mom had considerably perked up since Whitney arrived. It seemed my older sister’s presence had healed more than I ever could on my own.
“Okay. Pick up some ice cream. You’ve eaten all of it,” she called back.
I grabbed my keys and the painting of Adam and me and headed to my car. I had no idea why I was bringing it with me, but I didn’t want to leave it behind, so I put it in the trunk and then headed into town.
I didn’t know where I was headed until I pulled up in front of his house. His car wasn’t in the driveway even though it was Saturday. What the hell was I going to do? Hang out on his porch until he came home? I got the painting out of the trunk and made my way up to his porch.
Was I leaving this here for him?
Why? I had made it clear there was no future for us.
But this painting spoke to something inside me that felt otherwise. The two figures in the painting weren’t images of the Adam and Meg from our pasts. They were Adam and Meg right now. I had painted it before we became something else, yet in my heart, it seemed I knew all along where I belonged.
So why had I run away from it so quickly at the first sign of trouble? When deep down, I knew that what Chelsea was showing me wasn’t real. I knew Adam. I knew the boy he was, and I was beginning to know the man he had become.
Yet I planned to go back to New York. I was leaving this behind.
So what was I doing standing on Adam’s porch with a painting that was literally my emotions on canvas?
“Jesus, I’m ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath.
I was just about to turn around and walk back to my car, painting in hand when a pair of headlights blinded me. I watched as Adam’s car pulled into Mrs.Hamilton’s driveway. He parked and turned off the engine.
He hadn’t seen me yet. His attention was fixed on the elderly woman in the passenger seat. He quickly got out of the car and hurried to open the door for his neighbor. Holding on to her, he helped her out. She was slightly unsteady on her feet, but she appeared stronger than she had the last time I saw her.
