“Then, why did you do it?” Heidi asked.
I met her eyes and smiled at the thought of Austin bringing me to the top of the canyon to show me the sunset and Austin walking me around the art gallery on First Friday and Austin losing so bad at carnival games that we got Waffle out of pity and Austin getting me art classes all summer.
“When we’re not at each other’s throats, we’re perfect.”
“Maybe that’s enough?” Emery said.
“Maybe it is.”
Despite my conversation with Heidi and Emery, a bubble had burst. A part of me had cracked when I saw Austin and Maggie together, and I didn’t know how to fix it.
Austin had come over after he finished at the Parade of Homes. He’d apologized again for the situation, for the past, for everything. He’d reassured me he wasn’t interested in Maggie. And I even believed him.
He could have Maggie if he wanted. He’d had Maggie for a long time. They had this weird relationship as it was. She wasn’t out of town or anything, so he didn’t have to find a new girlfriend to make up for the lack of sex. And Heidi and Emery were right; when I thought about it, it was clear that he cared for me.
I cared for him.
He cared for me.
Things were good.
But not right.
By the time our art class was rolling around, I wasn’t even sure if I should show up. Though I adored art and people said I had a scrap of talent, I didn’t ever think it was something that just came to me. Not even in college. It’d irritated my professors so much when I turned in something shitty after having no real inspiration and not wanting to draw because I was capable of so much more.
All artists were insane in one way or another. Creativity didn’t grow on trees, but inspiration could strike like lightning.
With a sigh, I changed into loose-fit jeans and a black T-shirt that I didn’t mind getting paint on. Because, let’s be honest, I always got paint on myself.
Austin had said that he’d meet me there after the gym. I didn’t know how he spent so much time there. The idea of going to a gym that often made me break out in hives. So many sweaty bodies and dirty equipment and judgment. My couch was a much better alternative.
Unfortunately, I had to leave the house and my precious couch. I shakily locked up behind me and drove downtown. The studio where Austin had signed me up was in a small brick building on the Art Trail. I parked in the same tow zone Emery had parked in then. There didn’t seem to be anywhere else to park, so I sure hoped this was okay.
Nerves hit me fresh before I even got into the studio. My stomach was in my throat as I stood outside.
What if I forgot how to paint? What if I totally sucked? What if everyone else was amazing and showed me up?
It was ridiculous to even think that. Talent didn’t disappear overnight. I knew that logically in my brain, but logic wasn’t winning. Art was such a solitary endeavor that I couldn’t help but feel intimidated as I strode into the new space.
My eyes swept the open room as a wash of familiarity swept over me. Easels were set up in a circle around a platform with a cliché bowl of fruit at the center. I couldn’t even explain the number of times I’d had to draw a piece of fruit.
“Let me guess,” an African American woman said, approaching me. She had kinky, curly hair that was probably the most amazing thing I’d ever seen and librarian glasses. “Julia?”
“That’s me.”
“Wonderful. I’m Nina. I’ll be teaching this session. Grab a canvas, a palette, and some paints. We’ll get started soon.”
“Thank you.”
I did as I had been told and found a space for both me and Austin. I absentmindedly fiddled with a paintbrush and tried not to make eye contact with anyone, so I wouldn’t have to make small talk. But class time was about to start, and Austin still wasn’t here.
“Is this seat taken?” a Hispanic girl asked. She had stick-straight hair and a great smile.
“Uh…yeah. Sorry.”
“No problem!”
I watched the girl circle the room as I chewed on my nail. A bad habit I’d never gotten rid of. I double-checked my phone. One minute until class time. Austin still wasn’t here.
I shot him a text message.
Hey, where are you? Did you decide not to come to the class? It’s about to start.
I waited another minute, but there was no answer. What the hell? Was he in the car, rushing here, and couldn’t get to his phone? He had a stick shift after all. It was feasible. You weren’t supposed to text while driving. But, still, it seemed strange that he had signed us both up for this class, and now, he wasn’t even going to show.
Not strange…wrong.