Page 96 of Painting Celia

Confusion flitted across Kelsey’s face. “Wait,” she said, tensing. “He doesn’t hit you, right?”

Celia shook her head vehemently. “Oh no, he would never!”

“Then, I don’t follow.”

“I only just saw it, tonight. I always tried to keep my mom happy, so she wouldn’t…. I never talked, kept the house clean, and my grades up. I watched her for clues, to anticipate what she wanted so I could make sure she had it.”

Kelsey slowly nodded. “Okay, I get that. You do that with us too, you know. But you’re not scared of us, right?”

Celia felt a warm blush creep up her cheeks. “No. It’s just how I am now. When I like someone.”

“So, you catered to León,” Kelsey said, almost to herself. “This is all making sense.” She looked back up, eyes shrewd. “Honey, the way he barks at you sometimes, no wonder you responded that way. But, really, he’s nice to you?”

A quick flare of joy was instantly doused by ice-cold memory. León had stormed out.

“He was.” A lump rose in Celia’s throat. “You saw, he doesn’t want me to change. I have to, though.”

“Good for you. He can do his own laundry.”

“Oh no,” Celia almost laughed. León, domesticated? “I mean, the art list. I gave up on it to help him paint. I can’t do that. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

Celia took a deep breath. This was the hardest thing to admit—it felt so selfish.

“My dad, Kelsey. Sometimes I feel like his way is an option for me.”

Kelsey stood in alarm, scattering pillows. “Oh no, it’s not!”

Celia raised her face, apprehensive. “I know that, truly. There’s something wrong with me, though. I go into a spiral sometimes.”

“Wait, how does the art list stop you from…that?”

“Being stuck in my head is bad for me. I need to learn to express myself. Get it out. I thought art would be the way, but I’m not good enough.”

“You can keep trying,” Kelsey said. “León’s lessons didn’t help?”

Celia shook her head. “Not with painting. But he makes me admit when I feel things, he’s always digging. I was learning to talk. Like this.” Her eyes fell. “I messed it up tonight.”

“Well, you made a start. It’s not fair for him to trigger you into giving him everything.”

Celia sighed unevenly, weary. “He didn’t know. And I trigger him too, I think.”

Kelsey finally sat again, rubbing her forehead and reaching for her ginger ale. “I knew it. Mister Artist has issues too. Well, spill.”

How to explain this part? “León thinks his talent is the only thing people like about him. When people help him, like his parents or me, he pays them back by painting well.”

“Convenient,” Kelsey said, sipping her ginger ale.

Celia nodded. “I’m not sure he knows how to deal with people when art isn’t involved. When I started helping him, he sort of homed in on me. I was speaking his language.”

“No wonder you two gravitated together so fast,” Kelsey mused. “Your dysfunctions match.”

Celia felt a chill. Was that all this was?

“So, you see all his baggage,” Kelsey continued, “but he has no clue about yours. Typical.”

Kelsey’s hand rubbing her shoulder felt nice. When had she put an arm back around her?

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