Page 25 of Before I Loved You

She looks sternly at me, placing her hand on her hip while waving the other in the air. “Is a person not an author because they’ve self-published? Is a person not a singer because they’ve only sung in front of the mirror? Is a person not a baker because they’ve only baked for friends and family?” She looks back at my work before saying, “Think about that.” And then she walks away.

Staring at the paper in my hand, I wonder if I have what it takes to be a part of something like this. My eyes glance over at the image I created.

It’s simple. Basic. Plain.

But maybe all it needs is a little color.

Hesitantly, I reach for the bottle of red acrylic paint near me and mix a few drops with the white paint on my palette.

After researching the safest paints to use while pregnant, I discovered watercolors and acrylics as options and have prioritized sitting alone in the back of the classroom next to an open window. I won’t take any chances when it comes to my baby’s safety.

Not loving the shade of pink I created, I grab the yellow bottle and let a few dollops fall into the mix—my brush swirls and twirls, combining the colors until a soft shade of orange appears.

I can work with this.

I can do this.

With shaking fingers, I lift my brush before the easel and take a deep breath.

It’s just a little color.

I shouldn’t be this scared to paint with color.

But as my hand moves closer to the canvas, I drop the brush and quickly step back, knocking the paint bottles onto the floor, red paint splattering all over my clothes.

I freeze, taking in the mess I’ve created.

It’s too much. It’s all just too goddamn much.

Sucking in my trembling bottom lip, I close my eyes, caging in the unshed tears.

I can’t do this.

My heart thuds in my chest, sadly knowing there’s more meaning behind those four words than I will ever admit aloud.

six

PAUL

“Paul, are you…crying?”

Fuck.

“No, I am not crying, Natalie. I just got something in my eye.” I wipe haphazardly at my face, removing all evidence of any tears.

“It’s okay if you’re crying, Paul. Girls like a guy who isn’t afraid to show their emotions.” Natalie displays a sympathetic smile.

“I’m not crying.” I sniffle, wiping at my nose. “It’s just…” I point at the TV screen; the sight of Joyce and Hopper reuniting for the first time in a year punches me right in the gut.

Maybe it’s because it’s what I wish I had.

Someone to come home to after a game.

Someone to spend my Friday nights with.

Someone who sees me for me.

Goddamn, Stranger Things…putting me in my feels right now.

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