Page 56 of Blindside Love

Ilook down at my phone and can’t help but smile. I haven’t talked to Trevor since the morning he left. We left everything on good terms, but it’s still awkward the first time you talk to someone you just had the best sex of your life with, especially when you both decided it’d be for the best that it doesn’t happen again.

At the time, it felt like the right decision. Between everything with Addy and Tom, I can’t afford to be distracted. Just because we are extremely compatible naked doesn’t mean we need to be anything more than that. It sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier to bring my heart into the mix.

But now that it’s been a couple days since that night, I’m finding that I don’t like the decision one bit. My trusty pink vibrator hasn’t even been able to do the job quite as well as Trevor, and now I’m struggling to stay away from him. Part of me wants to text him about his game tonight, tell him he kicked ass. The other part of me wants to tell him to hurry his ass back to New York so he can come fuck me again.

But that’s not the type of friends we’re supposed to be. That was just one night.

A night of weakness, a night of following my vagina instead of my heart, and hot damn, it paid off.

To keep myself from texting him, I’m in my studio painting at midnight. As much as I should be sleeping, it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to paint like this, and even longer since I really took the time to do it. It probably helps that right before we watched the game, I got a text from the law firm I’ve been in contact with about helping me figure out this divorce and custody situation. We were going to meet tomorrow to start the process, but they texted today saying that they weren’t willing to go up against Tom, that it would be professional suicide, so they canceled our meeting and would no longer be representing me.

I hate the impact he’s still having on my life. All I want is a fresh start, a clean slate, so I can create my own happiness, happiness that stems from things I love.

The longer I’ve been away from Tom and the toxic house we lived in, the more I’ve felt myself come to life again. I’ve been laughing more and doing more of the things I enjoy, including following my dreams of becoming an artist, even if right now that just means starting to paint again, no matter how bad they might turn out.

I can’t remember the moment it happened, but color started to come back into my mind, and I just got this overwhelming urge to create, put what was inside my mind onto a canvas. It feels fresh and exciting. Everything I’ve been creating has been bright and full of life, excitement, and so many possibilities.

I feel like I’m finally able to spread my wings and be me.

I had to grow up quickly when I got pregnant with Addy and then married by the age of twenty-one. I don’t regret it for a second, but it’s nice to be able to really figure out who I am now.

I’m not oblivious to the impact that Trevor has had on my outlook on life, including my art. That being said, I’m not quite ready to admit out loud that Trevor has been changing my life for the better because that means I’m opening myself up to getting hurt again.

Even if he seems different.

I’m heading into Brooklyn today to go bring Betty some supplies for the studio that accidentally got sent to my apartment. She was showing me how to order things a couple weeks ago, and apparently, I forgot to change the address.

Her art studio is my happy place, and now with Addy gone every other week, I’ve been able to pick up more days here, even if it’s just coming in to hang out with Betty on my days off. She has this cute little spot in the heart of Brooklyn where she holds the best art shows every month. Betty does a great job of showcasing well-established artists with huge followings and new artists that Betty thinks deserve a shot.

She’s been trying to get me to show her my work for years, but I can never bring myself to do it. What if I show it to her and she doesn’t like it? Even worse, what if she tells me she does, lets me do an art show, only for it to really be trash, and now I look like a fool.

“Look what the cat dragged in on her day off… again,” Betty huffs as she comes over and wraps me up in a big hug. She must know I need it because she squeezes tight. “Did you send another order to your place as an excuse to come see my smiling face again?”

She winks like she’s joking, but we both know there’s sure as hell some truth in her statement. It was even worse when I was living with Tom. Addy and I used to find every excuse to come visit Betty. When she was in school, I would often come down to volunteer and help Betty out, even if I wasn’t on the schedule, because I was happier here around art than I ever was at home.

“This one actually was an accident. I forgot I was doing the order on my computer, so everything auto-populated.” I shrug, passing over the new paint brushes she ordered. “Anything I can do to help while I’m here?”

“Unless you’re offering to show me your art, the answer is no,” Betty says with a shrug as she starts to put away the brushes I brought her. “That opening is still available, but I can’t promise it will be for long. It’s yours if you want it.”

“What if I promise to think about it?”

“That’s good enough for now.”

Betty and I spent the next two hours reorganizing the art supplies in one of the side rooms, making sure it’s ready for a seminar she’s hosting this weekend. Think sip and paint but with teenagers and soda.

It’s been a nice way to pass the day until I have to meet up with Natalie; she should be here any minute to head out for dinner. We haven’t had a chance to catch up since everything happened between me and Trevor, and I’ve been dying to tell her about the details in person. Our schedules didn’t line up all week, so we’re making tonight work before I get Addy back on Sunday.

Natalie is later than she thought we would be, but we are still able to make happy hour for tacos and margaritas. Tacos make even the best days even better and the worst days tolerable.

Well… that and the queso dip we’re sharing.

“Can you believe your birthday is tomorrow?” she asks, smiling excitedly. We both love birthdays and even if we don’t get to hang out on my birthday, we decided we’re going out dancing soon, and that’s celebration enough.

“I can’t. It’s weird. Twenty-seven used to seem so old, but lately, it’s not nearly as scary as it used to be.” I shrug.

“Figure out any plans?”

“Painting. I told Betty I might stop by, but it all depends on how I feel. Besides, the real celebration will be when I get Addy back, and we do our usual pancakes for dinner that she demands for birthday dinners every year.”

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