Page 13 of I Love My Mistake

“This one on the left. She’s beautiful, but sad. You can see a lifetime of worries in those eyes. She looks like you, but… I’m sorry. Is this supposed to be you? I’m not good at these things.”

“It’s my mother,” I answer. “You see worry?”

“Yeah, don’t you?” He asks, looking to me for my answer.

I inspect her face, from this new perspective, and shake my head slightly. “I didn’t until you pointed it out. She held all that in.” He looks back to her and is silent for awhile as we both stare at the painting from our own worlds.

“Well…” he says quietly. “You let it out.”

Pain bursts inside me, filled with longing and loss for the mother who is no longer here. Grief yanks a gasp from my lungs. A tear jumps to the corner of my eye, sliding down before I even realize it’s there. He looks and me and I wipe the tear away quickly… but I know he saw.

His voice is kind as he asks, “She passed, didn’t she?”

My only answer is a brief nod. I don’t meet his eyes. No more tears come out. I won’t let them. He takes the cue that I don’t want to talk about it – but he has no idea how grateful I am at what he pointed out.

We walk, looking at my other pieces. He’s talking, but I can’t hear him because I’m thinking about her. The missing her surprises and attacks me at the oddest of times: when I’m doing the dishes, when I’m waiting for the train, when I see an old woman, the thing she never got to be. This painting of her that I wrung out from my heart over a year ago hasn’t made me cry since I finished it. I think he’s right. I saw the fear in her, though I was never aware I saw it. In life, all she wanted to do was be a statue of control. It was probably the direct result of being passionately in love with a man who was never in control of himself. She did it for balance. But now I see that I have always known… she was scared. We aren’t meant to be statues, Momma. We’re meant to be human.

As Danny talks about my latest piece, ‘Uplifted,’ one thought spins round my head: I wish I’d seen she was scared while she was still alive. Maybe I could have helped her to feel, to get it out. My head is leaned to the side, and Danny’s mouth is moving, but I hear nothing from this world. I’m living in the past, in a time when my mom could look at my paintings and tell me she saw me the way I see me, as only she could. I don’t hear the sound of the door below, as it opens. I don’t hear the steps on the stairs as someone walks up. I don’t hear the creak of the top floorboard as he walks into the studio.

“Well, what do we have here?”

As my head whips toward him, Danny turns his whole body around in surprise. He scans Michael and instantly his body shifts in posture. It’s not only that Michael is better looking, with his dark, Spanish mystery infusing everything about him; it’s the way he holds himself, as well. His confident eyes could level most men. Danny doesn’t stand a chance in a man-off. Problem is, he knows it.

Confused, I hear myself speak. “Michael. I didn’t think you’d be here until later.”

He shifts his stare to me. “Would you like me to leave?” I’m confused by his expression, the fiery look behind his eyes. Is he jealous? It looks like something else…

Danny holds his hand out. “I’m Danny. Here to look at Nicole’s paintings.”

Michael walks to him and shakes his hand. When he lets go, he graces him with an answer. I want to hit and fuck him at the same time as he says only, “Michael.” It’s not what he said. It’s the way that he said it; if you think she’s yours… you are so very, very wrong.

I feel the need to fill in the blanks for Danny. “This is Michael’s studio…”

“Our studio,” Michael interrupts.

I glance at him, then back to Danny and add, “I rent it with him, but it’s definitely more his than mine.” I look from one to the other.

Danny’s hackles are definitely up. “I see,” he says, and he does. He sees everything.

Looking from one to the other, I stammer, “Michael, we were just leaving.”

“You came to see Nic’s work?” I stare at him, because he sounds like he doesn’t believe it.

“Yes,” Danny answers, frowning.

Michael smiles one of his rare mesmerizing smiles, and crosses to me. He takes my chin in hand and plants a sensual kiss on my lips, one I can’t help but return. As his lips leave mine, I look at Danny, unsure of what to do. Danny has clearly registered that Michael just marked his territory.

I shoot a look to Michael and step away toward my guest. “Um… Are you ready to go, then?”

Danny’s jaw tightens, the smile gone from it. He nods and starts for the stairs. My stomach twists and I shoot another look to Michael over my shoulder, but his face remains firm and unapologetic. He says nothing as we leave down the stairs. Grabbing our coats, and locking the door behind me, I wait until we’re on the street to look Danny in the eye and apologize for my studio-mate’s unprofessionalism. I’m hoping against hope that this doesn’t sour him to buying one of my paintings.

He speaks first. “I’m sorry. I thought when I asked Grant how things were going – and he said they aren’t – well, I thought you were single. Stupid assumption, considering how drop-dead beautiful you are.” He shakes his head and I can see him mentally kicking himself, his expression that of a high-school boy who realizes he can’t get the prom queen to go out with him.

My head spins. This is new information. I thought he wanted to see me because he was interested in my work. I’m stunned, waiting for him to go on and add that he loves my work and meant every word. He says instead, “Yeah, so, dumb me, I guess.”

I blink. He’s waiting for me to say something but all I want to say is, what you said up there about my paintings being incredible, was bullshit. You were trying to get in my pants. You didn’t mean a damn word of it. I feel the softness I’d begun to feel for him, turn hard and break apart until only ashes float away. My eyes turn cold as ice and only two words come out: “Goodnight Danny.”

“Right. Goodnight, Nicole.” He frowns, shoves both hands in his trench-coat pockets and walks away. I watch him, silently urging him to turn around. Say you meant what you said about my work! But he doesn’t turn. He never turns.

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