Page 23 of Falling for my First Crush

“Thanks, Violet,” I say. “That means a lot to me. And you know… you are a big part of my happiness. Now, and in the future.”

My friend smiles at me warmly, and we both go back to painting. The atmosphere in the studio feels cozy and safe, and I’m so glad that I get to be here.

I feel inspired to consider which next steps in my life I have been hesitant to take. Learning this new skill and hobby of painting has taught me more than I realized! I have come to see that I’m slow to embrace change, from a fear of failure.

Just realizing this about myself has been huge. While I also see that I’m still scared of major change, I am also now confident that I have a support system and a safety net ready to catch me and help me back up if I fall.

Now I have to consider what kind of ‘falling’ I’m prepared to do… or if perhaps I have already begun to fall…

Fourteen

JOE

It feels just like the old days. I’m at the Moretti house more than I’m at home. Basically when I’m not at work, I’m hanging out there, mostly helping plan the big tribute, but sometimes playing games with Mr. Moretti or watching movies with Sabina. I always sneak into the kitchen to taste whatever it is that Mrs. Moretti is cooking. Gianna and Maia stop by sometimes. And even though I live for those times when Maia comes by, I have to admit that it isn’t the main reason I keep going to the Moretti house.

I keep coming to the Moretti house because it feels like home. Living with my grandparents growing up was fine. They loved me more than anything in the world, and I certainly loved them. I know I need to visit them more. My own parents just weren’t interested in raising me. They were more interested in whatever they were involved in at the time- drugs, alcohol, parties. Their addictions replaced me.

Now that I’m an adult, and I have experienced a decent amount of life on my own, I have a certain understanding about how things work. Instead of anger, I feel a measure of sympathy for both my parents. Albeit selfish and immature, I know now that my mother and father were both caught up in trying to find something to fulfill them, while also trying to escape the responsibilities of being adults and parents. Sad thing is- the things they were trying to ‘get happy’ from were only temporary fixes, never lasting, never real.

I don’t really get it myself. I’ve dealt with enough blows and disappointment in my short life to know something my parents haven’t ever chosen to learn: most of the time, the best things in life — those things really, truly worth attaining — are worth working for; sometimes even waiting for. That’s pretty much what I’ve done, ever since graduating. I’ve worked hard; I’ve taken the failures with the successes and tried to learn from both; I’ve held my head high, through both the good and the not-so-good moments. I’ve found God along the way, too. He’s the key which my parents unfortunately never had or cared to find. Fortunately for me, I looked at their lives and decided I wanted to choose a different way, and thankfully, I did.

Jackie comes into the family room just now, hands me a bowl of chips, and sets two sodas down on the coffee table. She sits down next to me and tucks her feet under herself. If I didn’t know better, I would think that I had traveled back in time again. I remember this exact sort of moment with Jackie back when I was in high school, and she must have been in elementary school. Even back then, I thought she was such a cool kid. She’s turned into an even cooler adult.

“So it looks like everything is just about ready for the Tribute,” she says. “Violet told me that they’ve sold almost five hundred tickets, and that they have some big donors for the silent auction.”

“It’s really awesome of Violet and Robert to jump in and help like they are,” I say. “They really didn’t need to.”

Jackie gives me a look like I’ve lost my mind. She shakes her head. “Uh, no. They definitely needed to jump in. This thing is going to help fund the hospital’s program for at least a year or more. We could not have done that on our own.”

“You’re right,” I concede.

We lapse into silence for a long moment. The Moretti house is just like I remember it, and that’s more comforting than I could have realized. It even smells like it did growing up. Slightly musty, but in the best way. Like libraries and attics full of excitement. Today it also smells like whatever Mrs. Moretti has in the crock pot. And let me tell you, it smells delicious. I’m hoping I get invited to stay for dinner. No matter what it is, the food will be good, I know that without a doubt. Everything about this house just smells and tastes and feels like… home.

“So, should we get on with this painting lesson?” Jackie asks, bringing me back to reality.

“Uh, sure,” I say. I’m not sure why I let her talk me into this whole scheme. She really has been excited about what she’s been learning from Violet. I asked her to show me, but she said that I really needed to experience it for myself, if I was going to understand. So I said sure.

Now, Jackie gestures to the small canvases laid out on the coffee table in front of us. There are little jars of paint with paint brushes sticking out of them next to the canvas, as well as jars of water and a whole roll of paper towels. I think about making some kind of joke about how messy she thinks I’ll be, but I can’t seem to form the thought.

She flips on some jazz music. “Now,” she says. “All you have to do is paint along to the music.”

“What?” I ask.

“Well… don’t think,” she says. “Just feel.”

I have absolutely no idea what she is talking about. When I glance over at what she’s been doing, I’m shocked to see that her canvas definitely looks like a painting. Jackie notices that I am struggling, and she laughs lightly. Not in a mean way, and I can’t help but think what a pretty laugh she has.

“Just start,” she gently encourages.

When I don’t move, she reaches over and grabs my hand, guiding it to a jar of blue paint. I grab the paint brush, and she guides my hand back to the canvas. I catch her gaze and we just sit there like that for a long moment. My mind is racing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, with the painting or with Jackie.

I’m vaguely aware that I’m attracted to this version of Jackie, but I can’t put the thought into a clear one. Why haven’t I ever realized how amazing she is before now? I guess I have always thought of her as more of my ‘little sister’… until running into her when I got back here to Cranberry Creek, of course. She’s definitely not a little girl anymore… and this beautiful, intelligent, confident, caring woman in front of me is something really special. I wonder if…

I open my mouth to say something to her, when the front door slams, jarring us both back to reality.

“That didn’t sound good,” I say.

“Yeah, I wonder if it’s Sabina,” she says. I can hear the worry in her voice.

---