Page 32 of The Art of Professing Love

My cousin sighed. “Well, so did I, to be fair. Now, tell me, what exactly happened between the two of you? I might still be able to help.”

I shook my head and sniffled. “It’s too late for that. Anyway, this all happened over a couple of photos.”

“Of you?”

“And someone else.”

“From recently?” My cousin’s eyes widened.

“No, of course not.” I sat up straighter, my spine stiffening. “Don’t be ridiculous, cousin. I would never cheat on someone. No, these photos are from years ago, back when my friend was putting together that erotic art book. I offered to let them take some photos of me and my, at the time, boyfriend. It was nothing more than a little youthful fun, but Irving doesn’t see it that way. He sees it as me being something – or someone – that’s incompatible with him.”

My cousin nodded slowly, taking it all in. “I see,” they said simply. “Well, that does complicate things, doesn’t it?”

“It’s done more than complicate things. Oh, cousin, if I ever thought there was any chance that those photos would break up one of my relationships later on, I swear I wouldn’t have taken them. They’re not worth it.”

“You should tell Irving that – explain exactly how you’re feeling yourself.”

“I already did. Trust me, he’s made up his mind. He’s good at that, as it turns out.” I let out a long, shaky exhale, turning my book over in my hands. “I even had another present for him, but I can’t give it to him now. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Another painting?”

“Yes, it was another painting – of us, not just him this time.”

My cousin shrugged. “Perhaps someday, when the sting from breaking up is gone, you can bring it to his home as a gift from a friend. And if not, you can keep it yourself as a reminder of the wonderful man you once met.”

I looked up, the distant corner of the library suddenly beckoning to my eyes. Visions of Irving and me danced around in my head, almost taunting me. I looked back at my cousin, who watched me worriedly.

“The sting will never go away,” I told them, “but thank you for the uplifting words, cousin. I think that at some point, it’s best to move on.”

“Well, when you’re ready to look for a new match, come back and I shall help you. But do take your time, Sylvie. I don’t want you rushing into another relationship simply to get away from Irving.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

My cousin was right: sometime in the future, I would be ready to face Irving again. It wouldn’t be today, or next week, or maybe even next month. But the day would come, and maybe then I could finally get some closure.

26

IRVING

“Thank you, Derek. I’ll have a look at the paper tonight.” I took the extra credit paper from my student and set it off to one side of my desk.

“Are you sure, Professor Scott? Because I don’t mind if you take your time. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

He gave me a hopeful look, but I shook my head back at him. “No, it’s no trouble at all. It’s not as if I have anything else planned. I’ll post your revised score tomorrow, so keep an eye out.”

His face fell. “Thanks, Professor, I’ll do that.”

Derek left and I returned to my work, allowing my mind to drift back to a few months ago when I had every reason to leave early and come in late the next morning. Sylvan and I were still together then, and though our relationship had been brief, it was every bit as passionate and impactful as spending years by his side.

If it hadn’t been for those damn photos Lachlan unburied, we might have still been together and looking forward to those many wonderful years I fantasized about. In truth, it was Sylvan’s attitude about it that drove me to break up with him. I never told him that outright, but he knew. He was always more perceptive than I gave him credit for, even in his more scatterbrained moments.

Even that little mishap didn’t matter to me anymore. Now that I looked back, months later, I could see how puerile my thoughts were. Sylvan had loved me, and that was all that mattered. How could I not have understood that?

I began to gather my things to head back home, slipping my winter coat over my suit and wrapping a scarf around my neck before I stepped out of the office. It was the end of November, and with the many other late-season changes came frozen chills and bitter winds. Winter was just around the corner.

“I wonder what Sylvan’s cabin looks like in wintertime,” I mused while I defrosted my car’s windshield. “It must be the picture of beauty.”

He probably had a painting of it somewhere. Perhaps I would be lucky enough to see it hanging in a museum one day. I’d laughed at his art once, but now I had no idea why. Now it was perfect and beautiful and an extension of the incredible mind he possessed.

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