Page 29 of Bound to You

“Wow,” May says, admiring the painting displayed in front of us. It’s the portrait of a woman, she sits looking at her baby in her arms. I can feel the warmth and joy radiating off of her through the canvas. The strokes are rough but precisely placed. Whoever painted this has an incredible ability to capture emotions so vividly through rough strokes on a canvas.

As we wander around the space, I notice a few other paintings in that same style scattered in between a variety of different landscapes and still life studies. As I wander further in, I notice there are more blank spaces than filled ones.

May walks back to the portrait at the front of the space as I reach an open archway that leads into a messy studio, a complete contrast to the gallery.

Canvases are laid against the walls and a variety of paintbrushes sit in a jar on top of a cluttered desk. I spot Nora humming away in the corner sketching on a canvas. It takes her a minute or two before she notices me.

“Isla! It’s so good to see you here darling, welcome!” The woman has bounds of energy for her age.

“This space is wonderful, Nora.”

She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead pushing her light hair out of her face. “Oh, it’s nothing like it used to be,” she says, her eyes downcast. This place is anything but disappointing.

“Have you put that sketchbook to use yet?” She changes the topic.

“Not yet,” I say. I’ve wanted to, but every time I decide against it. It’s like every time I even think about my art, doubts flood my mind in the form of my parents and Brandons words. I can’t forget those words no matter how hard I try.

Frivolous.

Silly.

Meaningless.

“Hey Miss Nora,” May interrupts us. “Cool place.”

“Thank you, girls.” She smiles at us. “What has that Caio been up to? He still hasn’t come and seen me like he said he would.” It’s funny the way she talks about him. Like he’s a young boy who needs checking up on.

“I’m not sure, I haven’t really seen him.”

Her eyebrows draw into a frown. “Oh.”

Should I have seen him? The last time I spoke to him was at his penthouse, and it feels like it’s been more than a few days since then. Since my heart raced at his proximity.

I tried to shake off the feeling once I left his apartment, but I couldn’t. It clung to me for the rest of the day. That twisting feeling that settled in my gut when he spun me around by my shorts. His presence draws me in, and it’s like I lose all my sense of self when I’m that close to him.

I’m surprised he hasn’t been staking me out, waiting for the right time to corner me with that envelope I left in his apartment. There’s no way he didn’t see it.

We talk with Nora for another five minutes before making our way back out into the heat.

“I don’t know when I’ll start getting used to this kind of heat.” May fans herself with her hands.

“I’ve definitely got a newfound appreciation for air conditioners,” I add.

A line forms out on the cobbled path a few shops ahead of us, and people are fanning themselves as they wait. It's good to know the locals are just as affected by this heat as we are. Two young girls come bounding out of the shop with ice creams in hand, giggling and licking as they pass us. I raise my brows at May in question.

“Oh, go on then.”

We sit on the stone wall with our ice creams, our legs dangling over the ocean. We both got the shop’s signature dulce de leche flavor.

The sun is quickly melting the dessert, causing me to frantically lick around the edges before it drips down the cone and onto my fingers.

I hate the feeling of that sweet stickiness between your fingers that you can’t get rid of until you find somewhere to wash your hands, so I’m doing my best to prevent that from happening today. I wouldn’t have this problem if I just got it in a cup, but there’s something about a waffle cone that I can’t resist. They remind me of summers with my family when Miles and Iwere young, we used to go for ice cream every Sunday night after dinner at our grandparents’ house.

It started with Miles begging our parents to take us the first few times, but it quickly became a sweet tradition we would do every year over the summer.

Memories like that force me to remember how close my family used to be before I grew up and their expectations sat so firmly on my shoulders.

I munch down on the last of my cone as I look over to the docks. It’s a picture-perfect day so lots of boats are out on the water.

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