Page 54 of If My Wishes Came True
“Absolutely, if you’re there. I’ll help you talk to Mom. After Dadretiresto his study,” she adds, and I can practically see her eyes rolling back in her head.
I chuckle. “Okay, great. And after they go to bed, we can stay up watching movies, and drinking wine, and eating leftover pie. Whaddya say?”
Typically, after Thanksgiving dinner, I’d meet up with old friends from high school who are in town. But, this year, I’d much rather hang out with my sister.
“Count me in,” Christy says. “Sounds perfect.”
“It really does.”
I brush a happy tear from my cheek. If I’d known that going to therapy would have the added bonus of helping me get closer to my sister, I may have gone sooner. But better late than never. I’ve always longed for us to have a relationship like this. I just thought we were too different. Now I think we may be more alike than I thought.
“I love you, Christy,” I say again.
“I love you, too, Jenna.”
As soon as we hang up, I walk straight into my art studioand set a blank canvas on my easel. Before I pick up my brush and palette, my gaze travels across the six paintings I’ve done so far, all in a row, leaning against the wall. Like the self-portrait I painted in Tati Marie’s class, which is first in line, the pieces that follow all focus on the subject’s eyes—like a zoomed-in photograph that starts just below the hairline, and ends right above the chin.
Staring back at me are my mom’s olive-green eyes, which are identical to mine, except for the faraway look she always has.
My dad’s stern, disapproving gaze is next to her.
Then Hunter’s ocean-blue eyes—no longer dark and stormy, like the image that haunted me, but placid and peaceful, like I want to remember them.
After him is Charlie, and the wonder in his gaze when we first met.
And finally, Esther, my most recent portrait—her kind, thoughtful gaze inviting me to heal.
It hurts my heart that I never thought to paint my sister until now. They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and maybe that’s why I couldn’t do it before. Because I hardly knew her. My buttoned-up, perfectionist sister, who seemed to have it all together, has always been a bit of a mystery to me.
But the wall between us is crumbling now, and I’m starting to see Christy for who she really is. Someone who’s followed the rules all her life, and is yearning to break free. To experience the joy, and pleasure, and adventure she’s denied herself for years.
Whose eyes are full of hope…and maybe a hint of mischief.
I pick up my paintbrush, and that’s where I begin.
An hour and a half later, Charlie and I are on our way to his cousin Maya’s beach yoga class. As soon as she catches sight of us walking toward her, her eyes light up, and she reaches out to give me a hug.
“It’s so great to meet you, Jenna,” she says in a lovely English accent that I wasn’t expecting. Charlie and I were busy engaging in flirtatious banter on the way to the beach, so I didn’t get a chance to ask him about his cousin. But now that I see her, I’m even more curious about Charlie’s background. While there’s a hint of family resemblance in the shapes of their eyes and noses, their coloring couldn’t be more different. Where Charlie looks like a bronze statue, all golden and sun-kissed, with chestnut hair and rich brown eyes, Maya is fair-skinned and freckly, with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s beautiful—good looks obviously run in the family. But she looks like she’d sunburn easily, so I’m relieved she’s wearing a white linen shirt over her tank top and leggings.
“I’m so happy to meet you, too,” I tell her. “And I’m excited for class. I haven’t done yoga on the beach in ages.”
Maya grins. “When my cousin said he was bringing you, I was thrilled. And, just between us,” she stage-whispers, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite so smitten.”
My heart flutters, and even more so when Charlie wraps his arm around my waist. I glance up at him, and there’s no hint of embarrassment in his eyes. Only that same sparkle I see every time he looks at me. Heissmitten.
“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” I tell Maya as I’m smiling at Charlie. In response, he kisses the top of my head.
Maya’s freckled hands float to her heart, and she lets out a happy sigh. “Alright, lovebirds, feel free to grab a spot anywhere, and we’ll get started in just a few.”
Charlie and I stay up front, as a small crowd behind us begins to get settled. The beginning of class is delightful, with a heavenly breeze coming off the lake. It’s a perfect seventy-five degrees and sunny.
But halfway through the hour, it starts getting steamy. I’m used to practicing yoga in a heated studio, so it doesn’t bother me at all. What I’m not used to, however, is seeing Charlie without a shirt on. We’re standing in the Warrior II position, front knees bent and arms outstretched, when he hits his limit and lifts off his white tee. He’s facing away from me, but the view is still spectacular. Broad, muscular shoulders and arms, and?—
Oh god, he’s turning around.
We’re supposed to face the opposite direction now, but I’m moving in slow motion, unable to tear my eyes away fromwhat I see. Charlie’s chest is a literal masterpiece. The man is so impressively sculpted, I have to resist the urge to cry. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m moved by his beauty—the way I’m moved when I see a stunning piece of art—or if I’m just sad, because I want to touch him so badly, and I can’t.
Probably the latter.
