Page 79 of Fruit
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It’s raining outside. The air rustles with its sound. Everything is quiet and warm. Safe. I can feel my breaths fill my lungs and then deflate them slowly, joining the ember capturing the moment in oranges and yellows.
Sebastián lies on the bed. The pond-ripples of my white sheets have been caught in time. They drip off Sebastián’s waist, flowing down his legs in folds. His face is half-submerged in my pillow, his hand curled like a child’s under his chin. The lamplight glows off his deep-sea skin, a stark contrast to the foam all around him.
I paint him. Every small detail of him. The way his mouth is parted slightly, the twitch of his fingers in dream, the curve of his hip as he rests on his side. Nina is caught in the swell, floating by his feet, another gentle sea creature. Beside him, an imagined bowl of mango chunks, as if the source of the orange glow of him.
I’m only just finishing as he bubbles awake, the spell of my paintbrush breaking. I return the easel to the living room, another secret tucked under my skin.
His eyes are fully open when I return and crawl into bed with his warmth.
“I’m not allowed to see?” he asks quietly.
“It needs to dry,” I say, an obvious excuse.
Sebastián doesn’t push. Instead, he kisses me. I’m almost surprised when his lips don’t taste of lake water or salt. They taste like lips, like skin, like sleep.
“I’ve got some other ones, though. If you want to see,” I offer. Even though Sebastián has been to mine several times now, I keep my canvases in a closet in the living room, hidden from sight.
Sebastián looks immediately interested. “Yeah,” says, sitting up.
“Okay. Stay here. I’ll bring a few.”
He nods, and I go to the living room. I pick out a few which won’t give me away, leaving his own eyes and skin and light tucked away in the closet before returning to the bedroom. I find him with his back to the headboard, waiting expectantly with Nina on his lap. He moves down the bed as I place the three paintings on the far end of the mattress.
“Wow,” he says, looking at them.
One of them is from the Puerto Rico collection I did as an end-of-year project in my final year at Fox Lake University. After Hurricane Maria, Joaquin’s and my family, along with Ezra, had spent Christmas there, helping out. The physical impact the storm had on the island had been devastating. What the damage meant for the livelihood, economy, and future of Puerto Rico had sunken my heart.
But amidst the shadow the storm still cast, what shone the brightest was the determination and fight of the Boricua. Everywhere I looked, I could see people come together to push the island out of the rubble. There was a sense of community that was as bright and colourful as the facades of Old San Juan. My soul had been filled with the knowledge that despite what the sky had rained on them, despite the incessant corruption and disarray of the local government, despite the ignorance of the outside world, my people would survive by sheer force of will.
I saw this strength in the smallest moments of kindness and coming together whilst I was there. On the bed with Sebastián is a painting that transports you to a clear, starry night. You walk through the warm air and appear at one of the few houses with electricity. The owners have pushed their TV onto their porch, and children crowd around it, spilling into the garden. Each kid has their own character, their expressions illuminated by the glowing screen. They stare at the movie playing in flashes of colour, share snacks and laughter, they turn to the person next to them to murmur and joke. It is a scene full of light and life and community.
Next to that painting is a present for Isadoro’s upcoming birthday, requested by Iván. It’s a simple scene. A small, docked sailing boat on a sunny day. You come up from behind it and peek into the life of its owner. The cockpit cradles a bucket with a single squid in it. A used line is discarded to the side, a splash of ink on one of the white, plastic benches that run on each side. Around the boat, you can almost hear the flapping seagulls, the clanking masts, the people calling out greetings to each other on the docks beyond. The sea and sky seem endless beyond the low, rocky wall protecting the harbour.
The third painting is the most recent one. Another from the endless orchard of fruits that seemed to have taken over my senses.
Sebastián stares at them for a long time. His eyes are clear and warm when he looks back at me, and I can almost feel my heart in my throat, beating away.
I put the paintings away, and I climb into bed with him. We settle on the same pillow, gazing sleepily at each other for a long while.
“I’ve looked into that Master’s program we talked about,” I say in the quiet of the rain.
Sebastián looks a little more alert, making a questioning sound. There is no room for nerves in this gentle space, and it’s easy to go on.
“Fox Lake University runs one. Because of the placements involved, it actually starts in Spring instead of Autumn and…I think I’m going to apply,” I say. Sebastián cups my cheek.
“You’ll make an amazing Art Therapist, Iva.”
“Well, I haven’t been accepted—”
Sebastián cuts me off with a kiss. “You’ll make a great one. Regardless of where you do the course.”
I smile before cuddling up to him, tucking my head under his chin and wrapping one of my arms over him, the other pressed against his chest. He returns my hold, lacing his fingers with mine.
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It’s like when blood rushes back to your limbs. The pain of discomfort needles ant-lines across your skin, but you can slowly move again.
