Page 85 of Fruit
“Thanks,” I say, shrugging a little bashfully. This is one area of life I always feel awkward receiving praise for.
Joaquin looks at me. “You okay?” he asks. I shrug again. I wish I could feel the excitement of having my paintings displayed more purely instead of having it mixed with loss.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I think some of the pieces are actually selling.”
The truth is, one patron had already approached me, showing interest in my work. It could be a big break for me. I still want to pursue the art therapy course, but if things go well, I might be able to leave my current job and dedicate myself to creating art to finance myself through the training. It would be an amazing relief, the hours more flexible and the work, hopefully, more fulfilling. I don’t know how it would be, turning painting into a job instead of a hobby, but I’m more than willing to try.
“Iva, that’s amazing,” Joaquin says. I smile at him.
“Thanks.”
“Iva,” Iván says as he walks over with Isadoro and Jack. I can’t help but grin back at his excited expression. “Iva. This is fucking amazing.”
Jack nods. “Fucking visceral. They’re great.”
“Thanks, guys,” I say again.
Isadoro nods to the painting of Sebastián. “That him?”
I nod, not looking at the painting. “Yeah.”
Jack looks at me. “Let’s get drunk after this. Celebrate.”
I laugh slightly. “Yeah. That sounds like a plan.”
All throughout the evening, some part of me waits for Sebastián. For him to appear suddenly. To see himself depicted by my hand and realise, somehow, what he let go of. For him to just fall in love with me, as if it were as simple as that.
It would be the perfect ending.
But he doesn’t.
**********
It’s strange, how quiet and lacking in drama Sebastián’s split from me is. I keep waiting for some kind of telenovela flair. For me to see him with another woman and fly into a jealous rage. For him to come crawling back, begging for any inch of me. Late at night, all kind of ridiculous scenarios will build themselves in my mind, because I keep thinking…
Heartbreak can’t be this quiet, can it?
Jack, because, as kind as she is, has a bit of a strange approach to comfort, takes me to a shooting range to ‘let all my rage out’. I have to admit, although I don’t want guns on the streets, shooting them is fun. There’s a rush of adrenaline and a need for concentration when I’m holding the weapon that blanks everything else out. But, it also makes me realise—there isn’t a lot of rage there.
I just feel…sad.
All the fire and the passion I’m used to anchoring myself in isn’t there. Sebastián’s decision isn’t some terrible betrayal. There’s no anger to shoot at. Instead, there is a quiet sort of absence following behind me, just at the edge of my vision.
Nothing is there when I turn to look.
It makes me realise how much I had thought about Sebastián and me together in the future. There are all these big life moments I’d assumed he’d be by my side in. When I graduate from the Master’s program, in my gallery shows, in my great sorrows, in my joys.
But he’s seeped into the little moments, too. After a long, tiring day, when the divination rod of my mind searches for water, I will always find it under his feet. I’d been sure I’d be able to lean on him and be trusted to be leant on. That we’d be that for each other. That we’d be it.
Jack claps me on the shoulder as we exit the shooting range.
“You’ll be all right,” she says. I turn to look at her.
“I know,” I reply truthfully.
I’ll be okay. But until then, it’ll hurt.
**********
