Page 45 of Jeremy
Asscrewed up as they have her head, I’m not sure she wouldn’t kill for them.
“Mel?”
Jeremy’svoice pulls me away from my dark thoughts, and I force a smile before he seesme. I’m not putting a damper on this night. All that past baggage will be theretomorrow for me to brood over. Tonight, I’m going to go to my exhibition with agorgeous man on my arm. Well, pushing my chair, but close enough.
Whenhe steps into my bedroom, I bemoan the fact that he’ll be behind my wheelchairtonight because I don’t want to take my eyes off of him. He looks amazing.
Hisdark suit is obviously tailored to show off his assets, and the man has noshortage of those. Good god, it’s a three piece. Call me strange, but a man inone of those vests has always drawn my eyes. But this man makes all I’ve seenin the past wither away.
Mylips part, but no sound comes out. I just stare at him, hunk struck.
“Mel,are you okay?”
“I’mgoing to need to see you without the jacket tonight.”
Chuckling,he strides over to where I sit beside the bed. “You have a thing for suits?”
“Onlywhen you wear them. Fuck, Jeremy.”
Hebrushes my hair back over my shoulder and beams down at me. “You lookbeautiful. Every guy in the place is going to be jealous.”
Ifeel like a whale wrapped in a pretty tarp, but I’m not going to argue. My palmsweeps over his clean face. “You shaved.”
Heshrugs. “Special occasion.” He turns his head back and forth. “Don’t you likethe boyish me?”
“You’retoo damned handsome no matter what you do or wear.” It’s true, but I do kind ofwant to stomp my feet and demand he return those bristles to his face. I lovedthe scruff.
“Areyou ready?”
“Let’sgo.”
#
Jeremyseems perfectly comfortable at the high-class event, and I remind myself thathe grew up with money. He was probably trained from birth to attend these kindsof things. No matter how many I go to, I’m never going to feel comfortable.Watching people mill around and discuss my work is terrifying, humbling, andthrilling all at once.
Likemost artists, I live my art. It comes from parts of me I’m not even familiarwith. Every drop of paint is imbued with my joys and fears. The strokes revealmy deepest desires and greatest fantasies, explore my shameful faults andshortcomings, and lay bare my frailties and weaknesses for the whole world tosee. It’s freeing, euphoric, and absolutely brutal. I can’t imagine doinganything else with my life.
“Ms.Sanders!” Penelope calls, rushing over to greet us. I warned her I’d be in thewheelchair and wouldn’t be staying for the whole event. “I’m so glad you couldcome.”
Sheleans down where the other guests can’t hear her. “It’s a raging success. Soldout already. We’ve had quite a few offers on ‘Mistake’ if you’ve reconsideredselling?” I can see the hope and dollar signs in her eyes.
Damn.Jeremy hasn’t seen the painting of him I did after the night he threw me out ofhis house. With the bed rest and everything, I totally forgot about it. “Let methink about it for a bit,” I tell Penelope, glancing back at Jeremy.
Understandingspreads across her face and she excuses herself. “I’ll just let you mingle.”
Jeremypushes me to the first of my paintings. It’s rough and primal, the first Icreated after my newfound freedom. It brings back the memory of that moment,how it felt to splash house paint on the giant slab of wood, while my mind wasin overdrive at all the changes taking place in my life.
Thetree grows from the wood, and seems to melt around the edges, giving it agloomy look, but the green leaves reach upward, showing the hope I felt for thefirst time in so long. I was surprised Penelope wanted to include this sinceit’s far from professional, not painted on a canvas, nor created with oils orwatercolors.
I’vealways kept my studio private, and most of these were moved before Jeremy and Istarted seeing one another every day, so it’s the first work of mine he’sreally seen.
“Damn,Mel, I had no idea,” he says, coming around to stand beside me and shaking hishead.
“Thata tree could look sad?” I tease.
“Thatyou were so talented. I mean, I don’t know anything about art, but this…I couldstare at it for hours. I want to take it home.”
Hiswords fill me with joy. All he has seen from me is weakness and struggle. I’mproud to show him a part of who I really am. Who I was before I became thepregnant woman. A sticker beside the frame shows that it’s already beenpurchased.
