Page 29 of The Heart of a Painter (As I Am 1)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Thomas

The sunsunk down in the sky as Ipulled the car into aparking spot outside my childhood home in Beacon Hill.

The last lights seeped in from the passenger’swindow, brushing over Erin’sporcelain skin. Despite the growing night’sshadows, her face basked in what remained of the sun, as if she captured it.

Isettled into looking at her before we moved toward exiting the Porsche. Mesmerized by her profile, enchanted by her lavender scent, the residual worries from meeting my parents were melting away. And even if Iwouldn’thave had aworry on my mind, no parents, no nothing, Ididn’twant to leave her. Iprobably wouldn’thave either had it not been for Erin’svoice.

“You mentioned she made great desserts?” Her wide smile spread the sun inside the car. Icould tell she was attempting to get me out of my own head, which Ishould’ve thanked her for. Hugged her for, even. Icouldn’tthough, the former too overbearing and the second, well, the same. Ihid my wanting look by closing my eyes, pressing the mental restart button on my gaze.

“Yes, everything my mother bakes is wonderful.” She’dhad alot of time to practice.

“We should definitely get out and start on it, then. The earlier the meal, the earlier the sweets.”

“Are you sure you want to go in? Last chance,” Ioffered.

She slapped my arm and gasped. “Are you kidding me? Teasing me with desserts and then taking them away? Let’sgo.”

Ishook off the sensation that passed through me with her touch and the idea of teasing her. The quickest way to do it was to get out and open the door for her, followed by going for the gifts she brought with her. Ikicked myself one last time for not gettingheranything for coming with me, and walked with Erin to the door.

We went up the three small steps and waited for what seemed like forever as my blood rushed between my ears and my fists clenched and unclenched.

“You’ll be fine,” Erin whispered.

Not asecond after, my mother opened the door and asharp pang sliced through my chest, remorse tearing at my heart. My mother had aged, much more than fifteen years it seemed. She left her hair white, hair that had thinned out from her usual mane of thick, long, blonde locks. She was never this painfully thin, either, disappearing behind her jeans and powder-blue blouse.

Wrinkles covered the areas around her eyes and lips, ones she didn’tattempt to hide with makeup, and if not for the shine in her hazel eyes and wide, exuberant smile she would’ve looked closer to awoman in her eighties rather than her young fifty-seven years.

“Thomas, Ican’tbelieve you’re really here!” She hugged me with as much strength as her tiny figure allowed.

“Hi, Mother. Great to see you,” Imumbled, maneuvering around her with the bouquet and the bag which held the wine. The hug, natural and loving, was unlike any hug she’dever given me, not even when Ileft for the airport.

My father came from behind her, wearing casual dark jeans and agray polo shirt. Unlike my mother, his hair was full, light brown peppered with white strands.

Idrew back from my mother on an instinct.

“This is Erin.” Iintroduced her to the both of them. “She’sthe one who got you these.” Ihanded the flowers and wine to her. “Erin, these are my parents, Deborah and Joseph.”

“Thank you, Erin.” She hugged her with her one free arm. “I’mso sorry Ihadn’tnoticed them earlier. You see, Ihaven’tseen my son in more than fifteen…” Tears pooled in her eyes and she dabbed at them with her slim fingers.

Icouldn’timagine what Erin made of it, of me.

“Don’tmind me. Your family is what matters today.” Erin brushed alock of hair behind her ear, her voice tender and reassuring.

“Imost certainly will mind you,” my mother exclaimed. “Ican’tthank you enough for helping Thomas acclimate. Hopefully, the positive experience will encourage him to stay.”

“Nice to meet you, Erin.” My father shook her hand briefly, smiling when she returned the courtesy, and spun in my direction, taking me into astrong embrace. “Thomas, so good to have you back.”

With my back to everyone, no one witnessed the sight of my eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets. My father’shugs were nonexistent, afew pats on the back at most.

He grabbed my shoulders and looked at me. “This house was empty without you.”

This whole thing was surreal, and my mouth opened and closed, unable to form words.

My mother led us to the dining room where abroad white marble table was set with the finest silverware they had, one Irecalled they only took out for special occasions. Bowls filled with my favorite dishes were spread all over the place. The clam chowder she talked about, biscuits and butter, short ribs, Shepherd’spie, and aplethora of dips and salads.

As overwhelming as their attitude.

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