Page 39 of Switched At Birth

"Yeah," he hollers from the living room.

When I return with only one beer, I extend my hand to give it to him, and when he reaches for it, I take it out of his grasp, open it, and take a couple of deep swallows. "Assholes can get their own beer," I say as I drop onto the couch.

“Well, who is the asshole now?” He pushes up, coming back with his own beer and starts the game, proceeding to kick my ass for the next three hours.

“Shit. You’re a bad influence on me.” I hand him back the controller.

“Hey, Brooks, you’re not so bad after all. Maybe you can come and hang out with Dave and me more?”

How is it that Noah is changing me, almost making me into the person I’ve always wanted to be?

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Crossing through the door of my bedroom, I stop at the picture ofThe Brideon my desk. I have an idea, one that came to me a couple days ago. But, with Noah, I have more inspiration.

Bypassing the rest of my space, I take a seat, shining as much light my way as possible since it’s well past daytime. The piece is large, having lots of open space within the water color paper I had to special order. I start behind the bride, creating the background: the beach, rocks, sand, and waves. Everything that depicts where she is and what she’s doing. I add seats, which are a little more abstract, casting them far from her, as she’s running from the scene. In the horizon, a boat is tied to a dock, and an abstract figure, though clearly a man, is waiting for her. I’m exact with my strokes in every part of the painting except for the edges, where the speculative objects are easy to discern, but then again, it’s in the eye of the beholder to make up their own story. But for me, this story is about a woman who never realized what she was missing until the right person showed up in her life.

I step back, taking in the completeness of it. Am I missing anything? No. It’s perfect. Not only is Noah changing my outlook on life, he’s an influence in my art.

I find I want to share this with him. I finished a piece I hated, only for it to be one of my favorite paintings I’ve ever created. I hit his number, but when no one answers, I fall asleep with the new piece I’ve renamedThe One, as the backdrop for my dreams. That and Noah. I think Noah will forever be on my mind. Now that I have him, I can never let go.

* * *

Four hoursof sleep last night will have to get me through today. I’m too giddy to sit on this picture, and take the nine a.m. bus into Seattle to Kate’s studio. She comes in at ten on the dot, every single day, and I make it to her storefront a few minutes early, pacing to keep myself warm. I can rough it out ten more minutes, but when I see her signature platinum-blonde pixie cut, and hear her four-inch heels clicking on the pavement beneath a long trench coat, both me and my dick are happy we don’t have to wait in the cold a second longer.

“Holy shit! Tell me that’s the picture, and you’re done.”

I nod my head as she unlocks the door. “If you would have called me, I would have been here sooner, you idiot. If you get pneumonia, Noah will kill me,” she teases. “Anyway, it looks like you both are a good influence on the other.”

I’m caught off guard by her words. “What do you mean?” She rids herself of her coat, but I’m not ready to shed the warm cocoon of mine.

“Oh, nothing. Never mind. Okay. Pins and needles, Ashton. Show me what you got, baby.”

My heart always drops a little at people’s excitement. Art is in the eye of the beholder, so just because she may not like it, doesn’t mean others won’t. Or vice versa. I pull out the heavy paper and place it on the easel.

She gasps, stepping backward. “Holy butterfingers in a pecan pie,” she says, a little of her Southern accent coming through in her excitement.

“Um, so you like it? Like you think it may sell?”

“Oh, shut the front door, of course it will sell. I know what I’m doing. It will appeal to a different buyer, but fuck me with an eggplant! Between the size, and the strokes, holy shit and popcorn. This thing will sell. I don’t think it will make it through the weekend.”

“Do me a favor. If you see Noah, can you put this up? I want to show him this tomorrow, if we can get into the studio. He gave me the inspiration, and…”

“You don’t have to say any more, and please, I beg you to spare me the details. I never thought you two could be muses for the other.”

“What? I don’t inspire him. He has enough talent in one of his pinkies. He doesn’t need me.”

She pops her eyebrows high above her reading glasses. “If you say so. Now, let me do my thing and make you some more money.” I’m five steps from the door when she stops. “By the way, Ash, something to think about. I’d like to have an open house. I have two new artists I’m representing. With newer names, I usually have three at one premiere. I need at least ten pieces, and the date is June 28th. Give it some thought. I’ll need your answer in a month.”

She wants me as a featured artist at one of her shows? I’m speechless, standing at the door but not moving. “Have I broken you, Ashton?” she asks, a giggle punctuating her question.

“Um, no. I just—Fuck. Wow. Yeah. Let me look at what I have planned, and I’ll get back to you.”

I already know my answer. This may be the break I’ve been praying for.

* * *

Greg texted me at work,asking if I was getting laid or coming home so he could kick my ass tonight. I’d rather get laid, but this thing between Noah and me is coming out of nowhere. I don’t want to stop seeing him, but I also realize I’m incredibly vulnerable to his charm. What if I care more than him? And I’m back to being that scared kid.

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