Read Between The Lines: Business of Love 6

by Parker, Ali

  “Same please.”

  The barista rang our order through and invited us to sit. He’d bring us our coffees when they were ready.

  Walker and I found our seats at a small table for two near the window. We watched people walk by until the barista brought us our coffees, which we sipped foam off of and smiled over the rims of the mugs at each other.

  “Do you have an early start to your day tomorrow?” Walker asked as he set his mug down.

  I shrugged. “Depends how I feel. I’m still in the process of looking for work after getting back from my trip.”

  “Right. The world traveler.” He leaned back and draped one arm casually over the back of his chair. I wondered if he had any clue how hot he looked when he sat like that. Other women in the cafe, especially the young giggly ones, continuously shot looks in his direction. Walker seemed oblivious to their gaze. “If you could pack up and get on a plane somewhere right now, where would it be?”

  “Honestly?” I asked as I hoped the women staring at him weren’t simultaneously wondering what he was doing with a girl like me.

  “Honestly.” He nodded.

  “I don’t think it would really matter. Anywhere is better than here for me.”

  “You don’t like New York?”

  “New York is fine,” I said. “I guess I just don’t like the expectations that are on me when I’m here. When I’m traveling, I’m free to do what I want when I want. There’s nobody checking in on me making sure I’m ‘still on track.’” I used air quotes.

  Walker frowned. “What do you mean, still on track?”

  My brain told me to stop talking and change the subject, but my mouth started moving before I could catch myself. “I left home in a split second last year with a one-way ticket to London. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone for, only that I didn’t want to be here and I needed to clear my head. I’d realized I was burying myself in a life that I didn’t choose for myself and I knew if I didn’t get out, I’d spend the rest of my life making choices to make other people happy.”

  Walker sat up straighter and leaned forward. His eyes, dark emerald in the ambient lighting of the café, bored into my soul. “Who were you trying to make happy?”

  I looked down into my cappuccino foam. “My parents.”

  “Ah,” he said knowingly.

  “They’re good people,” I clarified. “But they had my life all mapped out for me before I ever had a chance to dream up anything for myself. I grew up knowing exactly where I was going. They’re both dentists, you see. They have their own practice and it was always the expectation that I’d follow in their footsteps, go to dental school, and join them in their clinic where I would eventually take over once they retired.”

  “Sounds monotonous.”

  “Yes,” I said, relieved that he understood. “I felt like I was in a straitjacket. I never should have let it get as far as I did but I found myself sitting in class one day at dental school, over a year into the program, realizing I didn’t want any of that. I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet but I’m not all that great with people and being a dentist is pretty up close and personal with, you know, people.”

  Walker smiled but he didn’t laugh at me. “You’ve worked in customer service, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, four years in a coffee shop kind of like this while I was in school.”

  “You’re starting to make more and more sense, Nora.” His eyes twinkled.

  I looked away.

  “Tell me more about this split second decision where you bought a plane ticket,” Walker said.

  I licked my lips. Where did I start? I decided to give him the short side of things. “I cried myself to sleep every night for three weeks. One day in class, when I was absolutely exhausted and more stressed than I’d ever been, we had a surprise exam. I sensed a panic attack coming on as I stared down at the pages, and in that moment, the clouds cleared and I had a moment where I knew I had to walk away from it all before I completely lost who I was.”

  “You walked out of the exam?”

  “I did. It was the best decision I ever made. It didn’t come without its consequences, of course, but I thank myself every day for having the guts to do it.” I hesitated as a lump in my throat formed. “I was so afraid of disappointing my parents that I almost flushed my entire future down the drain.”

  “That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “It wasn’t,” I whispered.

  Walker was a good listener. He never interrupted me, never questioned my decisions like so many people before him had when I told them I walked away from a promising career field. He sympathized but didn’t pity.

  I doubted he had any idea how rare that was.

  I cleared my throat and gave my head a shake. “Never mind about that. What about you? Does your family respect your decision to be an artist?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t have any family.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not kidding,” he said. He was still smiling but the smile didn’t touch his eyes. “I lost them when I was young. But if they were around? I doubt they’d have been all that supportive in the beginning. Growing up, art wasn’t spoken highly of in my house. Football and traditional careers like becoming a cop or an accountant? Now that was respectable. But what I do? It’s unlikely I would have gotten any approval until the money started rolling in.”

  Nora, you big dumb idiot, stop putting your foot in your mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Clearly, I have a bad habit of speaking before I think. Here I am bitching about my family when I should just feel grateful that I have them in my life and they were doing what they could to secure a stable future for me.”

  Walker shrugged one shoulder. “Just because you have a family doesn’t mean it has to be sunshine and rainbows all the time. How is your relationship with your folks now? They must be proud of how much of a world traveler you are.”

  “I don’t know if proud would be the right word.”

  “What would the right word be then?”

  “I think they’re modestly optimistic that I’ll see enough of the world and be content to settle down close to home with a man who has a good job and wants to start a family. Two kids would be ideal in their eyes. Enough to justify buying a two-story home in the suburbs with a dining room big enough to host family dinners over the holidays.”

  Walker considered me for a moment. “But that’s not what you want?”

  “No,” I said. “That’s not what I want.”

  Chapter 14

  Walker

  There was pain in Nora’s past when it came to the rift between her and her parents. I could see it in the furrow of her brow when she spoke of them and how her shoulders tensed. As an artist, I had a trained eye to notice subtle shifts and changes in the human body. My models had taught me over time the cues to look for that hinted toward fatigue, frustration, contentment, discomfort, and so much more. I took it seriously to make sure they were always at ease in my studio, and as soon as I picked up on signs that a woman might be uncomfortable or growing weary of maintaining the same pose for so long, I’d cut the session short and schedule another appointment.

  Nora radiated those cues now, the fatigue, the weariness, the shame.

  I hoped she didn’t regret her choice to walk away from the dentistry life because even I, a guy who hardly knew her, knew full well it wouldn’t be suited to her. She’d feel like she was trapped in a cage. Family businesses had their place, especially in America, and there was something to be said about the values that passed down through generations, but it wasn’t for everyone.

  “Have you spoken much to your folks since you got back from your trip?” I nudged my now empty cappuccino cup to the edge of the table.

  Nora tucked her hair behind her ears. “No. I… I haven’t even told them I’m home.”

  Yikes. That sounded like a recipe for disaster.

  She pressed two fingers to her temple and
closed her eyes as a laugh without humor escaped her. “I know how crazy that sounds. And I know they’d want to hear from me. But I need to get my ducks in a row before I reach out. Otherwise…”

  “They’ll criticize?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Exactly.”

  “You strike me as someone who can take criticism, even if it is a little harsh. You can certainly dish it out.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and their ocean-blue fixed on me. “I didn’t mean to make anyone feel bad when I was talking trash in your gallery. I especially didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  My intention wasn’t to remind her that she could be as harsh as her parents. I was merely trying to imply that intention and interpretation didn’t always align. “Maybe your folks are the same way,” I suggested. “Maybe they don’t intend to harm or hurt your feelings. Maybe they’re just scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  Her question was so genuine and vulnerable that I began to worry how much weight rested on what I was telling her. We hardly knew each other. Was I really qualified to be having these kinds of conversations with a woman I hardly knew?

  Then again, it didn’t really feel like I hardly knew her.

  Quite the contrary. It felt like I knew her quite intimately.

  “Maybe they’re just scared of the unknown, whereas you’re inclined to chase it,” I explained. “Our parents carved out their own lives. They know how it started and where it ended and they can’t help but want better for us than what they had, even if what they had was good. Right?”

  “I’m following,” she said, nodding slightly.

  “So, if a child deviates from that belief they’ve held about their future, it only makes sense that they would resist. And it’s okay if they do. You have so much time ahead of you, Nora.”

  She looked down at the table. “I know.”

  “That’s a good thing. You have time to prove that you can take care of yourself and that they don’t have to worry. You can prove that you can be true to yourself and what you want and still live a purposeful, fulfilling, happy life. You might be able to see that from where you’re standing but they can’t.”

  She gnawed at the inside of her cheek. “My mother would either really like you or absolutely despise you.”

  I started laughing. “Because I give good advice but happen to be an artist?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “Why are we still talking about parents? Who cares, right? They had their moment. Now it’s our time to figure our shit out.”

  “To figuring shit out then,” Nora said decisively before she drained the contents of her cappuccino.

  Seconds later, the barista with the stretched earlobes approached our table with his hands clasped together. “I hate to do this because it seems like you two are having such a nice evening but we’re closing up for the night.”

  Nora stood in a hurry. Her chair scraped against the floor and she retrieved her denim jacket from where it lay draped over the backrest. She shrugged into it. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to stay so late. Thank you.”

  I was on my feet too. “Have a good night.”

  I held the door open for Nora and we stepped out onto the sidewalk. The warm coffee in our bellies helped ward off the chill as we made our way back up the street, passed the still crowded restaurant patios and closed boutiques, to the valet outside of Pitch, where I handed my ticket over and waited for my car to be brought around to the curb.

  As I drove toward Nora’s townhouse twenty minutes away, I considered inviting her back to my place for a drink. Something, a coiling sensation in my gut, ached for more time with her. But another part of me knew that would be moving too quickly.

  Nora wasn’t like the other women I’d gone out with before. She didn’t strike me as the sort of girl who would be impressed by my sprawling, lavish home or the in-ground pool in the yard. In fact, she might be unimpressed by it all.

  We needed more time to get to know each other before we took that step.

  So rather morosely, I pulled over to the curb outside her townhouse, turned off the car, and offered to walk her up to her door.

  Her shoulder bumped mine as we climbed the half flight of stairs to her front door. The lights were on inside and she fidgeted with her keys.

  “Don’t want to go in?” I asked curiously.

  She glanced up at me. “My roommates are going to bombard me with dozens of questions about you.”

  “And you’re obviously going to tell them how swoon-worthy I am. Yes?”

  She smiled. “I might tell them how arrogant you are.”

  “And that I give advice your mother would like.”

  Nora laughed. “Yes, and that. An unexpected surprise really. Grace would appreciate that about you. She’s always said the same kind of things about my folks. She’s my cousin actually.”

  “Ah, so she’s been around firsthand to see the judgment?”

  “Exactly,” Nora said.

  “Are you gonna tell her that your mother would like me?”

  Nora stopped fidgeting with her key and slid it in the deadbolt while simultaneously rolling he eyes at me. “I am absolutely not going to tell her that.”

  “Coward.”

  She nudged the door open with her hip but only a crack. “I had a nice time tonight, Walker. Thank you for dinner.”

  “I had a nice time, too. Thank you for not writing me off as nothing more than a pretentious swine.”

  “I haven’t not written you off. Not yet.”

  “Yet implies I have more opportunities to spend time with you.”

  Her cheeks turned pink as they had so many times already this evening. “Goodnight, Walker.”

  I slid my hands in my pockets as she stepped into the warm glow of her home. “Goodnight, Nora.”

  After she closed and locked the door behind her, I turned and descended the stairs. My car was warm when I got in and started it up, and as I pulled into the street and crept over the speed bumps, I decided I didn’t want to go home. Not yet.

  I wanted to paint. So I headed for my studio.

  It waited for me in darkness. The lights hummed for a couple of minutes after I flicked them on, as if they were saying hello or complaining about me being here at this hour. I ignored their mumbling, took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and sat down in front of the canvas I’d started sketching Nora’s silhouette on.

  In just the time I spent with her this evening, I could spot all the places I’d missed the mark. Her shoulders would be too wide if I used this original sketch. Her hips too narrow. Face too long. Thighs too slender.

  So I started over.

  Without having a model in front of me, I was forced to pull the image from my mind’s eye, and I held the picture in my head that had come to me while we were sitting at Pitch. Naturally, I started by painting the entire canvas black.

  From there, I began tracing the lines of her silhouette in deep red to be brightened up later. I captured the wildness of her hair, unruly and curly and spiralling toward and off the edges of the canvas. I painted her lips, soft and full, with a delicate cupid’s bow and wider lower lip, to exact perfection.

  They were perhaps the one thing I’d stared the most at while we were sipping our coffees.

  Next, I worked on the background, which at this stage looked like nothing but hazy lines of burnt orange and copper all blending together the way the reflection of the sunset did on a perfectly still ocean horizon.

  Flecks of paint splattered my forearms, hands, and thighs. Drops of red landed between my feet and resembled blood on the linoleum floors.

  I left the mess and kept painting. All the while, Nora’s laughter danced around my skull and I wondered what kind of things she was saying to her roommates about me. Did she want to go out again? Had she enjoyed herself as thoroughly as I had?

  How long was I going to have to wait before I could see her again?

  Chapter 15
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  Nora

  It had been raining all morning. Long streaks danced across the living-room window and blurred the lights of the houses across the street. Our neighbor was cooking something that smelled heavenly. Based on the sweet spicy smell, I assumed it was some sort of curry. They had loud music playing and the bass thumped through the wall but I didn’t mind. Their laughter flowed into the living room where I sat on the sofa, my phone in my hands, texting Walker.

  We’d been in touch daily via text ever since our night out on Saturday. It was all mostly playful banter and he’d made me snicker out loud several times, drawing the curiosity of my roommates.

  A new text from Walker rolled in as my neighbors turned the volume on their sound system down.

  ‘Tweed jacket guy just came into my studio and bought the painting. I don’t think his wife knows he’s going for it. Theoretically, would this be considered cheating?’

  I snickered and typed back.

  ‘Cheating in his own head with a girl from a painting? No, I don’t think so. But if I was her, I’d be looking into ordering a life-sized shirtless portrait of Chris Evans just to even the playing field. They could hang it above their bed. Or the dining room table. Either or. He’s a classy dude.’

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and I locked my phone and dropped it facedown in my lap. Grace swung around the banister and padded in socked feet across the laminate floors to drop into the opposite corner of the sofa from me.

  She gave me a wry smile. “What have you been giggling about down here? I can hear you all the way up in my office.”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re talking to him, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  Grace reached for my phone in my lap but I snatched it up. She laughed. “Nora! You’re smitten with him. I haven’t seen you this giggly in, well, ever.”

  “I’m not smitten. He’s just funny, that’s all. We get along. Why does there always have to be the assumption of something more?”