“On the side. I know, I know.” She winked at me and leaned down. Whispering, she said, “He’s a good boy, don’t let him fool you.”
She tapped the menus on the tabletop and left for the kitchen, barking at one of the customers as he waited at the cash register. “Hold your horses, Saul, I only got two legs.”
“She’s crazy,” Kai said, pulling a few packets of jelly from the small plastic holder against the wall.
I watched as he stacked them in order. Grape. Strawberry. Grape. And so on.
“All the best people are crazy.”
His eyes met mine. “Indie… Shit. I didn’t mean crazy. I—”
Laughing, I knocked his tower of preserves to the table. “Kai… I wasn’t offended.”
He picked up the jelly and started to build again. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why? Because I’m crazy?” I asked, the humor in my voice wavering.
“You’re not crazy.” He took the last packet and tossed it gently across the table.
It bounced and landed against my roll of silverware. “I’m not crazy…” I tried to smile. “All the time.”
He was quiet, and I raised my gaze from the table. I could see the questions brewing in his eyes.
“I wish I could hear them,” he lowered his voice, “the voices in your head. I wish I could tell them to leave you alone.”
Pressing my lips together, I fought my growing smile. In the end, I lost the fight. I felt his regard as it warmed my face and neck. “You do… in a way.”
His shoe pressed against mine under the table. “How?”
Nervous, I picked at my napkin and explained. “You make them harder to hear.” I wet my lips, thinking of the least date-ending way to say what I wanted to say. “You make me feel seen… It’s solitary being trapped inside my head all the time… I’m happy, less alone.”
“Hey.” His rough, warm voice scratched my ribs, made them separate. Made it easier to breathe as I made myself look at him. The smooth expanse of his throat moved as he swallowed. “With you… I don’t have to be anyone but me. No fake bullshit, Indie. It’s suffocating, every day, but not with you. I guess you make me feel seen, too.”
I packaged up his words, wrapped them in red, and hid them for later. Later, when I was alone again, I’d open them up, let them break me open; let them become a permanent fixture. A wall to protect me from myself.
Genie picked that moment to bring our coffee. Kai thanked her as she piled a mountain of sugar packets in the center of the table.
“Be right back with your order.”
Kai offered me the tiny metal carafe of creamer and I poured some into my cup. We sat in a comfortable silence until we took our first sips and smiled at each other when we both sighed.
“It’s good,” he said, setting his cup on the table.
“So much better than that place near campus.”
He took another sip, and I watched as he toyed with the small legion of sugar squares. “I want to ask you something, but it’s probably rude.”
“Now you have to ask me,” I teased, and his smile returned.
“Will you always be on medication?” He spoke with honest interest and not in a way that suggested he’d be bothered if my answer was yes.
“I will. My meds are good now, but they might change. Brain chemistry is a difficult thing to nail down. My dad told me he used to hate his meds because they made him feel like a zombie. He tried to wean himself off once, ended up in the hospital.”
“No shit?”
“It was after he got back together with my mom. She made him happy, and he thought he didn’t need them anymore. We’ll always need them, though. And therapy.”
He dragged the tip of his finger around the rim of his cup. “Have you ever been hospitalized?”
“No. I’m lucky to have my dad. We help each other. He swings more manic. Stays awake days at a time, trying to finish a painting or a project. He loses time, it can be scary, but it’s not often. We see it coming, and we help him. He does the same for me, but I tend to have deep downs. Those are the days I wish for his mania.”
“Are those days a frequent thing?”
I laughed at the serious, thick slash of his brows. “No. Don’t worry, I promise it hardly happens. I stick to the plan better than my dad ever did. Medication and therapy.”
“I’m not worried. It’s just hard to picture you… down.”
I made a show of frowning, and he laughed.
“That’s a great visual, thank you.”
I took a sip from my coffee. “Anytime.”
Genie brought us the two biggest plates of pancakes I’d ever seen. Kai had to explain how short stack equated to three gigantic, almost inch-thick pancakes. I was one-hundred percent sure the people who’d eaten a pound of these brick-style hotcakes had found themselves in an early grave. We ate in our own sated bubble, and I found myself wishing Royal was here so I could watch him die a happy little food death alongside me. Thinking about Royal, and how I’d sort of lied to him this morning about going to Rockport with a friend, made it difficult to stomach another bite.
Dropping my fork onto the plate, I groaned. “No more.”
Kai chuckled and wiped a drip of maple syrup from the corner of his mouth. “You tapping out already, O’Connell? And you said you liked carbs.”
I pointed to the wall of pictures. “Those people like carbs. I’m just an amateur.”
His head fell back as he laughed, and I wanted to kiss his Adam’s apple. Like he could read my mind, his gaze settled—smoldered—over me as he asked, “Ready to get out of here?”
He rested his hand on my knee under the table. “Yeah.”
The place was empty by the time we left, giving Genie more time to ask me questions as Kai paid our check. How did we meet? What was my major? What kind of flowers would I want on my wedding day?
“All right, Genie. It was good to see you again.” Kai wrapped his hand in mine, eagerly tugging me toward the door, away from her inquisition.
“It was good to see you.” She waved at me as we left. “Don’t be a stranger, Indigo.”
As Kai opened the passenger side door for me, I asked, “I don’t know… what do you like better? Lilies or tulips?”
“Ha ha.” He kissed away my giggle with maple-covered lips. “Now get in the car.”
Once Kai was settled in the driver seat, he backed out of the parking lot, and as he turned onto the highway, he said, “Roses. They’re traditional.”
My lips quirked into a small smile. “I like roses.”
“What color? Let me guess… pink?” he asked, the dimple in his cheek deeper than I’d ever seen it.
“Pink… Always pink.”
Kai
I should’ve known the gallery was closed on Sunday. Rockport was that kind of town. Small and out of the way. Not a place you’d ever want to visit on purpose. A place where Christian values only meant something one day a week. Those values measured by how much money you had in your bank account.
“I’m sorry about the gallery,” I said, breaking the silence.
It had started to rain, the tires of the car whirred in protest. A fine mist evaporated from the asphalt. I’d driven this road over a hundred times, in the rain and snow, rushing to get back to campus. Today felt different. I wanted to take my time, ease off the gas. Stare at Indie a little longer than I should.
“It’s okay. Another time.”
The windows were up, but the air circulating from the vents shuffled a few strands of her hair around her face. With her hair down, she seemed older, less fragile as she gazed out the window. It had felt right, having her at the diner with me. Darryl’s was my church. This morning, as I was getting ready, I’d tried to picture her, sitting in a booth where my mother had once sat. Eating my memories and making them her own. The real thing had been so much better. She fit. Belonged there. Reminding me how far I’d fallen. Drinking. Girls. Maybe I’d been trying to purge myself of all the g
ood. My mother. My responsibility to her. To myself. It was so much easier to be angry than to accept everything. To blame my dad, blame the disease. Indie made me want to accept it. Accept that the past was gone and that the future was uncertain, but viable, if I only let it breathe.
My mother would die.
She’d disappear from our booth at Darryl’s forever.
My father, who knows where he would be. I wanted to accept that I had no control over any of it. I wanted to be twenty-one, on a date with a hot, smart, interesting girl, and revel in the fact I might get to touch her for real this time. I wanted to know that I was living. That the rain beating like a drum on the windshield was the beat of my pulse.
Live. Live. Live.
It hit me, then, in the quickest of flashes. The night I’d almost died, maybe it had been subconsciously premeditated. My pulse had screamed then, too.
Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
I wasn’t tired anymore.
I was waking up.
The music she’d chosen for the ride back was bright and endless, and I was awake with it, with her. It felt fucking good. I felt good.
Reaching across the console, I held her hand and said, “Another time… I can work with that.”
She blushed as I lifted her knuckles to my lips and kissed them.
“Do you think the pool will be empty?” she asked.
It would be pretty early by the time we got back, and I knew some of the guys, even if Coach hadn’t made it mandatory, swam laps on their off days. If I wasn’t with Indie today, I’d probably be in the water this very second. But it was the Sunday after a meet, and the guys would undoubtedly be hung over.
“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” I said, disappointment settling itself between us.
She lowered her chin, her eyes on our clasped hands. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”
What was hard? Being with me? Dating?
“I kind of screwed everything up, didn’t I? I’m not the best planner in the spur of the moment.”
She lifted her head. “No, that’s not what I meant.” Hesitating, she rubbed her lips together. “I’m not ready for our date to be over, but it feels like maybe it is.”
“Let’s play it by ear, see if anyone’s there. If there is, we could go to the studio,” I suggested, her smile resurfacing again.
Hiding was a lot harder than I thought it would be. If Royal wasn’t her brother, none of this shit would matter. I’d show up at the pool and the guys would cat call and then leave us alone, if they didn’t leave first.
“Okay.”
Indie’s thumb rested on top of mine. The high of the afternoon flooded my veins, my heart knocking hard against my ribs. The feeling never faded, lingering all the way back to campus, our fingers intertwined the whole way home. But as we pulled into the parking lot behind the Aquatic Center, I immediately recognized the silver pick-up truck parked near the back entrance.
“Shit. Coach is here.”
Indie stared at the offending vehicle through her window, her fingers flexing in my hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, and the tone of her voice made me think she thought it was her fault.
“It’s not yours either.”
“If I was any other girl this wouldn’t be an issue. We wouldn’t have to sneak around.”
“If you were any other girl we wouldn’t be on a date.”
The few freckles she had on her cheeks faded with her blush.
“I mean it, Indie, this makes me sound terrible. But if you were any other girl, I would’ve left your room this morning and probably never called you again.”
Admitting this to her, out loud, in the dense space between us, where the words had no place to hide, where the mask I put on every day revealed itself, my heart rebelled. Yes. Indeed, I was the man-whore she’d most likely heard about. I was that guy. That idiot who used other people to make himself feel better. Feel anything at all. I tried last semester, when I’d dated one of my hookups longer than I should have. Karma had caught up to me, though; she’d cheated on me with Sherman.
I waited for regret to dull the open blue sky of her irises, but she squeezed my hand and said, “I know.”
“You know?”
“I do…” She pressed the tips of her fingers against mine, measuring the size of our hands. “We might not have been friends last semester, but I have eyes, Kai. I see the way every girl on this campus looks at you. Aware and wanting. Some with hurt, and others, they can only hope to hurt.”
Letting go of her hand, I lifted her chin. “What about you? How do you see me?”
Looking straight through me, she said, “It depends on the day. Sometimes I see you in violet. Violent and strong. Sometimes in gold, when you think no one is watching.” She smiled, and the air in my chest ignited as she appraised me, each second that passed, she exposed, unearthed another nerve. Indie brought her fingers to her lips and lowered her lashes, heat flooding her face. “Lately, red.”
“You see me in colors?”
“All seven shades of the spectrum.” She wet her lips as my thumb dusted her cheek. “That’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it?”
I cupped her face in my palms, forgetting that we were in a parking lot where anyone could see us, shelving Royal and his overprotective bullshit and kissed her. Slowly, Indie’s lips rediscovered mine. Sweet and gradual as my hands slid into her hair. The thick strands tangled in my fingers as she gripped my shoulders. The edge of her fingernails dug through my shirt, and I groaned into her mouth.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be. I liked it.”
She laughed and rested her forehead against mine.
“Indie…” I inhaled her warm scent. “I like that you’re not like every other girl on campus. You’re not weird… you’re honest. I’d rather spend my time with you, being real… than spend another night faking it with a stranger.”
Tipping her head back, her eyes glittered as she smiled. “Then take me to the studio.”
Heat from the kiln smothered the studio space as we walked in. Thankfully, though, there didn’t seem to be anyone around. We didn’t have to hide here, but I wanted to be alone with Indie as much as I could. Keeping her brother out of the loop gave us almost no options, and I was starting to feel like the studio was our safest bet.
“This was what I wanted to show you,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me with a smile. “Dr. Greenbaum bought the wrong size last semester and said we could stretch our own canvas if we wanted.”
“Dr. Greenbaum?”
Indie stopped in front of the large, chain-link storage gate in the back of the studio. She entered the combination on the padlock and it clicked open.
“He teaches a found materials class in the summer, but sits in for Professor Foss sometimes in advanced painting. He orders all the supplies, too, and…” She swung open the door. “He ordered two rolls of canvas in the wrong size. Said we could do what we wanted with them. No one has used them yet.”
She linked our hands and pulled me into the large storage space.
“Yet?” I asked, smiling at her enthusiasm.
“Here… help me,” she said, pointing at a seven-foot-tall roll of canvas leaning against the wall.
“Holy shit.”
“Right?” Her face opened as her lips spread into something magnificent. She was in her element. “Each roll has one hundred yards. That’s three-hundred feet of primed canvas just waiting to be used.”
I chuckled. “That sounds dirty.”
“That’s something Corbin would say.”
“Do I need to remind you, you’re better friends with Corbin than I am?”
Barely able to suppress her smile, she said, “Come on, I can’t carry this by myself.”
“Carry it where?”
She nodded her head to the empty area near the kiln. “My parents used to do this with us when we were little. They’d roll ou
t a huge piece of canvas and only let us use our fingers to paint.”
Taking on as much of the weight as I could, I walked backward toward the spot she’d indicated, dropping the roll to the ground and asked. “We’re going to finger paint?”
She shook her head, her lips tipping up at the right corner. “Have you ever heard of Yves Klein?”
“Yeah, didn’t he create his own shade of blue?”
“Yes… I kind of love that you know that.”
I kissed her forehead. “I’m smart when I want to be.”
She exhaled, her eyes dissecting my words, her expression made me feel like I could be anything I wanted to be as long as she always looked at me like she was right now.
“Anthropometries,” she said. “Klein used what he liked to call ‘living brushes’ to create art that seemed to move across the canvas. I found out about his work while I was researching the color blue.”
“I kind of love that you researched the color blue.”
“It’s my dad’s fault. He’s obsessed with the color.”
I played with a piece of her hair, tucking it behind her ear, understanding the word obsession better than I ever had before. She hadn’t pulled it up yet. The golden waves fell well past her shoulders to the middle of her back. Gold wasn’t right, though. Each strand seemed to have its own shade. Gold, straw, white, buttery blonde, and caramel. Indie had her own color. Just like Yves Klein’s blue, she could trademark her own new shade of yellow.
I tapped the roll of canvas with my foot. “So what does this Klein guy have to do with finger painting?”
She laughed. “He had people cover their naked bodies in paint and –”
“Naked?” I swallowed, a little shocked and turned on.
A red hot stain reached the tips of her ears. “They used their bodies as the brush.”
“Naked?”
“Yes.” She stared at me.
I stared back.
My heart beating loud enough it echoed through this entire damn studio, I asked, “You want to paint naked?”
Indie’s laugh was nervous as it giggled over her lips “No… No. I meant they were naked. I figured we could just have fun. Totally PG-13 fun. ”
Seven Shades of You Page 20