"It's okay, Amelia. You can talk to me about it. I can see the hurt that's still in your eyes. What he did to you was repulsive, and I don't blame you if you choose to never forgive him. At the same time, I know love doesn't just disappear overnight. Believe me, I know. I can tell you still love him."
"I don't love him," I reply too quickly. Justin gives me a pointed stare, calling my bluff. "Fine. But I really don't want to." I drop my roller back in the paint tray and sit down, resting my back against the wall. Justin sighs and sits down facing me. He grabs ahold of my hands that are resting carelessly on my knees.
"I know it's hard but I promise it gets easier. You don't have to pretend you didn't love him or downplay what happened, not to me anyway. I've had my heart broken, too." His soft eyes look at my sympathetically. I look down to my lap and some tears spill out.
"I have the nicest guy in front of me and I'm crying about another. How pathetic. I'm sorry," I honestly tell him. I wipe under my eyes.
"Hey, you don't have to apologize." He squeezes my hands and gives me a small smile. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll take you to dinner if and when you ever want to. We're friends, we always have been and no matter what happens, we always will be."
I nod my head but a few more tears escape my eyes. "You're so sweet." I sniff.
"We'll always be friends...even if you do have something on your face right now."
"Oh, my God," I let go of his hands and wipe the tears away. "I'm probably covered in mascara." I can feel my cheeks warming, embarrassed by my sloppy crying.
"No, actually, it's paint."
"Paint? Really? Where?" I start rubbing different parts of my face.
He grins and states, "Right here." He moves so quickly, it doesn't sink in that he just wiped his paint covered fingers across my cheek. I gasp.
"No. You. Did. Not!" I laugh, and put my game face on. "You are so dead, Justin!" I get up.
"Oh, please. I can take you," he stands up, wiggling his still wet fingers like he's about to attack.
"Don't even!" I warn, even though I'm smiling. I grab the roller from the tray and hold it out in front of me. "You are such a goner!" I move in for the kill, ready to roll his entire face in white paint. He grabs my arms to fight me, but I refuse to relent. We're both laughing.
"There's no way you're going to win this fight, Amelia!" He works my arms up so they're over my head. I feel a heavy PLOP on my head and I know a large drop of paint just fell on my hair. I change my tactic since he's clearly stronger than me.
I gasp, making my eyes huge. I look behind him as if someone just walked in on us. "Oh my gosh!"
He immediately drops my hands. "What?" He looks behind him to where I was looking.
"Psych!" I take the roller and move it all the way from the neck of his shirt to the hem.
He turns slowly back around, biting his lip to hide a smile. "Okay, you got me. Real smooth." He shakes his head. "Now give me a hug!" He yells and grabs me before I can react.
"Eeee!" I squeal and tense up. He laughs loudly, and I can't help but to laugh with him. "Truce!"
"Truce," he agrees, and lets go of me. He freezes before he steps away from our hug. He beams at me, holding his hands in the air. He turns his head to look back at where we were sitting. "Um, Am..." He backs up and shows me his hands that are evenly covered in white paint. I look at him, not understanding why he's smiling so big. I gasp when it sinks in.
"Oh no!" I attempt to twist my body to look at my back. What I can see of it is covered in white paint. "I can't believe I did that!" I look to the wall that has a big, odd looking smudge right where I was sitting a few minutes earlier. Justin laughs.
"It's okay, I'll fix it. We better hurry and get this done. We need to get the fans going soon or everyone that comes in for breakfast tomorrow is going to get high off the fumes." We both sigh at the same time and go back to painting the wall with smiles on our faces.
This beat-up, old, wooden counter at the framing studio has basically become my home over the last two months. It's boring as all get out, but at least it gives me time to work on my photography. Currently, I am commiserating over what photos to select for my art show this weekend. I hunch over my computer, and rest my head on my hand. I’m bouncing between confident and insecure every hour, and it's giving me a migraine. I jump when I hear the bells on the door ring. Thank God, a customer! I need a distraction. I look up and the beautiful, poised, Mrs. Jacobson walks in.
"Hi, Mrs. Jacobson." I welcome her with a short wave.
"Hello, dear," she greets me with a pleasant smile on her face. This is the first time I've seen her since the whole Becky incident. Poor Mrs. Jacobson was thrown in the middle of it. "I was shopping down the street and I thought I'd pop in and see how you're doing. I've also heard a little rumor about an art show."
I grin in nervous excitement. "It's true! I'll be presenting my art at The Diner this weekend. I would love it if you could come," I inform her. "In fact, I've been sitting here trying to figure out what photos I want to display. I had no idea how hard it would be."
"Oh, honey, you know I'll be there. Maybe I can help you with some of these photos? Not that my opinion means much but I'd be happy to look them over, if you'd like," she kindly offers.
I sigh in relief. This is the exact help I need from a person that will be honest and straightforward with me, and someone that knows the art world. "Mrs. Jacobson, I would appreciate that so much. Are you busy right now? I have them all pulled up and ready," I eagerly tell her.
"As a matter of fact, I'm not busy at all," she replies and gives me a wink. She walks over as I make room for her behind the counter so we can look at the photos together. She has seen my work a few times now and frankly, I think she's my biggest fan. Her opinion means the world to me.
"How many will you be showing?"
"Seven." I rub my hands together nervously as she starts scrolling.
"Out of..." she looks down to see how many photos there are on my computer, "nearly a hundred. You've been busy!"
"I haven't been as active as I should have been this summer but there are some ones that I really like that I took throughout last semester in Portland."
She gasps. "Oh, this one! Is this Portland skyline?" She's observing a photo I took almost six months ago when I got back to Portland after winter break.
"It is! You have a great eye," I compliment her, even though she already knows.
"The blur of the lights mixed with the rain is stunning. You must include this one," she insists. "How many more do you need to pick out?"
"After this one, I need to pick out three more."
"You are so talented, Amelia. No wonder you're having such a hard time deciding which to show."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I still have a lot to learn," I admit.
"Honey, don't be so modest. There's no way I'll walk out of The Diner without having purchased at least one of these photos. I adore your work."
"Thanks," I reply with a grin on my face and my cheeks turning pink.
She stops scrolling and leans back to look at the photo from a little further away. "Oh, my. I love your black and white photos." I lean over and my heart skips a beat when I see the photo is the impromptu one I took of Todd's hands. "You've edited this miraculously. This photo, Amelia...this photo tells a story. A profound story of sadness, tragedy even. I see hard work and a sense of guardedness, yet the way the hands are positioned together give them a sense of softness behind the rough exterior. Amelia, I can see this person's heart through his hands."
I stare at the photo and let her words sink in. Before I know it, tears are streaming down my eyes. I was afraid to select this image because of what and who it reminds me of. I feel pain, sorrow, and love all at the same time whenever I look at it. Mrs. Jacobson is right though. It needs to be seen. I nod my head and sniff.
She turns her eyes from the computer to me. She rubs my arm, comforting me. "I know these are Todd's hands. I know it's hard for you to lo
ok at it, but you know I'm right. If I was wrong you wouldn't be crying right now. I nod my head and wipe my wet eyes. "I don't know the details but my niece's indiscretions were displeasing to say the least. Todd hurt you...but I also saw the way he looked at you. That young man loves you. However, young men can also make poor decisions and you, my dear, deserve to be adored. This might not be easy to hear, but you and Todd's story isn't over. He still has your heart and you still have his."
Tears are flowing relentlessly down my cheeks. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because I have been wildly in love before. I could sense it plain as day the first time I saw you two in the same room. Don't write off your romance just yet." She winks at me then looks down at her gold watch. "I have to be going now. Put those two photos in the show. Oh, and the close up waterfall, too. That one’s lovely." When she's halfway across the studio, she looks back at me and smiles. "You have a bright future, Amelia. Remember what I said."
She's already partly out the door when I find my voice to shout, "Thank you, Mrs. Jacobson!"
I stare at the door well after she leaves. I'm stunned by her honesty, but I still feel a hole in my heart. Maybe, just maybe, she is right about Todd. My heart skips a beat, and a flicker of hope ignites.
39
–– Todd ––
The teal paper is shaking in my hand. The effect Amelia has on me hasn't dissipated at all in the last two weeks. I'm sitting behind the desk at work, finishing some paperwork for Roger since he went home early to spend some time with his daughter, Emmy. The paper is a flyer for an art show opening at The Diner this weekend, featuring Amelia's photography. I release a heavy sigh. That explains why she and Justin were painting the walls the other day. It doesn't make me less jealous. If anything it makes me angry that she had to go to someone else to help her, and that the person she sought was Justin.
I toss the paper on the desk, contemplating on whether not I should go on Friday––tomorrow. The mere thought of her standing in front of me excites me and terrifies me. I also feel the need to support her and the work she spends so much time creating. After ten more minutes of back and forth thinking, I decide to go. I need to see her. Maybe she'll even let me talk to her. Either way, I can't let this Justin kid get in the way of the hope I have for Amelia and me.
The rest of my work day is spent obsessing over how I'm going to get Amelia back.
I skip the beer shower after work and take a shot of whiskey instead, to calm my nerves. Amelia's art show is tonight, and I still have no idea what I'm going to say to her. The best plan I've come up with is to get her alone and just spill my guts. My nerves are on edge though, because last time I tried, she didn't believe me.
I put on the nicest pair of jeans I have and tug on my black boots. I even took my shirt to the laundromat and paid the lady to iron it for me. I look in the mirror and have to say that this is the nicest I’ve looked in years. I can't be bothered with my hair since I'll be wearing my helmet and it'll get messed up regardless. I grab my keys and my helmet, and head out the door. I don't even make it to my bike before I turn around and walk back inside the house and straight to the kitchen. My hands are shaking, my nerves are on end. I take another swig of whiskey, then make my way to The Café.
I walk through the glass doors, like I have a million times before, except now I feel a little out of place. The walls are white and there is soft lighting that's mounted on the walls near Amelia's photographs. There are many people here, which allows me to calm down enough to slip into the crowd discreetly. I quickly spot Amelia surrounded by her parents and two other older couples. I turn away and begin to look more closely at her artwork. Each photo has a little price tag and some have a name attached to them. There's a waterfall photo that has caught the water in midair, and you can see the individual droplets. I'm blown away because I didn't even know a camera was capable of that. Apparently, I'm not the only one because other people are chatting all around it.
"Oh, honey, let's buy it," a middle aged woman with a classy blue dress says to her husband. She wraps her arm around his elbow. "Please. It will look so good in the guest room, don't you think?"
He sighs and shakes his head. "You're right."
"That's the smartest thing you've ever said," she informs him, smiling. He laughs.
"Let's claim this before someone else done. Then we can get out of here before you want to buy every photo in here. I know you like the photo of the hands, but we are not hanging a photo of some random man's hands in our house." He starts to lead her to the pay counter of The Diner where Justin is taking notes in front of an older woman.
It takes me a full minute to realize that the woman is Mrs. Jacobson. My heart skips a beat, and I'm hoping she's on her way out. She glances up and her eyes land directly on mine. Shit. I quickly look away with a guilty look on my face. I say a silent prayer that she doesn't come over here to give me a piece of her mind. I move to my left, to look at the next photo on the wall.
My breathing stops when I see it: "the random man's hands" photo that the middle aged man was talking about not ten minutes ago. I remember the day she took this photo like it was yesterday. We were making terms of our little dating agreement. She made me hold her silky scarf, and I thought she was crazy. I can feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards.
"Incredible, isn't it?" I hear a woman's voice behind me. I'm deathly afraid to turn around out of fear of what Mrs. Jacobson is going to say to me. I decide that whatever she's about to say, I probably deserve it, so I turn around to face her. She's wearing a black dress with her hair wrapped up in its usual way, except now it is topped with a red hat with black lace.
"Hi, Mrs. Jacobson," I greet her as politely as I can through my fear. She gives me a polite, small smile in return.
"Hi, Todd. What do you think of the piece?" She tilts her head toward the photo.
"Um..." I struggle for words. "Honestly, I'm really surprised. I knew she was good, but this is amazing. Not just this photo but all of it. I forgot she took this photo." I pause for a moment to look at the details of my hands. The wrinkles, the dark grease spots, the shadows...my dirty fingernails... "She managed to make the ugliest part of me beautiful."
"Did she though?" Mrs. Jacobson counters.
I suck in a breath. Ouch. I give her my best guilty face. She nods.
"She did. That's why you're here right now. She makes the ugliest parts of you beautiful."
I nod my head in agreement, contemplating the weight of what she is saying.
"Have a nice evening, Todd." She starts to turn away from me then looks back to add, "And don't fuck it up."
I watch her until her red hat disappears through the exit door, then I sigh, and turn back to stare at my hands on the wall. Part of me is shocked that I essentially got the blessing of Mrs. Jacobson to get Amelia back, and the other part of me is terrified that I actually will fuck it up.
I take a deep breath, tear my eyes away from the photo, and start scrolling through the crowd to find my Amelia.
40
–– Amelia ––
The evening is going better than I ever could have imagined. The turnout takes my breath away and warms my heart. The crowd also makes me nervous as hell. All these people from all over the town––families with kids, trendy high school students, older art lovers like Mrs. Jacobson, my boss Jimmy Frank, and couples on dates––all looking and assessing my artwork. My stomach has vigorous butterflies crashing around. Most of my confidence right now is coming from my favorite dress. It’s knee length and black, with a tight upper bodice and scoop neck. At the waist it has two pleats making it playfully flowy all the way down toward my knees, where the black fades into gold. It's like my mojo.
"Hey," Justin says to me, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Where did you go just now? It looked like you were deep in thought. Are you okay?"
I give him a small smile. He really is the sweetest guy. When I saw him walk in, before anyone else got here--dressed up in dark slacks,
shiny shoes, a black button-down, and a dark purple cardigan--I was filled from head to toe with a warmth that soothed and comforted me.
"Yes, I'm okay," I assure him. "I'm just a little overwhelmed by all the people that showed up. It's a lot to take in."
He nods his head in understanding. His eyes turn soft, and he puts his hand below my elbow. "Follow me." He nods his head and turns away from me. His hand lightly slides down my arm until he finds my hand, he gives it a light squeeze and then lets go.
I follow him into the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It's dimmer than the rest of The Diner, and we're alone. He faces me and gently takes my hands in his. My heartbeat picks up, curious about what's going to happen right now. It's just hand holding but judging by the way Justin is looking at me––his eyes sparkling and mouth slightly turned up, it's more than just holding hands. We've never been this intimate before.
"Amelia, I just want to tell you how proud I am of you. It takes serious guts to do something like this, and I really admire your courage," he admits. I melt inside. He lets go of my hands, but steps closer to me. My heart is racing because I think I know what's coming. "And if I didn't say it already..." he gently pushes my hair back with his fingers, and caresses my cheek with his thumb. I can't help but close my eyes, and take in this moment. "You look beautiful tonight."
His hand moves to cradle the back of my head, and his lips reach mine. I hesitate for a second but give in, and softly kiss him back. It's exciting––something I wanted for so long in high school, and now it's actually happening. It's nice but...it doesn't ignite the fire in my heart. I don't feel it all the way down to my toes. It doesn't make my entire body throb. He's not Todd. The realization comes crashing down on me, forcing me into a heightened emotional state. I pull away from him slowly. I peer into his loving eyes. My mouth turns down, and the second he notices, his eyes instantly dim. He takes a step away from me, giving me some breathing space.
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