The Art of Appreciation

by Markus, Autumn

  “New statue?” Chris swung one leg back and forth at the knee and examined the clay. Matt nodded. “It’s beautiful,” Chris said with quiet seriousness. “Did she commission it? The pretty lady?”

  Warmth rose up Matt’s neck. He gently covered the statue, now more than half-finished. “No,” he admitted, unable to meet Chris’s eye, “and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to her. It’s just something to…de-stress, I guess. It’s nothing.”

  “Right,” Chris said. “Have you been to bed at all?”

  “Briefly.”

  Chris held out the cup of coffee that had been sitting beside him. “Then you’ll need this. Didn’t you say that you have a breakfast meeting?”

  “Yeah. I’m meeting Claire at the gallery at eight.” Matt gathered his tools and carried them over to the sink, only to turn back toward Chris when he chuckled.

  Chris was rubbing his head and smiling. “Dude, it’s seven thirty right now. Don’t you have to shower or something?”

  Matt’s eyes darted to the white clock face with stark black numbers and groaned. He’d spent five and a half hours on Abby’s likeness and missed any chance at sleep. “Fuck me.”

  Chris strolled over to take the tools from Matt’s hands. He nodded toward the now-covered sculpture. “No thanks, but if Abby sees you like you see her, I don’t think lack of that will be a problem for long.” He nudged Matt toward the door. “Go. I’ll clean these. You’ve gotta get dressed up for The Man, right? Get that big paycheck.”

  Matt thanked him and rushed out of the studio. He hurried through a shower and slipped into a pair of slacks, a button-down, and jacket, choosing to forego the tie this time because he only owned two and didn’t remember where either of them was.

  He made it to Claire’s gallery just as she was heading out the door. “Impeccable timing as always, Matt.” Claire looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she locked the front door. “Of course, you were supposed to meet me here a half-hour ago, but at least you didn’t stand the Bakers up.” She walked toward her Lexus and nodded toward the passenger door.

  “I’m so sorry, Claire.” He slid into the indicated seat and snapped his seatbelt closed. “I lost track of time, and…” He shrugged.

  “Please tell me you were working.” Claire sounded amused. “Or have you gotten things straight with Abby? She impresses the hell out of me, you know. Smart girl.” She patted Matt’s knee. “Not enough of those over the years. Haven’t I always told you that you’ll never be satisfied with someone who doesn’t challenge you? That’s how I snagged Charles—I teased him cruelly and refused to let him sit on his piles of money and do nothing. Not unless he felt like being ridiculed.”

  “Food for thought.” Matt rolled his eyes, and Claire slapped his leg. “Yes, I was working. And stop trying to play matchmaker. Abby…we’re…” He waved his hand vaguely. “She goes back to Boston in two months.”

  “Mmm hmm. Try to play cool with someone else—someone who hasn’t known you for almost two decades. You don’t do ‘summer things.’ You do casual dates and hook-ups. None of which have ever made you smile like you do every time I talk about Abby.” Matt shook his head. “Well, something or someone had you pretty damned preoccupied this morning. Look at your feet.”

  Glancing down, Matt was horrified. Instead of the dark loafers that he’d intended to wear, he’d slipped on his broken-down sandals. With socks. “Oh God…turn around.”

  “Too late,” Claire said calmly. “Methuselah is known for his punctuality. Never early, never late. We just have time to get to the table—you can hide your feet under it. Pray you don’t have to pee until breakfast is over.” She reached into the back seat and grabbed a tie. “I brought one just in case.” She looked at Matt’s feet again and giggled. “Good Lord, Matt. I think you were wearing those when I met you in college. Don’t you get rid of anything?”

  “Maybe I should start by getting rid of funny friends,” Matt grumbled, knotting the tie. “Thanks, by the way.”

  “Anytime. Does my favorite student and good friend deserve less?”

  After the restaurant hostess led them to their reserved table, Claire and Matt went over their pitch. He showed her pictures of the finished mock-ups and emphasized how important it was that they push terra-cotta. Guaranteeing delivery of three finished sculptures in that clay within a couple of months was going to be hard enough; Matt didn’t think the more traditional marble or granite would be possible at all.

  Just as they were finishing, Claire looked up, and her professional smile covered her face. “Game time,” she whispered.

  Carefully keeping his feet under the table, Matt stood to shake hands with the oldest man in North America and his child bride. Mr. Baker scrutinized Matt’s appearance and nodded approvingly. After they’d ordered and the meeting itself was in motion, Matt handed around the file of pictures he’d brought along. He had the feeling Baker had expected to see little progress; the old man seemed impressed that the two mock-ups were finished and the other sculptures already planned. Baker relaxed in his seat, lingering over the pictures of Zoe while his wife drooled over Jason, squealing that he was exactly what she’d had in mind.

  Breakfast spilled over into lunchtime as Claire and Baker politely sparred over prices and materials. It became difficult for Matt to focus when his mind started to wander out the restaurant door. He hadn’t realized the reservations were in Monterey. If he had, he might have suggested to Abby that they meet. He was longing for a look at her; the comparison between her lithe body and the plastic surgery wonder that sat next to him was not trending well for Mrs. Baker. He pasted on a smile at one of her more obvious innuendo-laden comments and took a deep swallow of his water to avoid having to reply. Then he cursed under his breath, because he really did have to pee now.

  In the end, Claire got what she wanted. Matt was glad once again that he’d had her as a teaching assistant in one of the first art classes he’d taken at UC Berkeley, where he’d hit on her and ended up as her friend. After marrying Charles Eastman, she combined her love for the arts with the financial acumen of Warren Buffett and became the best friend any artist could have.

  As they left the restaurant, Matt tried Abby’s cell and found out that she and Sarah were in Carmel, celebrity-watching and having a great time. They talked for a few minutes, and then her table reservation for lunch was ready and she had to go.

  Matt pocketed his phone as he and Claire drove back toward Santa Cruz. He looked over and caught Claire smirking at him.

  “What?” he asked in exasperation.

  “There’s that smile,” Claire sing-songed. “If I didn’t have to be back in SC in a few minutes, I’d take you to Carmel right now.” She shifted gears smoothly, roaring down the road at close to ninety miles per hour. “Of course, you could always get in your truck and—”

  “Act like a crazy stalker? No thanks.” Matt pulled the knot of the tie down until he could slip the silk from under his collar and toss it onto the backseat. Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, he yawned. “Besides, I have a lot of work to do. Some slave driver just committed me to six statues. And I need a nap.”

  “Six easy sculptures in a friendly medium. For an assload of money, don’t forget. And you wouldn’t need a nap if you didn’t stay up all night thinking about your girlfriend.” Matt’s head whipped around, and Claire started to laugh. “I was right! Holy shit! How old did you say you were again?”

  Matt slouched in his seat and pushed his hand through his hair. “Shut up,” he muttered, and Claire giggled again.

  When she dropped him at home, Matt found the house blessedly empty. Taking advantage of that fact, he exchanged his slacks and jacket for a pair of shorts and buckled down on his first sculpture, a solo of Jason. By the time he was ready to quit, arms and shoulders stiff from the big motions needed to rough in a large sculpture, it was late afternoon. Chris still wasn’t home from what Matt supposed was another busy day tending to the tour
ists on the boardwalk, so Matt decided to go for a run and then maybe catch his cousin for dinner.

  Slipping on shoes and a tee, he set off, trying to outrun the weariness of his body and his tension about Abby having dinner with Jason the next evening. He fought the little whisper of uncertainty in the back of his mind that kept asking what would happen if Jason convinced her to change her mind. No, that wasn’t fair. A woman like Abby wouldn’t let someone else make decisions for her. The real question: what if she changed her mind? Would Matt push the issue or walk away? For the first time, the answer to that question wasn’t obvious, and it pissed him off.

  Veering to run past Abby’s house happened without conscious thought. Maybe that was his answer. Unfortunately, the chairs behind the beach cottage were empty and the windows dark, so it was with a sense of disappointment that Matt looped around and headed for the boardwalk. Even having dinner with Chris and listening to funny stories about the tourists he’d “read” weren’t enough to bring Matt out of his funk. Abby’s text, describing the “asinine idiots” who were behind her and Sarah in a movie theater in Monterey didn’t help, either, because it was obvious to him that the idiots were trying to pick them up. It irritated the crap out of him that that irritated the crap out of him.

  By the time he walked home, Matt was ready to shower and fall into bed. He dropped into restless dreams that he couldn’t remember the next morning. He awoke feeling surly, and so he spent a quiet morning finishing the Zoe mock-up. Luckily, Jason seemed to feel just as crabby when he got to the studio that afternoon. They used minimal language to set up the shots Matt wanted, working through the different poses with alacrity.

  As an artist, Matt had to admire the form Jason had accomplished—a nearly perfect development of all the muscle groups, proportional and quite beautiful. As a…what the hell was he? A rival? The word made Matt cringe, but…yes, as a rival, Matt wanted to force feed him Ho Hos and tie him in front of Sports Center for a month or two. Or jump back in time a decade and a half, and…never mind. Matt had never looked like that at twenty-three. Completely different build. He wondered what Abby had preferred at that age.

  It startled him when Jason said goodbye. Matt followed him to the outer door of the studio, outlining the schedule he had in mind. Jason agreed absently, a frown marring his forehead.

  “Big date?” Matt asked casually.

  Jason shrugged. “Pretty sure I’m getting dumped.” He sighed. “I knew it was coming, but Abby tried to be nice by waiting until after the race. I won.”

  Matt felt a little sorry for the guy, but not sorry enough to step back. “Congratulations on the race, anyway.”

  Jason laughed ruefully. “I suppose.” He glanced at his watch. “I suppose it’s bad form to be late to be kicked to the curb. Today is not my freaking day.” He walked to his bike and climbed on. Pulling his helmet on, he waved Matt over.

  “Listen, thanks,” he said. “For the congrats. You’re a good guy.”

  Matt felt like guilt should be written large across his face. He evidently hid it better than he thought, because Jason just flipped him a salute and rode away.

  Then there was just the waiting.

  Through cleaning up his sculpting tools.

  Through the dinner he picked at.

  Through a stretch of mindless comedies on TV, during which he laughed when Chris chuckled but didn’t remember a word two minutes after each show ended.

  Afterward, he scanned sculpting materials sites on the Net, pricing the clay that he’d need for the next few months. Matt tried to keep his head together for that one but didn’t make the mistake of ordering when his mind wasn’t fully engaged.

  When his phone rang, hours after Jason had left, he snatched it from the table and stalked into the kitchen.

  “Hey.” Abby sounded weary.

  “Hey.” Matt tried to keep his voice pleasantly neutral as he opened the refrigerator and got a Coke. They were silent for a minute, and Matt sipped his soda, recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation. He’d barely known Abby for a month and had only spoken to her maybe a dozen times before spending the day with her. Oh, and he’d kissed her. But to be feeling this anxious about her was absurd. It would be better to avoid the potential drama and slide back into his easygoing life, right? The smartest thing to do would be to laugh the whole thing off and let the contact die.

  “How did it go? Are you okay?” Apparently, Matt’s mouth was not taking advice from his brain.

  “Yeah.” Abby paused, and Matt heard a door open before the susurration of surf started playing background to her words. “Jason didn’t seem surprised, though he wasn’t thrilled.” Matt heard her swallowing, and envisioned the smooth motion of her throat. That led to memories of kissing her on the beach, the way she’d tilted her head back to allow him better access. After a moment, Matt realized that she had paused expectantly.

  “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  Abby chuckled. “Tired?”

  “Yeah,” he evaded.

  “I said I’d like to stay low-key for a while, but I think we can get away with lunch. Can you take a few minutes tomorrow, maybe come over here?”

  “Hey, for you, I can take a whole half-hour.” Matt finished his soda and tossed the can into the recycle bin. “I’m glad that it went well, Abby. I’m sure it wasn’t easy, but it had to be done.”

  “Oh…um…yeah.” Abby sounded surprised, then wary. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Unless you find that you have other plans.”

  After awkward goodbyes, Matt dropped his phone on the counter and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, wondering where she got the idea that he’d cancel on her. He replayed the exchange in his head. Losing track of the conversation was probably the first strike. Sure, he’d been imagining Abby in his bed, but had he told her that?

  Then the stupid, stiff congratulations on ending things with Jason…

  He thumped the bottle on the counter. No wonder I’m alone, Matt thought. I’m a moron.

  Striding into the living room, Matt grabbed his car keys out of the basket and headed for the door. Chris kept his eyes on the television screen, but a smile twitched across his lips. “Going somewhere, cuz?”

  “Yep. Messed up already.”

  Chris tapped his temple. “I kind of thought you would. Bottle of Riesling and a couple of glasses in the cooler by the door.”

  “How—”

  Chris let out a full-fledged laugh. “Never mind. Just try not to blow it again when I’m not around to save your ass. ‘It had to be done.’” He shook his head.

  Matt flushed. “Give me a break. Abby’s not some random piece. She’s…” Matt couldn’t think of a word that adequately described what he thought of her. “Our time is just so damned limited.”

  “Then why are you wasting it? Enjoy the time you do have, and let the rest take care of itself.”

  Matt stared at him for a moment before scooping up the cooler and heading out the door. When he pulled up in front of Abby’s house, the windows were dark, but he took a chance that she was still out back. He crept around the side of the house, hoping that neither of the women living there was trigger happy. In the faint glow of the moon off the water, he could make out the chairs that Sarah and Abby lounged in while scoping the ocean. An errant breeze lifted a hank of bright hair from the back of one of the chairs and waved it gently.

  Walking down the beach, Matt didn’t make any special effort to be quiet, so he was surprised when Abby didn’t look around.

  “I thought you were coming over tomorrow,” she said, still looking toward the sea.

  “I thought I wouldn’t wait,” Matt replied. He leaned over from behind her chair and cupped her face between his palms, gently tipping her head back so he could see her face. “How did you know it was me? It could have been anyone walking up behind you. You should be more careful.”

  Abby smiled. “I knew.”

  The warmth of her gaze stilled Matt’s breath. He looked away lon
g enough to pull the other chair close and eased into it as he reached over to twine his fingers with hers. Abby squeezed gently, looking out over the water again. Tracing her profile with his eyes and admiring the soft curves of her body under the dark, silky robe she wore, he visualized how her shoulders would glow in the moonlight if the material was pushed back and off of them. If they were bare. Which his mind insisted must be the case, probably because he wanted them that way.

  Abby shifted her leg to the side and linked her foot around Matt’s ankle. “So…” she began, and then let it hang in the air, a question implied but not asked.

  “So.”

  Abby waited when he stopped speaking, her head resting against the back of her chair.

  He cleared his throat and started again. “Abby, I don’t know what I’m doing here. Not here here,” he added hastily as her expression started to close up. “I’m here because I want to be with you.” He chuckled nervously. “I feel like I’m fifteen again and at camp.”

  Abby’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Me, too! I’m the queen of over-thinking things. Boring, remember?”

  Matt raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Boring is nowhere near how I think of you,” he said, relaxing his head against the back of his chair.

  Abby took an uneven breath and looked down at their joined hands. “This is new to me, too. New as an adult, anyway. But I want it. This.” Her eyes flashed to Matt’s face. “You. And I don’t want to over-think.”

  “Enjoy the time you have, and let the rest take care of itself.” Matt repeated Chris’s advice, and Abby smiled.