Work of Art

by Monica Alexander

  I rolled my eyes dramatically. “There’s not much else to say. He was the first person to be nice to me after everything turned to shit. He told me he loved me after two weeks, and I know he really did. My mother hated that I was with him, because I think she was jealous, and she called me a whore on a regular basis, but I knew I wasn’t. Ryan and I didn’t even sleep together for the first year we dated. But I couldn’t go on the pill because if she found out, she’d know we were sleeping together, so we used condoms, and we were careful, but we weren’t careful enough. I got pregnant about a month before we graduated.”

  “And that whole time your mom was getting paid to have sex with men,” Brandon deduced.

  “Yeah, apparently, but she still couldn’t handle the fact that I’d gotten pregnant. I wondered if things would have been different if it hadn’t been Ryan. Our families never got along. His parents were pretty awful people. They never liked me, but I think his mother really hated my mom, and I never knew why.”

  “Maybe your mom was screwing Ryan’s dad,” Brandon offered, and I shook my head.

  “I doubt it. His dad didn’t seem like the type to do much besides work. I didn’t see him often, but he made it known that he didn’t approve of me. I honestly think he’s the one who talked Ryan into breaking up with me. It was a great excuse to get his son to move on and find someone who wasn’t white trash.”

  “You’re not white trash, and you weren’t back then,” Brandon told me.

  “Well, I know that. But they thought otherwise. They couldn’t stand that the community knew we were together, and they really couldn’t stomach everyone knowing he’d knocked me up, so if we stopped seeing each other, and I didn’t have the baby, no one would ever know.”

  “Man, I can’t believe you and Ryan almost had a kid together,” he said, shaking his head.

  Yeah, ‘almost’ isn’t quite the right word. But Brandon didn’t need to know that. Ryan hadn’t offered up that little tidbit of information, so I wasn’t saying anything.

  “Yeah, it’s sort of unbelievable,” I said, being purposefully vague.

  “Have you talked to him since you walked out on him at the bar?”

  I shook my head. “No, you know that. Have you talked to him?”

  I hadn’t stopped thinking about Ryan, but I also hadn’t called him. I’d almost called him a dozen times, but I stopped myself, knowing it wasn’t smart. I needed to let him go, but I was finding that to be harder than I’d originally anticipated.

  “Yeah, he’s my best friend. I talked to him yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.”

  “Brandon, I don’t even talk to my best friends that much, and I’m a girl. What is it with you two?”

  “It’s man-love, baby. Deal with it”

  “I’d rather get drunk,” I said, shaking my head. “That way I don’t have to think about my mother screwing Mr. O’Donnell from up the street or Mr. Thomas, the guy who liked ornate shrubbery.”

  “You mean like in Edward Scissorhands?”

  I nodded. “Yup, he was out there trimming them and measuring them daily. It was sort of creepy, but he always shaped one like Santa Clause at Christmastime, so that was pretty cool. Oh, God,” I said, dropping my head back on the chair. “I wonder if she screwed any of my teachers or the dads of people I’d been friends with.”

  I was pretty sure I could look back at her records and see just who she’d had ‘relationships’ with over the years, but I really didn’t want to.

  Brandon nodded his head a few times. “I’d say that’s probably a safe bet.”

  “That’s gross. Ugh, my mom was literally the town whore. And she always called me that.”

  “Geez, she sounds delightful,” he said sarcastically.

  I rolled my eyes. “The sad thing is I was a good girl, but I think that’s why she hated me. She was the one who slept around in high school, and I guarantee she was projecting her own lack of self-worth onto me.”

  “I’m just sorry I never met her,” Brandon said, his tone full of false despair.

  I threw a pillow at him, and he ducked just in time. “I have an amazing dad, though, so I’m not complaining.”

  Much.

  “Do you talk to your stepfather?”

  I shook my head. “No, we weren’t very close growing up. He worked a lot, and when he was home, he doted on my mom. I realized later in life that it was because he knew I wasn’t his, and he started to resent me being around. By the time he landed himself in prison, and my mom told me the truth, I was more pissed that I’d been lied to for so long versus finding out my father really wasn’t my father. I know he got out of prison a few years ago, but he’s never contacted me, and as far as I know, he never contacted my mom.”

  “At least you have kick-ass friends.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, Julian and Kelly are pretty amazing.”

  “And me!” he said, after a few minutes of me torturing him by not including him in the mix.

  “And you,” I said, humoring him. If he wanted to call me his best friend, who was I to stop him?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harper

  Two weeks later, it was a Tuesday night, and I was standing at the front counter talking to Krysta, one of my artists, and looking at the appointments that had been booked for the next few days when I looked up and stopped mid-sentence.

  “Hi,” I said, because it was all I could come up with.

  “Hi,” Ryan said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his rumpled suit pants.

  His hair was sticking up at odd angles like he’d been running his hands through it, and he had mustard on the corner of his mouth. He looked exhausted with dark circles under his eyes and a weary expression. I knew he wasn’t okay.

  “What’s up?” I said as casually as I could.

  I was honestly surprised was there. We hadn’t spoken in three weeks, and the last conversation we’d had ended with me telling him to fuck off. I wasn’t sure what to think about him just showing up at my shop.

  He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “I was grabbing dinner across the street, and I looked up and saw you, so I figured I’d come in and say hi.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” I said gesturing to the remnants of the sub he’d eaten.

  He looked at me in confusion for a second before realizing what I was referring to and quickly reached up to wipe his mouth with his hand.

  Then we stood and stared at each other for a few seconds.

  “I’m going to run to the back and make some copies,” Krysta said then, squeezing behind me.

  In the background I could hear the buzzing of the tattoo needles mixed with the alt rock we were playing overhead and the random conversations my artists were having with each other and the people they were working on. But other than that, the front of the shop was quiet, and Ryan and I were the only people in the room.

  “So, you just came by to say hi?” I questioned when he didn’t say anything else. My heart was practically pounding out of my chest.

  “No, I want a tattoo,” he said then, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Seriously?”

  I was sure I had one hell of a skeptical look on my face.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I had planned to get one the night Brandon and I came in, but then I ran into you, and it didn’t happen.”

  “What do you want?” I asked disbelievingly, sidestepping the mention of our chance meeting. I wasn’t interested in rehashing that night.

  I was more curious to know what sort of tattoo he wanted to get, but at the same time I hoped he wasn’t interested in getting his fiancé’s name tattooed on his body.

  He swallowed. “I want to look at some sketches you’ve done. I have this idea in my head, but I want something you designed.”

  “Okay,” I said, as I called for Krysta to come back out front to cover the rest of Gracie’s break.

  I knew she was just giving us space and was most likely hovering near Paulie while he worke
d. Ever since they’d started dating, I had to remind them that while they were at work, they both had jobs to do.

  Ryan silently followed me back to my private room. Even though there was a station available out front, I wanted to avoid the prying ears of my artists. He settled into the chair, and I handed him a book of my designs. I sat on my stool and watched him flip through the pages, stopping whenever he saw something that caught his eye.

  After a few minutes he looked up at me. “You’re really talented.”

  “Thank you.”

  I was dying to turn on some music, but the air was so thick between us that I was almost afraid to move.

  “Are there any Celtic symbols that mean ‘fuck you’?” he asked then, and I reeled back before a small smile started to creep up on his face. “I want to get it and show it to my family.”

  “I would advise against that,” I told him, as he continued to flip through the book. “But no, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a common term with the Celts.”

  He smiled a small smile and shook his head as he continued to flip pages. It seemed like he more so needed someone to talk to, but I wasn’t sure. We weren’t exactly friends, so it was odd that he’d come to me if something was bothering him, but I also couldn’t ignore the comment he’d just made about his family.

  “Ryan, are you sure you want a tattoo?” I asked, instead of probing into his personal life.

  He shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

  “Because you were never the type to mark your body, and keep in mind that this is forever. It’s really painful and takes a long time to make one go away, so you need to be sure that you want that before you let me come near you with a needle.”

  He sighed. “I understand how permanent this is, and even though I don’t have any tattoos, I think there are a lot of things in life that mark your body and stay with you forever, and just like ink, they’re painful to remove, and sometimes they never truly go away. But I wouldn’t change the decision to go through what it took to get those marks in the first place. I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

  The lyrics from Name by The Goo Goo Dolls suddenly filtered through my mind – ‘Scars are souvenirs you never lose, the past is never far.’

  “Ryan, why are you here?” I asked him.

  He closed the book but left it on his lap. “Because I wanted to see you. I don’t know what I did the night we met at that bar, but I feel awful about it. I haven’t stopped thinking about you, and I just needed to see you, to see if you were okay.”

  “I’m okay,” I assured him, even though my heart started pounding again at the realization that he’d been thinking about me.

  He ran his hand back through his hair and appraised me. “Brandon says you’re still coming to the wedding.”

  I nodded. “I am. I didn’t want to bail on him.”

  “I’m glad. I want you there.”

  Yeah, that was a little odd, but I wasn’t in the mood to question him about it.

  “Can I tell you something?” he asked then, as he looked at me pensively.

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  He shook his head. “You might already know this, but were you aware that your mom was sleeping with my dad during the time we were dating?”

  I sucked in a breath, and my eyes went wide, as I remembered the joke Brandon had made when I told him my mother had been an escort. I never expected it to be true.

  “Tell me you’re joking,” I said, not sure if I should tell him what I’d learned about her occupation of choice.

  “No, I’m not, but I feel a little better that you didn’t know either.” He shook his head. “The day I met you at the bar, my mom told me why she disliked you so much when we were dating, and that was the reason. She apparently hired a PI and had my father trailed, and she has pictures of the two of them together.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I cursed, folding my arms in front of my chest. “I knew she was sleeping with someone who was married back then, but I had no idea it was your dad. Ryan, I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s fine. It was more than ten years ago, and he’s apparently been faithful ever since, but I sort of hate him now for doing that to her. I’ve also been thinking about why he did it, though, and it made me wonder if he was ever happy with my mom.”

  I didn’t think Ryan’s parents had ever been happy. I’d never once seen them be affectionate with each other, and Charles Carson was about as cold as they got. And he’d actually been sleeping with my mother? I couldn’t picture it. He was at least fifteen years older than her. Weird, but if he was paying her, then I guess there was no accounting for taste.

  “I mean, my dad and mom got married because their parents wanted them to,” Ryan continued. “They didn’t have an arranged marriage or anything archaic, but it was suggested that they date and get married, and they did, and I just wonder if they would have each held out for the right person, someone who made them truly happy and completed them, then he wouldn’t have strayed.”

  “Uh, well, I’m not so sure my mom was in love with your dad,” I told him.

  He looked confused. “Why would you think that? They were together for more than two years.”

  I sighed. “She was an escort, Ryan. I just found out when I settled her affairs, but that was how she made money after my stepfather went to prison, so your dad was most likely paying her for their relationship or whatever it was.”

  “Jesus,” he hissed. “That might even be worse.”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I figured you should know.”

  I didn’t want to keep secrets from him.

  “No, I guess it’s better that I know the truth. But I still think if he truly loved my mom, if she truly made him happy, he wouldn’t have strayed.”

  I wanted to tell him that his father most likely strayed for sex, not happiness, but I didn’t think it mattered. If Ryan’s mother had been giving him everything he needed, he wouldn’t have needed to look elsewhere.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Are you thinking about your ex-fiancé?” I asked, not sure where he was going with his musings.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m not. I should go. I don’t think I’m ready for this. Maybe another time.”

  Suddenly he was up and out of the chair before I could say anything.

  “Ryan,” I called after him when he was almost out the door.

  He turned around and looked at me, and the sadness in his eyes ran so deep. And he looked exhausted. I walked toward him, closing the distance between us and wrapped my arms around his neck, hoping it would comfort him with whatever was bothering him. His arms wrapped around me and held me against his body. Neither of us said anything, and after a few minutes, he released me and stepped back.

  “I’ll see you Friday night, I guess,” he said, staring down at me as if he was in pain.

  I nodded. “Right, the rehearsal dinner. I’ll see you then,” I said, smiling widely at him as if to encourage him to let himself be happy.

  And I hoped he would be. I wanted him to be happy. Above all else, it was what he deserved.

  “Bye, Harper,” he said, before turning around and walking away from me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ryan

  “Dude,” Brandon boomed into the phone as I sat at my desk working on something that was causing my eyes to close.

  Work had really become exceedingly dull in the past few months, and Melinda was probably right. I was losing my edge because I could do the job with my eyes closed, so I was simply going through the rote motions and not putting in the extra effort I had for so long.

  “What’s up, man?” I asked, as I continued to type figures into the spreadsheet I’d been staring at for three hours.

  “I need you. There’s a problem at my new house, and I can’t get ahold of Tom or Al or Clint. I need someone to go out there and check on it.”

  I had no idea who those guys were, but I assumed they were people who worked at Brandon’s new winery.

&nbs
p; “What’s the problem?” I asked, wondering if Brandon remembered that I was not the handiest of guys when it came to home repair. I always hired someone when there was an issue.

  “Plumbing,” he said. “Listen, I called a plumber, but I need someone to meet him there and stay while he works.”

  “Man, I’m working.”

  “Du-ude, come on. I’d never ask you for this kind of favor if I didn’t really need your help. Come on. My house could be flooding, and I need you to help me out.”

  “Fine,” I said, pushing back from my chair. It was after eight o’clock anyway, so I could feasibly leave. I didn’t need to complete the spreadsheet until the next day. I would be back at work in the morning. “You do realize Sonoma is like an hour drive for me.”

  “Yes, I realize it, and I would never call you unless it was an emergency.”

  “How do you even know there’s an issue?” I questioned, realizing that someone had to have called him to alert him of the problem.

  “My decorator went over there to look at something and called me.”

  “Well, can’t she wait for the plumber?”

  “No, she had to go to some dance recital thing for her kid, so she couldn’t stay, so I’m begging you to please help me out.”

  “Fine, I’ll do it. I’m leaving now,” I said, as I grabbed my suit jacket and shut off the light in my office.

  “I had Michelle leave her key under the doormat. Call me tomorrow, and let me know how it goes. My flight’s at ten in the morning, but I’m sure you’ll be up since you’re a fucking workaholic.”

  “Bite me,” I told him before I hung up, but he was right.

  Lights were on all over the office, and most people were still working, but I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so I snuck out unnoticed.

  I drove out to Sonoma in relative silence, minus the Smashing Pumpkins album I let play in the background. Ever since I’d seen Harper a few weeks earlier, I’d delved back into my old collection of music. I’d stopped listening to all the 90’s alt rock that Harper and I loved after we broke up. And I just pretended I hated it. Courtney, my ex, was obsessed with it, which was a little ironic, but I made her turn it off whenever we were in the car together, because the truth was, it all reminded me of Harper, and that pain was deep enough that a song could take me back to moments with her that I knew I needed to let go of.