by Lexy Timms
“What if someone paid with their life?” I asked.
The entire table froze, and I had to hold my ground. I was saying too much. Speaking too much. Allowing my mouth to run away with my mind. I had to reel it back in. I had to take a deep breath and start over.
So that’s exactly what I did.
“I pity you. The both of you.”
“You what?” his mother asked.
“I pity you. For your ignorant attitude. The mere idea that beauty doesn’t exist unless you pay for it is what has delved this society into the lack of morals it now holds. Every issue, every anxiety, every idea of sadness can be routed back to one very important rule, that only certain things can be beautiful. Only thin women can be gorgeous. Only money can buy you the prettiest boat. Only certain shades of certain skin tones can be photographed for magazines. Only certain colors that appeal to the eye can draw out certain emotions. The idea that beauty only exists within very specific terms is what fuels the mounting tensions of mental illness and undergirds the empty lifestyle of addiction. The mere fact that you feel that art is only beautiful if it is worth being purchased for a specific sum you put forth first completely negates the purpose of art itself.”
“Which is?” his mother asked.
“Expression. Emotional expression. Some people use it to come. Some people use it to clean up their acts. Some people use it as a release for stress. And some people use it bloom beauty into the darkness. You don’t have to pay for art for it to be beautiful. What makes it beautiful is the emotional reaction it pulls from the viewer. From the audience.”
“Did you pay for that hair dye of yours?” she asked.
“I did, but that point is mute since you don’t believe it’s appealing,” I said, grinning. “For two individuals who seem to be so obsessed with status and how they appear to the public, it’s odd for you to be so dismissive of a realm that has been soaked in wealthy patronage for hundreds of years. If you really want to make the argument, the only reason the artists you revere rose to any sort of status you truly admire is because of the money people were willing to pay for their paintings posthumously. So, with your argument, your Rembrandts I saw hanging in the hallway aren’t beautiful at all.”
“You mind your tone, young lady,” his mother said.
“It’s the same argument. No, my gallery is not full of Picassos and Pollocks and Van Goghs. It’s full of something better, people who want to bring beauty to the world. People who want to fill spaces with beauty that high society seems hellbent on ripping from us. It’s full of people reclaiming their lives and pouring out their souls. My gallery isn’t there to simply make money and pedal black-market paintings. My gallery is there to help a community that has been ravaged to a point where it’s been forgotten. You want to know what real beauty is? Real beauty is gazing into the eyes of darkness and not allowing it to dim the light you hold in your hand. Real beauty is looking right into the bleak darkness of the night as it caves in around you and saying, ‘I don’t give a shit.’ ”
“You mind that mouth of yours at this table,” Michael said.
“No, thank you,” I said. “According to your definition of art, the art hanging from your walls are the mere finger paintings I’m going to be hanging in my art gallery. Your dismissal of my gallery only shows your ignorance of the very history of the life you attempt to lead. That is why I pity you.”
I sat there in silence as I crossed my legs at my ankles. I felt Bryan’s hand slide up onto my thigh, squeezing it tightly while his parents resumed eating their meal. You could slice the tension in the room with my fork it was so tender, and suddenly I was no longer hungry for the meal set in front of me. I left it half-eaten on my plate while everyone else finished in silence, and once dessert was offered to us, I watched his mother shoo it all away.
Bryan took that as our cue to exit, so he helped me up from my seat, planted his hand on the small of my back, and we exited without another word said.
Chapter 25
Bryan
I led Hailey out of the house and straight for my truck. She was quiet and brooding, and all I wanted to do was get her out of there. Her eyes had this far-off stare to them like she was replaying them moments in her head. The nighttime trickled over the city of San Diego in an unassuming matter, unaware of the truth this beautiful woman had just spewed to my venomous parents.
“You okay?” I asked.
But all she did was squeeze my hand.
We rode in silence for quite some time. I wanted to take her back to my place and hold her, but something in my gut advised me against it. Her forehead was leaning against my truck window while our hands stayed intertwined, but I could feel her grip slowly loosening on mine.
“I’m really sorry for my parents,” I said.
“It’s not your fault,” she said.
“Their attitudes were completely uncalled for and inappropriate,” I said.
“It’s fine. You warned me,” she said.
Her eyes were so far off like she wasn’t even in the truck. Her beautiful, sparkling stare had morphed into this look of longing like she was being reminded of something she wanted to shake but couldn’t.
I knew what that felt like, and I wanted so desperately to take it from her.
“I’m proud of you,” I said.
“For what?”
“The way you stood up to my parents. I’ve never seen anyone hold their ground with them, much less silence them the way you did. What you said was beautiful and completely accurate.”
“Well, someone needed to say it,” she said.
Silence descended back into the conversation, and she slowly slipped her hand from mine. I could feel her pulling away from me. I could feel her double-backing after this damn dinner I had insisted she come to. I gripped the steering wheel hard as we rode the rest of the way to her apartment. Her eyes took in the scenery around us as I pulled up into the small parking lot of her complex, and the dread I’d known all my life slowly started to boil in my stomach.
“Would you like to come up?” she asked.
“Do you want me to?” I asked.
She panned her gaze slowly toward me as her far-away gaze morphed into one of confusion. I held her eyes, wanting her to come back to me. I wanted the Hailey I knew and loved. The Hailey whose smile reassured me that everything was going to be all right. The Hailey that couldn’t keep her hands off me. The Hailey that brought light into the very darkness my life was shrouded with.
“I’m so sorry for asking you to come to that stupid dinner,” I said.
“Don’t be. I got a glimpse into why you are who you are by meeting them,” she said.
“Please don’t be upset with me. I swear to you, I’m not like them,” I said.
“I’m not upset with you, nor would I ever lump you into the same category as them. You’re not even category-adjacent to them, Bryan. Why did you think I would be angry at you?”
“I don’t know. You seem distant. Guarded. I figured maybe you were upset with me for even suggesting the dinner,” I said.
“Bryan, I’m not upset. With you, or with anyone. I’ve been in my own head a bit, but that’s because your parents reminded me of mine. I’m just remembering so many things.”
Her eyes got that glazed over look again as I reached out and held her hand. It was the first time since we’d been together that Hailey needed me to be strong for her, and this was my chance to prove I could be. Her darkness was threatening to swallow her whole, and I had to dip in and find the little shred of light I still kept burning in the corner, so I could shine it onto her.
Onto the beautiful face of the woman I’d come to love.
“My parents aren’t much different from yours,” she said, sighing. “They’re just as haughty and just as airheaded on some things. They might not have enough money to be as pompous as your parents, but they’re a few ticks shy of them.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
“There’s
nothing to talk about really,” she said. “They wanted Anna and me to have practical jobs that made us a great deal of money. I’ve found out that my mother wants Anna to make partner at her law firm so my sister can retire early just to take over my mother’s business to keep it from tanking.”
“Your mother wants her to do this?” I asked.
“Yeah. My father probably would’ve wanted the same thing.”
“Does he own his own business or something?” I asked.
“He does. Probably why he wanted me to be the same kind of doctor he was,” she said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. People are who they are for reasons we’ll never understand sometimes. They never understood my fascination with art. It got so bad one time that anything considered an artistic craft was treated as contraband in the house.”
“What?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, snickering. “One time I was caught with a watercolor set underneath my bed, and I was grounded for a week.”
“They grounded you over watercolors,” I said.
“They did.”
I felt the light I was supposed to be shining on her drain from my system. How in the world could two people actively squash the happiness from their child like that? I held Hailey’s hand tightly while her gaze turned back out the window, but I didn’t want the conversation to end.
I didn’t want her to lock me out again.
“My parent’s anti-art attitude contributed to my brother breaking off contact with them,” I said.
“I don’t think your parents are anti-art. They’re just anti-personal art,” she said.
“Well, either way, it contributed to my brother fleeing to L.A. He didn’t reach out when he needed it the most, and every time he did venture back into town, they always had something to say about it,” I said.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not blaming them for my brother’s death or anything, but their unwillingness to accept his passion, even if it was just a hobby, contributed to all the things that built the circumstances of his death. Of him never coming home. Of him never reaching out for help.”
“I wish I could disagree with you,” she said as she squeezed my hand, “but I can’t. Parents not supporting children and allowing them to indulge things that help them grow and express and release, it’s detrimental.”
“I don’t understand how they could’ve done something like that. How could they shut down such a light and such a passion and take it so far as to lose all contact with their son?”
“Did they try to shut it down in you?” she asked.
“When I morphed it into architecture, no. But I still had to hide my own drawings from them. My mother was irate when I started designing my own tattoos. Said I’d never get a decent job. She told me that no one with tattoos ever amounted to anything substantial, and I’d forever walk around with people passing snap judgments.”
“One, people pass snap judgments on others who don’t have tattoos as well. And two, other influencing people have tattoos. Caroline Kennedy has a tattoo, Winston Churchill had a tattoo, Victoria Beckham has a tattoo.”
“Victoria Beckham,” I said, grinning.
“Well, she does. So, your mother can shove it.”
“I think you technically shoved it to her tonight,” I said, smiling.
“The point is, your parents are wrong. So there.”
Even with the playful attitude that had returned, I could feel the darkness growing again. I could hear her words of agreement swirling around in my head. Someone who had sat down with my parents for two hours couldn’t disagree with the fact that they had a hand in my brother’s death. A woman who saw the light in everyone and everything couldn’t disagree with the fact that my parents pushed John away when he needed everyone the most. I started wondering if I simply shouldn’t talk to my parents for a while and if I should just distance myself from them and their toxicity. I tried to be reasonable. I tried to give them all the benefit of the doubt after John died.
But our conversation was showing me they were hellbent on controlling us both from the very beginning, and I started wondering if they weren’t grieving. I started wondering if they were trying to push the memory of John from their lives since he didn’t fit the mold.
I started wondering if they would eventually do the same to me.
They’ve obviously learned nothing. They’re obviously not capable of change. Their attitude will stay the same until the day they die, and that meant they would bring nothing but poison into my life so long as they stuck around. My heart ached for them as I sat there in my truck with Hailey, but the thought of trying to get them to see the error of their ways made me tired. The energy Hailey expended tonight pouring her heart and soul out to them was evident in her eyes, and I knew her words wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.
I didn’t know if I had it in me anymore to keep trying.
“I don’t really talk to my parents much,” Hailey said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because of that same negativity that was with your parents at dinner. It brought me down to levels I didn’t know existed. The bulk of the darkness you don’t think I possess, I got rid of the day they stopped talking to me. The weight and the shadow they loomed over my life was cast out the moment I chose art over medical school.”
“They don’t talk to you at all?” I asked.
“Nope. No calls on my birthday, no calls on the holidays. Anna still sees them regularly for family dinners, but I’m never mentioned or talked about. It makes her angry, and rightfully so. I tried reaching out for years, but when my calls when unreturned, I simply stopped.”
“I’m so sorry, Hailey.”
“Don’t be. I admire the fact that you keep at least some connection with your parents. I left Phoenix to get away from all that, and sometimes I wonder if I should’ve tried harder,” she said.
“That wasn’t on your plate to try and do. They’re the ones who cut you off. Why should you be the one to fix it?”
“Welcome to my parent’s mindset,” she said, grinning. “I’ve always been a big believer in positive interactions and their ability to change people. I’ve always wanted to believe that positivity could always win in the end. I sometimes wonder if I’d stayed and tried some more positive interaction with them, tried to incorporate them into my art, if they would’ve eventually come around,” she said.
“I don’t really know about that. If they’re as stubborn and as set in their ways as my parents are, I’m not sure any type of interaction would’ve helped. Positive interaction is a good thing if someone wants to receive it, but just like with the outreach work I do into the homeless community, I have rules and stipulations, and it’s their choice to abide by it. I’m showing them positive actions, but they can still be thrown back at me,” I said.
“I guess you’re right.”
I valued her opinion and wanted to hear more. In the weeks we had been together, this was the most she’d ever opened up to me. I’d finally won over her trust, and I wanted her to keep talking. I wanted to keep holding her hand in this desolate truck underneath the San Diego stars and keep listening to her beautiful voice as she opened up her own personal truths to me.
“Is it weird that I want to call my parents now after seeing you with yours?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, seeing you with them at dinner. They weren’t kind or accepting of much, but you still sat down with them. You still tried to stomach it to do something they would’ve wanted you to do. Every person wants to bring home someone they love to their parents, and you offered them that opportunity despite how you knew they would react to me. It makes me want to reach out more to my own instead of simply accepting how easily I gave up on them.”
“You didn’t give up on your parents, Hailey,” I said. “You did the best you could. There isn’t much you can do with people who won’t see you, talk to you, or call you.”
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“I don’t know. I guess I always feel like I could’ve done more,” she said.
“I know the feeling.”
I squeezed her hand, and she finally panned her gaze toward me. I lifted my hand to her cheek, rolling my thumb over her skin as I studied her eyes. I’d never seen Hailey this defeated before, and I kicked myself for putting her in a situation that reminded her of her parents. I should’ve thought through how this evening would affect her, and I couldn’t help thinking I somehow could’ve prevented this night from going so wrong.
But the moment she turned her lips into my hand to kiss my palm, I felt a wave of relief cascade over my body.
“Come on up. Let’s see if we can salvage this evening with some wine,” she said.
I followed her up to her apartment and walked in behind her as she opened the door. I breathed in the familiar smell of paints and drying canvases while I shut the door behind me. Hailey’s wrap was tossed onto the couch as her hips sashayed into the kitchen, and for a second, I allowed my eyes to linger upon her body and the way her broad shoulders fell into a voluptuous chest I wanted to bury my face in. The way her waist dipped in before it flared out into a luscious pair of hips. The way her thighs held up her small frame while her shoulders rolled back in confidence.
This was her domain, and I could see the energy refilling her tired body while she poured both of us a glass of wine.
“Courtesy of my sister buying way too much while she was her,” Hailey said.
“I’ll make sure to thank her for the parting gift,” I said, grinning.
She walked back over with my glass of wine and our fingers brushed as she handed me the glass. I felt my entire body ignite with electricity at the touch of her fingers, and it took all the energy I had to not throw her down on the couch. We sipped our wine while we stood by the door, looking out into her darkened apartment as the alcohol slowly coursed through my veins.
She was the one who eventually broke the silence between us.
“Can I admit something to you if you promise not to get all weird?” she asked.