Still, my depression took almost all of the joy out of this news. On Tuesday, when my aunt threw a small dinner party with some of our friends and family at my place, it was a bust. I tried very hard to be excited, but I could barely muster a smile for anyone. My reaction brought down just about everyone else my aunt called over to celebrate, and my appearance was so shocking that a few of our friends and family members took my aunt aside to ask if I was ill. I also still tired easily, so I was put in the awkward position of asking everyone to leave much earlier than my aunt had planned. She tried to shrug off her disappointment, but I could tell my mood was beginning to wear on her. When we were finally alone, she let me have it.
I very much just wanted to go to bed, but I forced myself to sit in the living room as she cleaned, feeling too strange to let her pick up dishes and wipe down the tables without, at the very least, being present in the room. It was ostensibly my party, after all. Her face, which had been carefully happy and relaxed with our friends and family, gradually became hard and angry the longer she worked.
“I’ve had just about enough of this, young lady.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” she spat. “You don’t deserve this, Chloé, and that woman certainly doesn’t deserve to make you feel this way. She never did.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“No—I won’t hear it! And I won’t have you moping around here like someone died. You loved her—I get that. She hurt you—I get that, too. But you need to start living again, Chloé. You need to pull yourself out of this and start doing something again. Anything.”
My eyes welled with tears, and she sat down next to me, sighing. She gave me a rough, one-armed hug and then let go. “I hate to give you tough love, Chloé. I always have. But you need to listen to me now, and listen good. It’s not that I don’t feel bad for you. I truly do. It’s been an age, but I do remember my first love and how much it hurt when it ended. And it kept hurting for a long time. But you know what I did? I picked myself up. I dusted myself off. I started again. That’s what you have to do, honey. That’s all any of us can do.”
Tears were running freely down my face. “But what if I can’t get over her?”
My aunt shook her head. “Of course you can. Thousands of people, every day, are doing just that. It’s part of the human condition, my dear. It’s part of what love is. Love is happiness, but love is also loss.” She paused, and sympathy replaced some of the anger in her eyes. She squeezed my hand. “I’m not asking you to get over her tomorrow, Chloé. Or the next day, or the day after that. But you have to start trying. You really do. At the very least, from what you’ve told me, you need to get a job soon, right? Something temporary until you start at the university?”
I nodded.
“Well, maybe that can be your first goal. Not to find one, necessarily, but to start looking. Maybe next week? Can you do that for me?”
I hesitated and then nodded.
She smiled. “Good. That’s a start.” She paused. “There’s one more thing I want you to do.”
“What?”
“Get out of the house. Make yourself do it this week. You’ve been stuck here too long, and I think you’re in some kind of holding pattern. Even if it’s just for a walk, try to get out a little every day. Can you try?”
Again, I paused, trying to decide. I didn’t like to promise things I wouldn’t do, especially to Kate, but I also knew she was right.
“I’ll do it, Aunt Kate. I promise.”
She smiled widely. “Okay. That’s all I needed to hear. Now I’m going home tonight, if you don’t mind. I think you’re ready to be alone again. But if you start to get lonely, you can always call me or Meghan—day or night. Sound good?”
I hugged her, and we stayed like that, clasped together for a long moment. When we pulled away, we both had to wipe our eyes.
“Thanks, Aunt Kate. I-I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”
“That’s what I’m here for, sugar plum. Now I’m going to take one more look around, and you should go up to bed. And remember—get outside tomorrow.”
“I will.”
* * *
I took a long walk the next day, well, long for me in my current condition. I had to rest a lot, and my weakness more than anything else finally made me realize how run-down I was. By the time I’d made it to the Crescent Park, I had to sit on a bench there for twenty minutes to let my legs stop shaking. I was tempted to call a cab, but I made myself limp all the way back home, collapsing on my couch when I finally got there. I immediately fell asleep, and when I woke up, it was already dark out.
Wanting to keep myself honest, and curious about it anyway, I went upstairs to the bathroom and got on the scale. I’d lost a significant amount of weight. I peered at myself in the full-length mirror, not liking what I saw. I’d become a shadow of myself. More than ill, I looked desperately sick. My skin was papery and dry, my hair dull and lifeless, and for the first time in years I had a smattering of acne on my face and neck. I took a long bath to soak my tired muscles, and when I got out, I started making a list of things I needed to do to get back on track. I needed to eat more, that was clear, and I needed to start making goals for myself again. I was lucky that I had a job waiting for me in a few months, but I needed to do something concrete to help myself make it until then. I didn’t want to have to move again. I wanted to keep this apartment. I loved it.
After my bath, I dressed simply and then went into my studio. The air in there had the odor of neglect, and everything seemed stale and dusty. Even before all of this upset, I’d barely painted in months. Amelia took up an incredibly large amount of my time outside of work, and work itself was so demanding that, on my free nights, I usually wanted to, at most, read a book and generally didn’t even get that much done. I took stock of the room, looked at the painting I’d been working on, and decided to scrap it. I spent the evening cleaning my studio and the rest of my apartment, and by the time I was done, I felt remarkably better.
I might have gone to bed happy for the first time in over a week if Emma hadn’t decided to call me just before I went upstairs to change. I held the phone in my hand for a long time, trying to decide what to do, but I waited too long. She left a voice mail. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, wondering what she’d said.
The next couple of days fell into a similar pattern, though I got up at an earlier and earlier hour every morning. By Friday, I was up by nine, and after a long walk along the river, I had so much time on my hands, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I paced around my house, trying to decide what to clean, but it was spotless. I finally sat down on my couch to read, but I couldn’t keep my thoughts on the page. I finally realized, after rereading the same paragraph for the fourth time, that I was restless. For the first time in two weeks, I actually wanted to be out in the world, and for more than just a walk.
Meghan was doing a set with her band that night at Mimi’s, a little bar and tapas place not far away from my apartment. I decided on the spot to try to go watch her play. It would definitely make her happy to see me out in the world, and the idea of being in a public place made me feel better than I had in days. However, I still had the rest of the afternoon and evening to burn. Meghan and her band didn’t start until nine, and it was only just after three now.
I picked up my phone and saw yet another message from Emma. She’d called three times now and had left a message every time. I let my finger hover over the Play button, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I finally scrolled through to my contact list and called my friend Lana in New York.
I’d put off calling her since Amelia and I broke up. I was, I think, ashamed to tell her. Lana was my only close lesbian friend, and she and her partner were engaged to be married next fall. Telling her would throw my own failure into sharper contrast. She’d been the first person I’d told about my feelings for Amelia. She’d also been the person I’d called on and off over
the last few months to talk about our relationship. Unlike Meghan and my aunt, she’d been over the moon about Amelia. She was happy, I think, to have her suspicions about my sexual orientation confirmed, but also, as she didn’t know anything about Amelia’s past, she took her as she was—a rich, gorgeous woman who was head over heels for me.
Luckily she picked up on the first ring, or I might have chickened out. She was overjoyed to hear from me, and she launched into a long tirade about her wedding plans and problems with her future mother-in-law. She talked so long I lost track of what I’d planned to tell her, so that when she finally finished her stories, I was silent.
“Hey! Chloé! You still there? I know I was talking forever. I’m sorry. I don’t have anyone else to complain to. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“So what’s been happening in your world? Did you get the job?”
Her words caused a stab of true guilt. She’d been the one to get me the first interview—she should have been the first person to know that I had the job. I’d been sitting on that news for days now, and it hadn’t even occurred to me to phone her. I’d been so self-absorbed, so locked up in my own drama, it had simply slipped my mind. I made the choice then to lie by omission. She didn’t need to know that it had happened days ago.
“I did, Lana, and it’s all thanks to you.”
She shrieked in my ear, and I laughed in response. I let her prattle on about how happy she was for me for a while, nodding along and agreeing as she spoke, but the subject I needed to bring up weighed on my mind.
I suddenly realized the line had gone quiet, and I snapped out of it. “Lana?”
“Chloé? You are still there. I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Is this a bad time or something? You seem distracted. I thought you’d be over the moon.”
“I am. Really.”
“Hmmph. You sound like you’re expecting a root canal, not your dream job. What gives?”
I sighed, knowing I couldn’t put it off any longer. “I’m sorry, Lana. I have some bad news, too. I just didn’t know how to tell you about it.”
“Did something happen?”
“Amelia and I broke up.”
I could hear her breathing on the other line, but she said nothing for at least a minute.
“Oh God, Chloé. I’m so sorry.”
I started crying then, sobbing into the phone. I’d managed to go most of this week without tears, so their renewal startled me, especially their vehemence. At one point I had to set the phone down and bury my face in my hands. But when I’d finally calmed down and picked up the phone again, Lana was still there.
“I’m back,” I said, still snuffling. I laughed weakly. “Sorry for making you listen to that.”
“Don’t mention it. When did it happen? What happened?” She paused. “No, you know what? Don’t tell me right now. You’re obviously too upset. Just let me know when you want to talk about it. God, Chloé, I thought you two were doing so well, especially after your trip together. I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too.”
We chatted for a while after this, both of us avoiding the subject of Amelia or anything to do with her. She regaled me with another story of her future in-laws before we hung up, and when I set the phone down, I was actually smiling. Despite my outburst, I felt much, much better. I’d been embarrassed to tell her, and I’d been carrying around guilt about avoiding her. I could finally let it go.
I still had hours to wait until Meghan’s set, but I went upstairs to take a shower and wash off some of the stress I’d shed talking to Lana. When I reached the top of the stairs, however, I glanced to my right, into my studio. The sunlight was perfect this time of day. The windows in there were the main reason I’d chosen the larger room for my studio instead of my bedroom. The blank canvas sitting on my easel looked appealing, inviting. Forgetting the shower, I went into my studio, picked up my palette, and started painting.
* * *
By the time I stopped, I was already running late for Meghan’s first set, but I decided to go anyway. It was later than I’d stayed up in weeks, but painting had left me energized—excited in the way only working on a new piece can. I felt like I was taking my life back, once and for all. Amelia might take my happiness away, at least temporarily, but she couldn’t have my creativity. That was mine alone.
When I got outside, it felt like freedom after a long confinement, and I walked quickly toward the bar. I could hear the music a block away, and as I fought through a jumble of smokers standing outside the door and went inside, the music from upstairs was still loud enough to be heard distinctly from down there. The place was packed, and I had to suppress a momentary urge to leave. I hadn’t been around this many people in a long time, and the sounds and sights of a crowd were oppressive and hard to absorb. I squared my shoulders and shrugged off my reaction, pushing through them inside to the stairs at the back. I raced upstairs to the lounge.
Another large crowd was up there listening to Meghan’s band, and once again I was tempted to turn around and leave. I paused at the far end of the room, looking for a seat. The crowd was significant enough to block my view of the little bandstand, and I didn’t see a free table. Just when I’d given up hope of ever sitting down, a young woman at a nearby table caught my eye. She was sitting alone and had a free chair at her little table. It was too loud in here for words, but she gestured at the empty chair. I maneuvered around a group of young, loud men in my way and made my way over to her table. I mouthed a “thank you” at her and turned the chair around to face the band.
Meghan had been singing with different bands for almost a decade now. At first she worked as a backup singer in her then-boyfriend’s band, but after she broke up with him, she set off on her own. She sings lead vocals, and she plays the accordion, fiddle, or the banjo in some of her songs. Her bandmates change over time, generally rotating every year or so, but last fall she’d begun playing with the four people on the stage with her now, and she and her band were finally getting the recognition they deserved. They were in high demand all over the city, and they’d been confident enough to book a twelve-city tour together. The tour had done well, and the band seemed to be on their way to relative, small-venue fame.
In Meghan’s band, Amelia’s brother Michael is the drummer and his girlfriend Jenna plays the stand-up bass. I’d been expecting to see them both here tonight, but I couldn’t avoid a stab of pain, nonetheless. It was just another reminder of Amelia I would have to get used to. I didn’t know if Meghan had talked to them about the breakup, or if it was causing problems with the band, and I didn’t want to know. I was here only for Meghan. I mostly hoped Michael would leave me alone if he spotted me.
I glanced around the room, happy to see such a big crowd. Most people here had clearly come on purpose to hear them. Many were wearing T-shirts and hats from Meghan’s tour. Despite my own depression, I couldn’t help but be happy to see all of these people here for my friend. Meghan had always tried to seem as if she were happy being a bartender and playing with her band once or twice a week, but I always knew she wanted this kind of success no matter what she said.
Her boyfriend Zach was front and center by the stage. His face was one giant smile. Despite being back in New Orleans for six months now, I barely knew the man. It didn’t help that Meghan was the more forceful personality in their relationship, but I knew that the main cause of my relative ignorance of him was Amelia. Meghan had rarely invited the two of us to her place or out on the town, and Amelia had never bothered to make either gesture to Meghan and Zach a single time. I’d spoken with Zach perhaps ten times since I’d met him. The reality of that neglect made my heart heavy. I’d been a terrible friend the last six months. Even before the breakup, I’d been selfish and isolated, and that was my fault as much as Amelia’s. I should have insisted on seeing Meghan more often and not gotten so caught up in my own affairs. Tonight, I told myself, was my
first step in making amends.
Their set ended about twenty minutes after I sat down, and the crowd visibly relaxed. Most of us had been listening intently, straining almost, to hear every note. I’d heard Meghan’s bands over the last ten years, but with her current bandmates, they produced the best sound she’d ever had. Almost the moment the cymbals stopped ringing, I saw several people get up from their chairs to go purchase CDs and records.
Meghan and Zach were standing in front of each other, arms clasped behind the other’s back. Meghan was looking at him with big doe eyes, and he was doing the same. They were talking to each other, but with the din in the room and the distance, I couldn’t hear a thing.
“Hey, Meghan!” I shouted.
She flinched and looked over, and when she spotted me, her face lit up. She shrieked and ran over to me, several of her fans jumping out of the way. She threw her arms around me and kissed my cheek, jumping up and down a couple of times and squealing.
“I can’t believe you came!” She looked as happy as I’d ever seen her.
I was a little embarrassed by the attention we’d drawn, but I tried to meet her smile as best as I could. “I didn’t want to miss your triumphant return to New Orleans after the tour. I can barely believe how many people are here.”
“I know! Isn’t it amazing? The bar actually paid us to be here tonight. That’s never happened to us before. We might, like, get paid to do this more often soon—I mean, more than the tip jar.” She gave me a quick hug. “I’ve got to get back up there, but we should be done in an hour or so. Stick around and I’ll buy you a drink.”
The music started again a couple of minutes later, and I settled in to listen. I tried to keep my eyes rooted on Meghan as much as possible, but I did let them stray once or twice back to Michael on the drums. He didn’t look anything like his sister, but his relationship with her was enough to get me thinking about her again. Meghan had caused such a scene earlier, he had no doubt noticed that I was here, but as he hadn’t come over himself, I could only assume that he wanted nothing to do with me. Despite my earlier wish to be ignored, his evasion hurt a little, as I’d always liked him. But it wasn’t hard to understand why he’d avoided me. I doubted very much if he and I could ever be friendly again.
Canvas for Love Page 17