Paint Me True

by E. M. Tippetts

  For the whole afternoon I was able to delude myself into rationality. We’d either have a good conversation and get back together, or not, and if not, I would walk away from the situation without guilt.

  I packed everything in foil containers, with towels as hotpads, and loaded it into the front seat of the car. I arrived at Len’s office highrise just as the sun was going down and called him again from the parking lot.

  “Yeah.” He sounded hesitant. “I’ll come down and get you.” His building had secured access after hours.

  I hefted the food containers and carried them around to the front of the glass and steel building just as one of the elevators across the bare, gray lobby opened and Len stepped out. Since the lobby was lit inside, he couldn’t see me on the other side of the glass until he strode across and opened a door. Once he did see me, he hesitated.

  “Hey,” I said, my voice casual. “How’s work been?”

  “It’s been awful.” He leaned back and let me in, then held out his hands to offer to carry things. I gave him the pasta and held onto the bread and salad. We got into the elevator, which was plain and gray and featureless, and rode it to the fourth floor. I didn’t talk, and I didn’t feel like I needed to talk. Len knew me. There was no point putting on some kind of show for him.

  He did glance sidelong at me a couple of times. I could already tell that things were not going my way. He was uncomfortable.

  I was determined not to let myself feel like I was out of line. I wasn’t. He had to eat. I knew how to cook. I wanted to talk to him. That was all. “Are your coworkers going to want any?” I asked.

  “No one else is here.”

  “You have to work late alone?”

  “Well, the other guys have kids, so the new deal is, I keep track of all my extra time and get a comp day now and then.”

  “Oh, that’s a nice system.”

  “Works for me.”

  The doors slid open and we stepped out. I followed him past all the dark desks with computers on standby to the little cubicle area in front of his office. He set the food down on a table and hauled it away from the wall so that we could sit opposite each other. I accepted the folding chair he passed over to me and once we were both seated, I offered to say a blessing. I kept it simple and to the point, then started to unpack the food. The garlic bread smelled heavenly when I unwrapped the foil. I handed him a paper plate and plastic fork, then took the cellophane off the bowl of salad and passed it to him.

  He took it, dished out some salad, and then looked across at me, as if sizing me up yet again. “Thanks for the game,” he said.

  “I’m sorry about all that. I just meant to be nice.”

  “It was nice.”

  I shrugged that off and stabbed my fork through a piece of lettuce. “So, yeah,” I said. “I’ve told you how I feel. I’d like another chance. If the answer is no, then it’s no. I just wanted to make sure you understood that I’m serious.”

  His mouth twitched as if he’d just eaten something bitter. “Why?” he said.

  “Because I realized that I really do love you. I’ve learned a few things the last few weeks.”

  “Such as?”

  I had to be careful how I answered this. “Such as the fact that I can be incredibly shallow. I thought I was more mature than I was, but I had a really childish view of what makes the ideal date. When I thought about what I really want, I realized it was you. That’s why I’d never really committed to anyone else. They weren’t eternal companion material.” I hesitated then. I’d just made it clear that I wanted to marry him, and I knew that might shut the conversation down right then and there. Though, we were Mormons. It wasn’t that unusual of a thing to say to a potential date.

  “Can I be blunt?”

  “Please.”

  “Is your new ideal just a fiancee before you turn thirty-one?”

  “That was my old ideal.”

  “Right.”

  “You know, provided he was stylish and had other girls after him and... yeah, I don’t really want to think about that any more than I have to.”

  “So what happened over there in England?”

  “Long story, but I’ll try to make it short.” I told him about Nora and Paul, me and Colin. I told him my realization that Nora’s rosy view of Paul was her fighting regret. “And I was fighting regret over our breakup by telling myself that I didn’t want to be with you, but whenever I tried to paint the ideal man, I used you as a template. I do love you. I know I never said it and I treated you badly. I don’t deserve another chance, but I’d like one.” I shut my mouth then.

  “Because I’m a geek who can’t throw a punch? I’d never hit you?”

  “Um... you never really displayed any of the personality traits that go with the whole violent, possessive thing. But none of the guys I’ve ever dated did. This isn’t about that. I’m not going to end up a battered woman if you turn me down, you know.”

  He looked down at his plate.

  I took that as my cue to get out the pasta. I hadn’t eaten my garlic bread so much as picked at it, so I only had the crust left, which I quickly bit into and ate.

  Once we had our next course – our last course – in front of us, I looked over at him again. “So, anyway, that’s what I wanted to say.” A couple of tears threatened to fall, but I kept my spine straight and they didn’t slip down my cheeks.

  “Yeah... well... okay,” said Len.

  “You’ve moved on,” I said.

  “I guess so. It wasn’t easy to get over you, okay? Me going out and getting new clothes... I just wanted to make you regret that you’d ever let me go.”

  “Clothes are totally beside the point,” I said. “They don’t change anything.”

  “As soon as I did it, you called, and I was so angry. I realized I’d thrown a lot of months away on you, when you thought you were doing me a favor. And then girls started to talk to me and... I guess it’s not so much that I’ve moved on, but that I’m ready to move on. I feel like I can date now, without thinking about how things ended with you.”

  I nodded. “So I’m too late.”

  “When I dated you, that wasn’t a great time for me. I mean, on one hand, I was with this woman I’d had a crush on for months, but on the other hand, I felt worthless. She clearly didn’t want to be with me, she just wanted to be with someone.”

  “That’s fair,” I agreed.

  “So, I shouldn’t have let that situation go on as long as it did, and even after I broke up with you – don’t take this the wrong way – but I was glad that you had to go to England. It gave me space to just deal and get over the hurt.”

  I nodded again. I felt like I could use another trip to England, to get over my hurt for real this time, but I didn’t bother to say that out loud.

  “You have been so nice to me since you got back.”

  “I care about you,” I said. “So, yeah. Now you know everything I had to say. I don’t expect you’ll change your mind, but if you do in the near future, you know where to find me.”

  “Listen, lots of guys are interested in you. Since we broke up, do you have any idea how many guys have asked me about you-”

  I held up a hand. “That’s awful and I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Let me tell you who-”

  “No. Don’t. I don’t care. I’m not ready to move on quite yet, and I turn thirty-one in a few weeks. I think I’ll finish out my time in the singles ward single.”

  “Seriously, Vince Walker-”

  “Len, I don’t care.” Vince Walker was very good looking, and had always seemed very nice to me. In a few weeks, if he was still interested, I’d consider it, but right now there was no way. I focused on my pasta instead, on getting it eaten.

  Len did the same.

  And then, several minutes later, that was it. Our meal was at an end. “You keep the leftovers,” I told him. “And thanks for letting me come by.”

  “Liza, you just cooked me dinner.”
/>   “I had to cook dinner anyway.”

  “I should be thanking you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It was good to see you again,” I said.

  “Yeah, you too.”

  “Can you walk me back down? Or can I get out on my own?”

  “I’ll take you.”

  Together we went back to the elevators, down to the lobby and across to the parking garage. I kept a careful distance so that I didn’t give into some mad impulse to hug him. He didn’t seem to know how to say goodbye, so I made it easy on him, waved, and walked over to my car without looking back.

  I’d just been turned down, completely, no room for misunderstandings, but surprisingly, I didn’t need to cry about it. In fact, I felt all right as I drove home, provided I didn’t think about Len. I was proud of myself. I’d figured out how to be interested in a guy without playing games or freaking out. The only drawback was the fact that I was thirty and only just learning this. I’d wasted a lot of good years and hurt more than my fair share of men. It was only right that the one guy I loved turned me down. I thought about the kid at the game store and karma. I had a lot of negative karma to repay.

  The following late afternoon I arrived at the post office and dumped a stack of heavy envelopes on the counter. “Hi,” I said. “Do I have time to mail these today?”

  The man behind the register didn’t bat an eye. “Yep. Put ‘em on the scale, one at a time.”

  I put the first on and tried not to fidget as he pecked away at the cash register. He grabbed the stamp that printed out, slapped it on the envelope and motioned for me to put the next one on the scale. “These all going to New York?” he asked.

  “Most of them.”

  “They the same weight?”

  “No. Some are, but not all of them.”

  He frowned in response but kept on working.

  These were submissions to agents. Classmates of mine who had wanted to go into that line of work had been super-dedicated and built elaborate portfolios. They’d all had much higher grades than me too. I was being optimistic.

  But what did it hurt to ask, was what I now thought. The agents would probably reject me, and then I’d know. It was worth it for the tiny chance that one might say yes. Besides, researching agents and putting together portfolios took time and work. That kept the general sense of misery at bay and let me forget, for moments at a time, that Nora was gone and I’d have to see Len at church in two days. I knew what I had to do, just tough it out and be nice and friendly, but the very idea made me want to cry.

  My heart was still rubbed raw, and two days wasn’t enough time to get calluses built up. I considered going to another ward, but that felt like chickening out to me.

  The cashier stuck the last stamp on the last envelope and rang up the total. I swiped my credit card, signed the receipt, thanked him, and went home. I reminded myself to keep on working. Just fill my time with painting.

  When I got home I painted until I began to fall asleep in front of the easel. Only then did I go to sleep and when I got up the next morning, I went straight to the studio and carried on. I didn’t eat meals, just snacked as I worked. The sun went up and then down again. I still wore my sweats and had my hair up in a bun.

  The doorbell rang just as I was laying down the first strokes of a watercolor. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was seven. I wiped my hands, put on my slippers, and headed downstairs. When I opened the door, there was Len. My heart did a summersault, but I only let myself smile. Don’t get your hopes up, I told myself.

  “Hi.”

  “Yeah, hi.” He wouldn’t look at me. Not a good sign. He was probably just here to pick something up. “Um, look... you want to catch a movie or something?”

  I flung away my years’ old habit of never saying yes on the same night and nodded. “Sure. Let me get my shoes.” I held open the door to let him in, but he stayed put.

  I dashed to the back door to get my shoes, put them on, grabbed my jacket and purse, shook out my hair from its bun, and headed out the front door. I had no makeup on. My face felt naked. At least I’d brushed my teeth and hair. Len was his usual, gentlemanly self. He held open the car door for me. I did my best to act casual. I wanted him to remember that we knew each other well, not feel like he was on a first date with a stranger.

  On the drive over to the theater, though, he refused to look in my direction. I did my best to just sit and not seem fidgety. Silence didn’t have to be awkward silence, after all. Besides, I had no idea what to say. Still, I was acutely aware of every one of the thirty minutes that passed on the drive. The theater wasn’t that far from my house as the crow flew, but the traffic lights and intersections made it a slow journey.

  The ticket line was like our first date all over again. We didn’t talk to each other, just the cashier. Len wouldn’t let me pay for my ticket or popcorn, but this time I felt like I was imposing. It took real effort to keep my head up and put one foot in front of the other as we went into the theater.

  The movie seemed both interminable and over too soon, and I didn’t really follow the plot. It was a cartoon with talking animals and I kept analyzing how they’d been anthropomorphized and what techniques had been used on the backgrounds. Len kept looking at me, though, but this time around I didn’t think he was wondering why I was there. He was wondering why he was there.

  Calm, I told myself. He’d already shut me down. I needed to not let myself get my hopes up just to be dashed again. Tonight he’d had a lapse, and he regretted it. The best thing for me to do was enjoy the popcorn and try not to think of my paints lying out back at home. I wasn’t a fool for trying again, I kept telling myself. It could have turned out differently.

  The important thing for me was to handle this like a grown up. I could curl up and cry about it later. As soon as the credits rolled, Len got up. I followed and busied myself with details like tucking my used napkins into my empty popcorn bag and getting into the short line at the garbage can. Len pulled out his phone and frowned at the screen.

  “You get called back into work?” I asked.

  “No, someone wants to know if I can do a blessing.”

  “Oh, okay. I can stay here, or whatever.”

  He looked up at me, meeting my eye for the first time that evening. “I’m not leaving you here at ten o’clock at night.”

  “Well, I don’t mind. I can walk over to your house if that’s better.” It was only a block and a half away.

  “You sure you’re okay with that?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He considered that a moment, but I knew what his answer would be. Church duties came first with him. I wiped my hands on my scrunched napkins one last time before I dumped all my trash into the garbage can.

  “Okay, this shouldn’t take too long and I’m driving you. I can pick up Chris at the same time.”

  I nodded and followed him out of the theater.

  He looked at me again. “Thanks.”

  I waved that away. He was being ridiculous.

  Again he strode ahead to his car and opened the door for me. On the brief drive over I wondered if I’d be able to hold it together once he left me at his empty house. My ability to act like everything was okay in my world was starting to slip.

  But I at least held it together as we drove to his house. Chris was stepping out the door, his eyes on his cellphone, his thumb working the keys for a text.

  “Hey,” Len called out, “I can go with you.”

  “Cool.” He didn’t look up.

  I got out of the car and left the door open for Chris, who looked up at me and froze.

  “Hi,” I said.

  He said nothing.

  “Um... is your door locked?” I pointed to the house.

  “Yeah, sec.” He unlocked it and handed me the keys.

  “Thanks.” I went inside, out of the chill air and into the stillness. The place always smelled like wood varnish. The kitchen was a mes
s as usual and beyond it was the living room, with one of the gaming consoles out on the floor, a game loaded and a list of saved games on the screen.

  As the car pulled out of the driveway, its headlights stretching across the back wall, I cast about for a copy of scriptures or something to keep me busy. There weren’t any books out in the front room. I sat down on the couch, knees together, like I was waiting to be called up for a difficult job interview. I tapped my toes and drummed my fingers on my knees.

  I thought about trying to watch television, but I did not understand the six remote controls laid out on the coffee table. I didn’t know how to turn off the gaming console, so I was just stuck staring at a screen that said “New Game” and “Load Saved Game”. I wondered if it was the game I’d bought Len. I hadn’t looked all that closely at the package because I didn’t want to get caught holding it.

  As the minutes crept past, I let myself stare at the “New Game” option. There was nothing else for me to do, unless I wanted to wash dishes, which I didn’t. If I tried a new game and didn’t mess with any of their saved games, I wouldn’t disrupt anything.

  I slid down onto the floor and picked up a controller. It was like a weapon designed by aliens. I hefted it then turned it over to look at the buttons. I figured out which one to press to start a new game, and much to my relief, I saw that it offered a tutorial on how to use the controls. I loaded that.

  The screen popped up a diagram of how to hold the controller, which I copied. Now it felt more natural in my hand, its curve cupped in my palm and buttons and toggles at my fingertips. The next screen had me traveling down a hallway, the view bobbing as if I were running. When I obeyed the instructions to hit buttons and push toggles, different weapons would appear at the bottom of the screen and I’d see my character’s hands arm them, by snapping a clip into a gun or yanking a pin out of a grenade or working the slide on a shotgun.