The Art of Us

by Hilaria Alexander

  Lena held the hand of a little boy who couldn’t have been older than six. He was Violet’s nephew and had been part of the wedding party along with a couple of little girls and another boy, so he was dressed to the nines in a sleek tuxedo.

  Lena and the little boy were doing the twist and she was smiling, her face free of worry and the usual scowl I had grown accustomed to.

  She was making faces at the boy, who seemed to enjoy it.

  I had never seen her like that.

  I had never seen her so spirited, so free.

  She let go of the boy’s hand and started showing him a few moves, moving along with the music. I saw the boy crack up when she pinched her nose and moved her arm as if she was going underwater.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to dance? I thought you wanted to get your mind off things?” I asked Olivia again.

  “Yeah, but now I can’t stop thinking about that interview I have on Monday. Maybe I should go home and get ready for it,” she replied with a sigh. I glanced in her direction, and she was scrolling on her phone.

  I took her hand in mine. “You can get ready tomorrow. I’m sure you’re going to crush it.”

  “If you say so,” she replied in an annoyed tone. “If I don’t get it, I might have to move in with my parents.” She gave me a pleading look, as if she were waiting for me to say she could move in with me.

  I swallowed, and in that moment I wished I’d never invited her to the wedding to begin with.

  “So, no dancing?”

  “No, thanks,” she replied.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  I stood up and started walking toward Lena and the little boy before I even realized what I was doing. She regarded me with a surprised glance but shifted her attention back to the boy almost immediately, until I lined up with them to dance, imitating their moves. The boy smiled unsurely at first, but his smile grew bigger against his dark skin after Lena nodded in agreement. His eyes were big and brown, almost as big as the ones you’d often see in comics.

  When the song ended shortly afterward, he gave Lena a quick hug around her waist and then ran away, chasing after the other kids.

  We kept dancing into the next song, “Modern Love” by David Bowie.

  “Hey, it’s ‘Modern Love’! They played this at the college party, do you remember?” she asked with a bright smile.

  “I remember.” I smiled back and gave her a long look. The smile fell off her face and she looked away, gazing elsewhere. She looked beautiful in her heather-violet bridesmaid dress, her hair slightly curled up and pinned to one side with an orchid. Her makeup looked even better than it had the other day. The smoky eye shadow was a brown color instead of gray, and her lipstick was a mauve shade of pink.

  She looked beautiful and timeless. I felt guilty for even thinking that, but as I glanced back to Olivia, I found her still staring at her phone.

  There were only three feet between Lena and me, but I couldn’t help needing to be closer to her. I stepped forward. My heart started beating faster, and I told myself

  I was being stupid and reckless.

  What am I doing?

  I shouldn’t have been chasing after her.

  I decided to make small talk to break the tension.

  “Who was the little boy?” I asked, pretending not to know.

  “Panda and I go way back,” she replied, tilting her head to the side as she danced. “He’s Violet’s nephew.”

  “Panda?” I asked, raising my voice because of the music.

  “His name is Elroy, but Panda is his nickname, has been since he was a baby. It’s because of his big eyes, you see. They’re not quite as big as they used to be when he was really little, but they still look bigger than most kids’. He’s a cutie.”

  It was the first time I’d heard the word cutie come out of Lena’s mouth. It tickled me to death how different she seemed around the little boy, how at ease she was with him.

  “Do you and Elroy spend a lot of time together?” I asked.

  Her eyebrows rose in confusion.

  “Well, he’s Violet’s nephew, and I’m friendly with Violet’s sister. I’ve seen the kid grow up, so I guess you could say I know him well enough.”

  I could tell she was beginning to tense up. She seemed slightly uneasy and turned around, as if looking for Olivia. She found her sitting at the table, eyes still glued to her phone.

  “Why aren’t you and Olivia dancing?”

  “Her feet hurt.”

  She nodded just as the Bowie song ended and the band started playing a slow one. I stepped closer and offered her my hand.

  She took it reluctantly and then placed her other hand on my shoulder as mine landed on her waist.

  Our eyes met for a few seconds. Lena’s blue gaze was clouded by questions and fear, and it seemed to ask, What are we doing?

  “We’re just dancing, that’s all,” I said reassuringly, leaning toward her.

  She slouched her shoulders, slightly more relaxed, but the expression in her eyes didn’t change. She gave me a cautious look and pressed her lips in a hard line.

  Her reluctance hurt me, even though I knew I had no right to feel that way.

  I was also all too aware of the fact that my girlfriend was sitting just a few feet away.

  We aren’t doing anything wrong, I told myself. We’re just dancing.

  But we weren’t. Any time I was close to her like this—that night in the closet two years ago, the college party in Seattle—I couldn’t help myself.

  Any time we were close to each other, I gravitated toward her like a meteor toward a black hole.

  Her lips parted slightly, and I noticed her exhale a deep breath.

  I shouldn’t be looking at her lips.

  My grip on her waist tightened just a little bit and she looked up at me, eyes wide and alarmed. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and that was when I noticed Olivia looking at us. I tensed up and swallowed past the knot in my throat, as if I had been caught red-handed.

  Part of me kept repeating that we weren’t doing anything, but I knew there was a more hidden, less sure part of me that had started caring for Lena in a way I shouldn’t have. I knew it wasn’t fair to Olivia. I knew it wasn’t fair to her for me to even feel something for anyone else.

  I should have broken up with her weeks, if not months before.

  But now there I was, flirting with Lena with my girlfriend sitting right there.

  I glanced in Olivia’s direction again, and she was now shooting daggers at me, as if she had everything figured out. I shook my head no, as if that would be enough to reassure her.

  Lena noticed the hesitation in my movements and turned around, spotting Olivia looking at us. She withdrew her hand from mine and pulled my other hand off her waist.

  “Oh shit. What’s going on?” Lena asked.

  “I-I…I don’t know,” I replied.

  “Well, for starters, you’re dancing with me and not your girlfriend.”

  “She said her feet hurt.”

  “I don’t care. Go fix this. Don’t drag me into your drama, Amos,” she muttered under her breath before she ran away.

  I was left alone in the middle of a crowded ballroom. I looked down, staring at the hand that had just been holding hers, as if looking at the lines on my palm could help me sort out my feelings.

  My feet shuffled toward our table, where Olivia greeted me standing in her glittery gold heels, the evil but good-looking shoes that strangled her feet the way a birdcage annihilated a bird’s spirit.

  “What. The. Fuck. Was. That?” she asked, pausing after every word to add emphasis to her question.

  Nothing is going on. You’re imagining things, I wanted to say, but it wouldn’t have been fair. Nothing had happened, but it easily could have.

  “I’m sorry, Olivia. I don’t know what to say.”

  LENA

  I spent the rest of the reception hiding from them both.

  What the fuck, Amos?
What was going on between him and his girlfriend?

  I hadn’t done anything, but I was sure the little minx was minutes away from causing a scene.

  I couldn’t do this to Violet. It was her wedding day.

  I wanted to leave, but it seemed like a shitty thing to do since I was part of the wedding party.

  A while later, I was standing against the wall, trying to stay away from drama while the band played a pretty good cover of No Doubt’s “Don’t Speak.”

  What a weird song choice for a wedding, I thought, until I noticed the singer’s hair and makeup looked a lot like early 2010 Gwen Stefani’s.

  “Figures,” I muttered under my breath just as Olivia joined me by the wall.

  “Nice wedding,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I replied with a shrug, and she frowned. “I haven’t attended that many in my life. I suppose this is pretty nice.”

  “Your name is Lena, right?”

  “Yes, and you’re Olivia, right?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Let’s cut the crap. Tell me something, Lena: how long have you been fucking my boyfriend?” she asked in an angry tone, her fists balled up as if she was seconds away from punching me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said hesitantly, and she cocked one eyebrow.

  “The truth, or I will make a scene. I can be rather dramatic when I want to,” she threatened in a syrupy-sweet voice.

  I let out a frustrated breath.

  “Olivia, I have no idea what the fuck Amos told you, but nothing has happened between us.”

  “I don’t believe you. I saw you two dancing just a little while ago. Do you think I’m stupid?” she scoffed. She narrowed her eyes on me and took a drink of her wine then stared at me while she swallowed. I felt uncomfortable.

  “I can assure you that nothing happened. Believe me.”

  “Why sh-should I?” she slurred.

  “Because I’m telling you the truth. Look, I don’t know what’s happening between the two of you, but I think you should talk it out.”

  “Yeah?” she asked skeptically.

  “Yes. Confront the fucker. Ask him what the hell is wrong with him.”

  I knew what the hell was wrong with him—and what was wrong with me—but at the moment, I was determined to contain any possible blowup.

  Handling Olivia, who I didn’t know in the slightest, felt like trying to shut down a nuclear plant on the brink of explosion.

  “It looks like he has it bad for you.”

  “Um, I wouldn’t know.”

  She gave me a loaded eye-roll and scoffed.

  “I’m serious. I have no idea what was up with him just now. My guess is that he’s drunk. By the way, what are you drinking?” I asked, attempting to make small talk.

  “Chardonnay. You?”

  “Old Fashioned.” I gave her a tight-lipped smile but got no reaction.

  She eyed me cautiously and didn’t seem convinced that there was nothing going on.

  “During your speech, you said you don’t believe in love, right? That was a crappy thing to do. Isn’t this your friends’ wedding? You are a lousy maid of honor.” The look she gave me was one of provocation, but I didn’t react the way she wanted me to.

  “You’re right. That was probably a stupid thing to say, but I felt I should be honest instead of spewing sugary words I don’t believe in.”

  “You know, you and Amos are quite similar.” Another provocation? I peeked at Olivia out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t detect any bitterness in her voice, but her words made me uncomfortable. I felt guilty, even if I hadn’t done anything to merit feeling that way.

  I did like him, and recently, I had started enjoying working with him.

  It was true: I did feel an undisputable growing attraction toward him, one I couldn’t do anything about. I was used to giving in to my impulses, especially when it came to no-strings-attached sex. After the night of “innocent” flirting after the comic-con, nothing had happened between the two of us. The only thing we were guilty of was that we wasted part of our days working on a silly fanfiction project, but I didn’t have to explain any of it to Olivia. There was nothing to explain, nothing to be sorry for. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that if Olivia hadn’t been in the picture, Amos and I would probably be fucking each other’s brains out right about then, maybe in the restroom of the ballroom.

  “Why do you say Amos and I are similar, Olivia?” I asked, hoping I sounded curious enough.

  “He doesn’t believe in marriage.”

  “I didn’t—” I corrected her.

  “You said you don’t believe in eternal love, which means you don’t believe in marriage. Same thing.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said with a sigh.

  “I don’t think he’ll ever propose.”

  I pursed my lips. If you do exist, God, please get me out of this conversation, stat! I remained silent, because I didn’t know what to say. How was I supposed to console her?

  She started sniffling, and I fought the impulse to run away. Instead, I took her hand and squeezed it.

  “Come on, Olivia. I’m sure you’re overreact—”

  “I’m not!” she objected.

  “Are you sure you didn’t overdo it with the wine?” Usually, I hated that kind of comment, especially when it was directed at women, but I didn’t know what else to say. “I saw you two pretty cozy just a while ago. I can tell he loves you. Isn’t that enough?” I asked her.

  “If you’re really, truly in love with someone, how could you not want to spend the rest of your life with them? He doesn’t even want to meet my parents.”

  “I-I don’t know, but I can tell you that at least in my case, it’s because my parents were such a stellar example of what a married couple shouldn’t be. Not only did it not last, but the years they were together were miserable.”

  Olivia suddenly snapped out of her pitiful state and said in a somber voice, “I’m sorry, Lena. No one should have to grow up in a hostile family environment.”

  I nodded. I appreciated her words.

  “Finally! Here you are,” Amos said, reaching for Olivia’s hand. She pushed him away.

  “I went back to the car and got your flats. Here.” He handed her the nude shoes.

  “Well, that was a nice gesture,” I said, trying to be supportive, but my words were met with an ice-cold look from Olivia. I felt a bit of jealousy toward her. I would never have anyone in my life who would be nice enough to get me another pair of shoes when my feet hurt. She grabbed the flats out of his hand and changed out of her five-inch heels. She was much shorter than me now, but she looked just as menacing as she had before.

  I let out a frustrated breath, ready to be done with this unsolicited couples therapy session. “Um, okay…you two need to talk. I’m out of here.”

  “No, bitch. You need to stay,” Olivia said in a harrowing tone.

  I turned to Amos, my eyes pleading for him to say something that would make Olivia reason.

  “Olivia, if I’ve upset you, I can explain.”

  “Oh yeah?” she replied, giving him a cold and distant look. “How long have you two been fucking?”

  “We haven’t. We’ve never—”

  “Then how long have you had a crush on her?” she asked insistently.

  Amos sighed, his eyes dancing between Olivia and me.

  Wrong move, idiot.

  He looked at me with weariness and confusion in his eyes, and all I could do was shake my head in disbelief.

  “Fuck you, Amos,” Olivia yelled. Then she walked away.

  “Why didn’t you tell her what she wanted to hear? Why didn’t you tell her she’s wrong?”

  He looked down, fists bunched up at his sides, and when he looked up, there was a remorseful expression on his face. He covered his face with one hand, frozen on the spot.

  Then his eyes were on me again.

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” I asked impati
ently.

  “Because it wouldn’t have been true. She’s right—I do have a crush on you.”

  LENA

  My phone rang and I looked at the number before picking up.

  “What’s up, McFly?”

  “Could you come to my office?” he asked. His voice sounded too cautious, almost strained.

  “Did something happen? You sound weird.”

  “No, nothing happened, Lena. Can you come here? I need to talk to you.”

  “You sound so strange. I’m in the middle of sketching a panel. Can this wait a little bit?”

  “No, it cannot. Come now, please,” he said, and then he hung up on me.

  I walked to his office, trying to recall if I’d done anything that might have pissed him off.

  I couldn’t think of anything.

  His door was closed, so I knocked. I heard him tell me to come in, and when I opened it, I saw Amos sitting with Marty on the small sectional in the corner of the office.

  They both stared at me as I shut the door.

  What is Amos doing here?

  Ever since the night of the wedding, our relationship had been as strained as it had been before our trip together. We didn’t talk to each other. He’d never told me what happened with Olivia, and I’d never confronted him about his confession.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that he’d told me he had a crush on me.

  Yes, part of me still wanted him, but I wasn’t sure what he expected me to do.

  The only interaction between Amos and me occurred when we exchanged my notebook back and forth, though we didn’t give it to each other personally anymore. I went back to leaving it on his desk, and he did the same with me. It was as if he knew I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. I also didn’t draw in it with the same frequency I had before, but from time to time, I couldn’t help myself.

  I glanced around my boss’ office. As the owner of Paz Media, Marty naturally had the swankiest office. It was decorated with modern furniture in blue, brown, and gray tones, and as the corner office, it had plenty of windows and room for all kinds of knickknacks…like the Dragon Ball Z pinball machine in the corner and the vast collection of American comics and Japanese manga organized on sleek, bluish-gray bookshelves. There was also an expensive turntable behind his dark-oak desk.