by Ellie Wade
I hop up and run inside, one of the huge baskets of goodies in my arms.
“Mimi, can I turn one of the bedrooms into an art studio?”
“Of course, dear. Go for it.” She motions up toward the bedrooms.
“Thank you!” I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet. “Can we run into town another day?”
Mimi smiles wide. “Absolutely. Have fun, sweet girl.”
I choose the bedroom with the most windows. I work up a sweat, rearranging the room. I’m so excited to get to the art part that I basically just push everything up against one wall, so I can have an open space to set up the easel.
I yell downstairs, “Mimi, can I use some of these top sheets in the closet as tarps?” I don’t want to ruin her wood floors.
“Yes!” she calls up.
“You know that they’ll be ruined with paint, right?” I double-check with her.
“Absolutely have at it,” she says loudly from the kitchen.
“Okay. Do you want to tell me which ones to use?” At this point, I should probably just run downstairs and have an actual conversation with her, but I’m too excited to take the time.
“Nope. They’re all fair game.”
I clap my hands together and pull a pile of sheets from the linen closet.
When the room is ready, I start bringing everything in and setting it up. It’s an amateur job, but I can spend more time organizing it all later. Right now, I need to just get to it.
I run to my room to grab my iPod and put my headphones on. Finally, with a brush in hand, music playing, I swipe beautiful colors across a canvas.
Nothing has ever made me as happy as art does. I feel I was born to create, to push boundaries, to be different. I wasn’t made to conform but to stand out.
When other girls my age asked for dolls, I asked for a pottery wheel. When the same-age girls in our social circle were training to be ladies and performing in pageants, all I wanted to do was learn how to perfectly capture a horse’s beauty, using oil-based paints.
My parents humored my creative fascination for a while, though it was a continuous topic of contention in our home. I think they blamed my projects for the fact that I would argue, complain, and act out every time I was forced to attend a function where I was told to be someone other than myself. But it wasn’t the art that made me behave that way. It was them and the life I was forced to live. They never cared if I was happy, only that I acted the part when I was told to do so.
What they never understood was that art was my therapy, my saving grace in a life that was trying to smother me at every turn. I could fake it when I had to as long as I had an outlet. But, when I was thirteen, they took my happiness away.
Looking back, it’s so absurd. What parent would forbid their child to complete art projects?
After a particularly bad fight with my father, he had everything in my art studio thrown out. I think it was then that I realized my parents were never going to love me. To truly love me, they’d have to make an attempt to know me, to understand me. But they hadn’t. I would always be the daughter who wasn’t good enough. But thank God for Mimi, my innate self-pride, and my intense stubbornness because my parents didn’t break me. They only made me fight harder.
I never completed another art piece at home, but I took as many art classes in school as I could. I would stay late almost every day, telling my parents that I had study groups when, in reality, I was working with Mr. Shillaci, the art teacher. He would spend countless hours teaching me new techniques and mentoring me so that I could get into one of the best college art programs.
I know that hours have gone by based on where I am in my playlist, but I have no desire to stop. At all. Missing Mimi’s dinner and dessert at Franny’s Kitchen doesn’t even cause me to pause. I still have no idea of where I’m going or what I’m doing with my life, yet I no longer feel stressed about it.
I stop painting for a moment and take in the canvas before me. I really hadn’t thought about what I was going to create; it just happened. Sitting here now might be the happiest I’ve been in years. I have to shake my head and laugh because, out of infinite options for my first piece with all my new goodies, I ended up painting Texas. And not just a generic Texas picture, but of Mimi’s backyard—the barn, the rolling hills of the pasture, and the endless horizon at twilight full of captivating hues of pink, orange, and yellow. The piece of art has a dreamy quality to it, the layers of paint rising from the canvas giving a real-life feeling, as if I could just step into the picture and explore.
This view used to make me feel trapped and anxious to escape this state and life, but it brings different sensations now. I can hardly understand it, but at this moment, when I see the stunning landscape before me, my heart fills with gratitude, hope, and genuine joy.
twelve
Liam
I wipe my hands on my jeans as I walk up to Mrs. Turner’s house. It’s been days since I dropped off Leni’s surprise, and I’m so anxious to see how she liked it. She left a couple messages on my phone, telling me to call her, and she sounded truly happy. Yet I’ve been so busy with helping my dad move cattle this past week that I’ve hardly been able to spend any time on my land.
I gently rap on the screen door, and Mrs. Turner opens it up for me.
“Morning, ma’am. Is Leni available?” I ask.
“She sure is,” she says with a smile. “She’s up in the studio.”
“The studio?”
“Oh, yeah. She did some rearranging after your generous gifts. Has barely come down to eat in three days.” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes. “Thank you, Liam.”
“It was nothing.”
She shakes her head. “No, it was a whole lot of something. Thank you.”
I smile to her and head toward the steps leading up to the bedrooms.
“Liam?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Maybe try to get her to get out for a bit. I know she’s in her little paradise up there, but the girl has to eat.”
I chuckle. “Will do.”
I follow Leni’s humming to one of the bedrooms. The door is open, and I peek in. My heart swells at the sight of her. I lean against the doorframe to take her in. She’s in short shorts and a tank top. Her hair is pulled high on her head in a messy bun. She’s humming to some song that is playing through her headphones, though I can’t make out what song it is. She is sitting on a chair in front of a canvas and painting. She radiates happiness, and the vision of her this content is utterly mesmerizing.
After a bit, she must feel my stare because she looks over her shoulder. Her smile goes wide when she sees me. She drops her paintbrush and rips the headphones from her head as she runs over to me. Throwing her arms around me, she pulls me into a hug as she squeals loudly.
“Liam! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she says into my neck.
I hug her back and kiss the top of her head. “You’re welcome. I’m so glad you like everything.”
“Oh my God, I love everything! This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. It had to cost a fortune. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“No repayment necessary. It’s a gift, Len. I did it because I wanted to. I don’t expect anything in return.” I stare into her green eyes that appear to shine brighter today.
She has some errant loose, wispy locks of hair that fell from her bun, framing her face. She isn’t wearing an ounce of makeup and looks so innocent. I tuck one of the pieces of hair behind her ear. She has a smear of white paint across her nose, and it’s so goddamn sexy. In fact, this entire look that she has going on is hot as hell.
“Are you happy?” I ask the only question that really matters.
“So happy. I didn’t understand how much my art brings me to life. I missed it more than I realized.”
“Happiness looks real good on you, Len. Real good.”
She releases her arms from around my waist. “Oh, I have something for you!” She skips over to a pile of comp
leted pieces.
I follow her into the room.
“So, I know it’s not much, compared to what you did for me, but I made you something.” She hands me a large canvas. “It’s the very first painting I did.”
In my hands, I hold a painting of the farm. I love it here and think this land is stunning. Yet this painting makes it even more so. The way she blends colors and textures together … it’s fascinating. At a distance, the barn looks like a typical barn red shade, but at closer look, I can see strokes of different shades of reds and browns that she used to get the final color. The entire painting rises off of the canvas from layers of perfectly placed hues. The rolling hills behind the house are so enchanting that my stare gets lost in them. For a minute, I’m speechless.
“You’re really, really good,” I finally manage to say.
“So, you like it?” She stares up to me with an expectant smile.
“I love it. It’s amazing.”
“I thought you would like it for your house someday.” She shrugs.
“Absolutely. This beauty needs a proper frame, and then it’s going up on the wall.”
“Yay! Great.”
“Can I see what else you’ve done?” I ask.
“Absolutely!”
Leni shows me her other paintings, and they’re all equally as captivating. I don’t know a lot about art, but I know that Leni has some serious talent. I have no idea why her pieces didn’t sell up north because they’re better than any painting I’ve ever seen.
After she’s done showing me her work, I ask, “So, what are you up to today?”
“Just this.” She shrugs, pointing to the easel.
“Well, actually, I would like you to repay me for everything.”
She flinches slightly and looks confused. “Um … okay … I’ll have to—”
“I don’t want any money,” I clarify. “I want to take you to town to eat.”
She puts her hands on her hips and squints her eyes toward me. “You want me to repay you for all this awesomeness by allowing you to take me to get some food?”
“Yep. Those are my terms.”
She shakes her head with a laugh. “Okay. I suppose a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
She’s so incredibly fascinating; I can hardly think straight around her.
I step toward her. Without thinking it through, I lick my thumb and wipe it against the paint on her nose. Her eyes go wide. My heart races as my thumb glides across her skin. I slowly drop my hand and allow my thumb to slide over her lips. Her sharp intake of breath halts my action, and I pull my hand away.
I clear my throat. “You had paint … on your …” I do a circular motion in front of her face. My mouth suddenly feels dry, and I swallow.
She takes a second. “So, the best course of action was to rub your spit on me?” she says, breaking the awkward tension.
I laugh and move a step back from her. “Yeah, not my best move.”
“Probably not.” She winks. “Let me go get cleaned up really quick.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in my truck, heading to Franny’s Kitchen diner in town. The air around us is light and carefree—a complete one-eighty from the last time I had Leni in my truck.
“Hungry?” I laugh as Leni shovels French toast into her mouth.
“Oh my gosh … yes! I didn’t even realize I was so hungry. I guess I’ve been kind of obsessed with my new studio the last few days. I haven’t eaten as much as usual.” She grabs a napkin and wipes her mouth.
“It’s awesome that you’re in your little artist world … but you still have to participate in life. Stuff, like eating, is kind of important.” I lean back in the booth and shoot her a smirk.
She playfully rolls her eyes. “I know. I’ll be better.” She finishes her plate and puts some cream in her coffee. “I love this place. It reminds me of my summers with Mimi. We’d come a couple of times a week for breakfast.”
“Franny’s Kitchen definitely has the best breakfast menu.”
The bell atop the door jingles, and my friend Pete and his very pregnant wife, Melody, walk into the diner. Pete notices me and heads over to our table, holding Melody’s hand, who very cutely hobbles behind him.
“Hey, man,” he says to me.
“Hey, Pete, Melody,” I greet them both. “This is my friend Leni,” I introduce them. “She’s Mrs. Turner’s granddaughter. She just moved back from New York.”
“Oh, yeah. Emma said something about Mrs. Turner’s granddaughter coming back to stay,” Melody says.
Leni looks up to her in question.
“There isn’t a lot of exciting gossip in this town. You moving back was big news. Your grandma talks about you every time I see her. Don’t worry; it’s all good things. She’s very proud of you.” She smiles at Leni.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Leni smiles. “When are you due?”
Melody rubs her belly with her free hand. “Next month. I can’t wait.”
“Do you know what you’re having?” Leni asks.
“Nope. We’re going to be surprised.” Melody grins wide.
“This week, we feel like the little one is a boy, but next week, he’ll probably be back to a girl.” Pete chuckles before addressing me, “Did you and your dad get all the cattle moved? Did you get a good price?”
“Yeah, it was a long week, but we’re done. We did really well. I can’t complain,” I answer.
“You ready to get started on your house?” Pete asks.
I smile. “Not yet, man. Soon. I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, sounds good. Looking forward to it.” He faces his wife, and they exchange a sweet look before he kisses her on the top of her head. He turns back toward the table. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Leni. I’ve gotta go get my wife some food. She’s having some serious Franny’s Kitchen cravings, and what my sweetheart wants, she gets.” He winks toward Melody.
“It was nice meeting you,” Leni says. “And good luck with the baby.”
“Thanks,” Melody says.
“Call me about your house,” Pete says to me again.
“I will. See ya.”
We watch as they make their way to a booth. Pete gets Melody situated on her side of the table before taking a seat.
“They seem nice,” Leni says.
“Yeah, they’re good people. Pete actually went to Texas A&M as well. I didn’t really know him then. He moved back to Elkwood after college and runs his grandfather’s ranch now. He’s helped my dad and me out some and vice versa.”
“He’s really sweet to his wife. What’s in the water here? You guys are so nice, nothing like the guys I dated in the city.”
I hate to think of her dating other guys. “You couldn’t have dated any decent ones then. It’s just normal to be sweet to your girl when you love her.”
“Huh.” She looks at me with an odd expression. “So, what house plans was he talking about?”
“He’s an architect. He designed the house he and Melody live in. He’s going to design mine when I’m ready to get to building it.”
“You’re building a house?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’m hoping your grandma will be around for a long time, so her house isn’t available, and I don’t want to live with my parents forever.” I chuckle. “I had a small room and bathroom built in the barn since I’m there so much. So, I stay there sometimes. But, eventually, I want to build my own place … somewhere on the property.”
“What are you waiting for?” she asks.
“I’m not really sure. It just doesn’t seem like the time.”
I don’t tell Leni, but truthfully, I don’t see the point of building a big, new house right now if I’m the only one who’s going to be living there. I don’t need much, and the room in the barn is plenty sufficient for me.
Leni nods in understanding. “Well, if I’m still here when you do, maybe I can help you decorate. I took some interior design classes in college, and I have an eye for it. It w
ould be fun.”
“Absolutely. I have no doubt that you’re great at that sort of thing. I, on the other hand, suck at it.”
“Speaking of people our age who are married with babies on the way, did I tell you I hung out with Emily a couple of weeks ago? Did you know that she’s, like, six months pregnant?” Leni asks, evident panic in her voice.
I laugh. “Yeah, I knew. Westley told me shortly after they found out. You’re not a fan of being married with a kid on the way?”
“God, no,” she admits. “I’m still trying to figure out my own life. I can’t imagine taking care of someone else. Poor baby.”
I chuckle. “Well, they’re happy. Plus, they’ve been together for what, like eight years?”
“Yeah, since Emily and I were sophomores in high school. It’s crazy that two people my age can know exactly what they want in life when I don’t know what I’ll be doing next week.” She shakes her head. “I’m happy for them though. I mean, Emily’s like over-the-moon ecstatic about her life. So, who am I to judge?”
Her statement elicits more laughter from me. “Look at you. You get a little painting time in, and you’re all about the self-discovery. Who is this Leni, and where’s the moody, judgmental girl I know?”
She throws her napkin at me. “Hey, you said that you know I’m not truly those things. I’m trying. Okay?”
“I know you’re not, and I see that you are. I’m glad.”
Glad is an understatement. The girl sitting across the table from me now and the girl I almost hit with my truck a few weeks ago are vastly different. Leni hasn’t completely let go of everything that’s been holding her down, but she’s getting there. She’s right; she’s definitely trying.
We finish our meal, I pay, and we head out to the truck. The conversation is light on the way back to the farm.
“So, ranch work has slowed down a bit for you?” Leni asks.
“There’s no shortage of work to be done. But I’ll be around more, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant. Well, that’s good. I think I’m going to go into town someday this week and see what jobs there are to apply to. I can’t just mooch off of Mimi forever.” Her arm is hanging outside the open passenger window as she waves her hand through the air.