“And you don’t think that’s best?”
It likely was for the best. But right or wrong didn’t change how I felt about her. “I was hoping for some time with her before the inevitable. Ultimately, I agreed with her decision. But none of this should have been influenced by anyone other than her and me.”
“Well, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intent to make her leave.”
Beyond pissed off, I moved past him and made my way up to my room. I knew we’d probably made the right decision not to pursue things, but it didn’t feel right. How could I be so broken up over someone I barely knew? My gut told me I’d just let someone important go.
I couldn’t let this deter me from enjoying the last of my respite here in the States because I needed to return to England with a clear head. Plain and simple, I needed to get over Felicity, whether I liked it or not.
Two weeks passed. Depending on how you looked at it, you could say I’d done a good job distracting myself—or you could say I’d gone insane.
Sigmund had just returned from a trip to the liquor store when he walked into the kitchen to find me practicing my new hobby.
He put the paper bag on the countertop. “What the hell are you doing?”
I pressed pause on the YouTube video. “Painting.”
“I can see that, but why?”
The other night I’d come across some videos of a bloke named Bob Ross. Apparently, his painting tutorials were legendary. But I’d never heard of him. After an hour of watching him paint, I was transfixed by the movements of his brush and his simple instructions. I’d somehow convinced myself that I might be able to paint just as well under his tutelage. He made it look so easy. Yet when I tried to execute the steps myself, it didn’t work out the way I’d imagined.
I stepped back and crossed my arms to get a look at my painting, which featured a number of green blotches that were supposed to be trees. “It’s coming along, don’t you think?”
“For a primary school art project, perhaps, yes. Is this what you do when I’m not home?”
“I’ve actually been practicing for days—just up in my room, not out here. But I needed a change of scenery. So I brought everything into the kitchen. Better lighting.”
He looked over at the video. “Are you going to grow your hair into a giant puffball to match his as well?”
“I might.”
“Whatever floats your boat, cousin. It’s better than you moping around doing nothing at all. Only slightly better, might I add.”
I’d been in a funk since the night Felicity and I decided not to see each other anymore. I hadn’t seemed to be able to enjoy anything other than being alone and practicing my new hobby. I couldn’t even categorize it as enjoyment, really. It was purely distraction. Sigmund had tried to get me to go out with him, but I had neither the interest nor the energy. For the first time in my life, I understood what depression felt like.
After he left me alone, I ripped open a bag of saltwater taffy and resumed my painting. That was the other odd habit I’d developed, an affinity for this chewy candy that seemed to be popular here and would likely rot my teeth in no time. Incidentally, it tasted nothing like salt water.
When my phone rang, I put down my brush to pick it up. Looking down at the number, I smiled.
“Grandmother,” I answered.
“Leo, how are you, my boy?”
“I’m…” I paused, looked at my painting and laughed at myself for a moment.
Hesitating, I thought about whether or not to tell her the truth. Nan was the only person in this world I could open up to. Even if it wouldn’t change anything, she was the one voice of reason and understanding in my entire family.
I finally settled on, “I’ve been better.”
“Tell me what’s wrong. Is this about a girl?”
I pulled on my hair as I paced. “I…met someone, yes. A very special, wildly intelligent, beautiful, and nonjudgmental person. But I decided not to pursue things, as it wouldn’t be wise…for obvious reasons.”
“You didn’t tell your mother about this, did you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. You don’t need the additional stress. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Agreed.”
“So, you know you made the right decision, but you can’t stop thinking about this girl, I assume? Tell me about her.”
I spent the next several minutes describing Felicity to my grandmother. At heart, my nan was a romantic.
“An orphan? Your mother would crucify that poor girl.”
“That’s one of the many reasons I have to move on.”
“How much longer are you there?”
“The end of August was my plan.”
“Would you consider another destination? Perhaps if you left town, it might be easier to forget her.”