“No, son.” I pull him against my chest, wrapping my arms around him as I breathe him in. “It’s not that and it’ll never be anything about you or Izzie. You don’t need to worry about me.” I pull away, framing his face with my hands. “I’m the adult, you’re the child. It’s not your job to worry. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
He stares at me for several seconds, his gray eyes that reflect mine filling with relief before he dives at me and wraps his hands around my neck, squeezing tightly and then letting go before he walks back through the door. I follow him back inside and watch as he walks over to where Izzie is sitting, already drawing a picture.
“Tristan?” Harmony’s voice has my back straightening, my nostrils flaring and my hands clenching into fists.
I know that I should turn and look at her, talk to her and say something—anything—but I can’t; I can’t bring myself to do it. I shake my head, turning around and opening the door. Maybe she is right, maybe running is what I do best? But right now, I’d run a thousand miles to rid myself of the turmoil that I’m feeling inside.
It’s been thirteen days since he walked out on me in the hospital and six since he ignored me in my own studio while dropping off the kids. My heart aches, my emotions are frazzled, and I’m struggling to stay above water. Why I’ve let him do this to me again, I don’t know. No, I do. I love him, I always have and I always will.
I suck in a deep breath as the bell above the studio door rings and someone calls out “hello” into the space. I paste a smile on my face and walk out of my office, greeting the first two adult art class attendees.
I’m not fully present though. I pour each one a glass of wine and even though I normally don’t drink in these classes, I pour one for myself too, drinking a few gulps before topping up my glass to take the edge off and allowing myself to relax.
My senses are on high alert as we sit around, waiting for the next arrivals. Every time the bell rings, my head snaps toward the door, a lump in my throat forming at the thought that it could be him.
Through the pain of him not being able to work through his past with me instead of against me, I smile as I remember the first time that he came to the adult art class. I was so mad at him.
I snap myself out of my memories and clap my hands, ready to start the class, not wishing to dwell on it any longer when I have work to do.
I immerse myself in the colors of the paint and the stroke of the brush, joining in with the idle chitchat from all of my clients. I should be teaching them something in the grand scheme of things, but tonight I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve had a few glasses of wine and I can feel the light buzz they’ve given me, making my thoughts a little wiry.
After the class is finished, I don’t bother to clean away everything from the night like I normally would. Instead, I stomp my way up the stairs to my personal studio and put a new canvas on the easel in the place of the portrait of “Baby F”—or Frankie as I’ve secretly named him.
I’m lost in the painting for a second and my finger brushes down the surface of the canvas over his cheek, but it’s not the same, it’s rough. Nothing like the soft skin of the real Frankie.
I swallow and place it on the bench in the middle of the room and walk back over to the easel, determined to channel all of my emotions and put them to good use. I pick up the paintbrush that’s ready and waiting for me and squirt a palette with a few splodges of paint.
My hand stills in front of the canvas. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to paint.
The paintbrush drops from my hands and I stare at the blank canvas in front of me, feeling the anger about the whole situation with Tristan and me bubble up all over again.
Taking him to the hospital and sharing the innermost part of myself was a way of trying to make up for not talking to him about Izzie’s birthday painting; an olive branch of sorts so that he didn’t feel like he was the only one that ever felt like they were drowning. I wanted to work through all of our trials and tribulations together, as a team. But he’s shut down on me.
I don’t know why I was waiting for him to walk through the door. He ran away once, and ever since we started to see where this went, he’s done it time and time again. I understand that he’s been through a lot, but so have I. I guess wanting him to turn up was wishful thinking; wishful thinking that will only drag me under like it did all those years ago when he left me the first time.
“Tristan, where are you taking me?” I giggle as he guides me by my hands out of the car and my feet hit gravel.
“It’s a surprise,” he answers, his hands pulling me farther out and I hear the sound of the door shut behind me.
“No fair.” I pout but I can’t help the grin from spreading across my lips. “Can I at least take the blindfold off?”
“Not yet.” He chuckles and the sound of his laughter has goose bumps prickling my skin. There’s always been something about the sound of his laugh that I love; the way it’s so carefree but deep, the baritone rumbling through him.
“Fine.” I feel the terrain underneath my feet change from gravel to soft grass and I smile because I instantly know where we are, but I don’t say anything as I don’t want to spoil the surprise.
We walk a little farther, trusting him to lead me and keep me from falling down any rabbit holes that could be scattered around. I can feel the sun beating down on my face, warming my skin, and the slight breeze that lifts my hair so it tickles my shoulders. With the blindfold on, all my senses are heightened, so when Tris stops and brushes his fingers lightly over my shoulders, I shiver.
“I’m going to take it off now,” he whispers in my ear.
I feel his hands come up behind my head as he undoes the blindfold, and I shield my eyes as the sun blinds me for a moment before I blink a few times to get my eyes to adjust. As soon as they do, the handsome image of my long-term boyfriend comes into view. He still makes the butterflies flutter in my stomach and my mouth go dry whenever I look at him, and I can’t imagine a day that that will ever be different.
He smiles at me but it looks a little strained, or perhaps I’m reading him wrong because it changes into a wide grin as he steps aside and reveals a blanket scattered with assorted foods and a bottle of champagne.
“What… When did you have time to do this? We were together all night.”
“I’m afraid I can’t reveal my sources.” He smirks and I shake my head at him, a smile pulling at the corners of my lips at the sight of it in front of our tree.
From the first time we found this tree, we dubbed it ours. The branches of the willow dance as the wind catches them, swaying gently and causing shadows to form on the grass below. The wind starts to pick up and the sun is hidden by a few gray clouds that roll in. He walks backward as he pulls me toward the picnic at the base of the tree and takes off his lightweight jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders.