The Girl in the Painting

“Consider it a date.” He smiles and kisses my cheek just before grabbing the remote for the small TV in the kitchen and flipping on CNN.

Internally, I groan.

I loathe starting my day like this, with the harsh sounds of reality and all of the awful things going on in the world smacking me right in the face.

But Matt loves it. Something about being informed and shit. I’d much rather live in a bubble, thank you very much.

Fortunately, it’s a rarity for him to stay at my place during the week, and when he’s here on the weekends, I can avoid the onslaught of news trauma by getting out of bed an hour or so later than him.

Plus, he travels a lot for his job. It’s not uncommon for him to be on the road for weeks at a time.

I’m not entirely sure what he does, but I know it has something to do with big companies and computer software. According to his boss, whom I met at the Christmas party last December, he’s a thirty-three-year-old tech wiz. I like to think of him as the Chandler Bing of my alternate Friends universe.

“We have exclusive breaking news,” the male news anchor announces on the television, and I cringe and roll my eyes.

Everything these days is breaking news.

Internet scams, church scandals, the bitter cold of New York in January. It’s fucking winter. If you don’t expect it to be cold when you go outside, you might be a moron.

Sometimes, I wonder if this twenty-four-hour, every day, constant access to news and social media is going to make us all lose our minds one day. Or, at the very least, develop a chronic case of anxiety.

The urge to bitch about the TV is damn near overwhelming, but instead of taking out my testy mood on Matt or my favorite Zero Fox Given mug, I bite my tongue and focus on finishing up this lesson plan for my first-graders. This week, we’ll be working on keeping the beat with little drums and animal sounds.

It doesn’t take long, though, before Alisyn Camerota, the annoyingly perky news anchor is back on the screen rambling about some famous artist.

You guessed it—more breaking news.

“The art world is buzzing today, Phil. It’s been nearly five years since we’ve heard from world-renowned painter Ansel Bray, but his long period of silence has been broken, and the world is mesmerized again.”

Blah, blah, blah.

“And now,” the male news anchor continues the story, “everyone is wondering about the inspiration behind his paintings. While his signature style used to be that of a muted, melancholy palette, Alistair Frank, the curator at the Met, is calling Ansel Bray’s newest works highly romantic and tender.”

I know absolutely nothing about art, nor have I ever heard of this artist, but yet, here I am, listening to this boring report.

Probably because you’re avoiding lesson plans…

“His works will be showcased in an exhibition at Aquavella Gallery in New York,” the male anchor updates. “And tonight will be the first official showing. Although, we’ve been told tickets are nearly impossible to get.”

“Shit,” Matt mutters and glances over his shoulder to meet my eyes. “I forgot.”

Oh God. I hate that tone. I can almost guarantee he’s about to say something I don’t want to hear.

“What?” I ask timidly.

“We need to change the plans tonight, babe.”

I scrunch up my nose at him. “Why?”

He nods toward the screen. “Because I forgot one of my clients gave us tickets to this art exhibition.”

I knew it wasn’t going to be good news. My stomach was already preparing for tacos!

“Can’t you just act like you’re sick or something?”

He grimaces. “I’d feel like an asshole if we didn’t use them.”

“An art exhibition? Really?” I whine. I want to stuff my face with guac.

“I know.” He shrugs one meaty shoulder. “But he gave us four tickets, Indy. We have to, at the very least, use two of them.”

“You do realize you’ve already promised me tacos, right?”

A laugh escapes his throat. “I promise we’ll still get the tacos. We just need to go to the gallery first.”

Even with the taco addendum, I almost refute that option, but an idea pops into my head and reverts my mind-set.

“How many tickets did you say you have?”

“Four.”

“If you keep the taco plans and let me bring my sister, we have a deal.”

“That works.” Matt smirks. “You and Lily can meet me at the gallery. I have a late meeting, and it’ll be easier to come straight from work. Is that okay?”

“I think we can manage,” I say and grab my phone to shoot my sister a text.

Me: You’re going to an art exhibition with me and Matt tonight.

A minute later, she responds.

Lily: What art exhibition?

“What’s the artist’s name?” I call toward Matt, who is now heading toward my bathroom to take a shower.