Out of Character (True Colors 2)

“I found your sketchbook.”

“Oh.” It said something that I only realized in that instant that I had left my backpack behind.

“I brought it and your bag. And yes, I know it was a huge invasion of privacy to look, and this is probably where I should start by begging forgiveness—”

“You don’t have to beg. I made mistakes tonight too,” I admitted. It didn’t bug me that he’d seen my sketches as much as make me wary of his reaction. “And I was working up the nerve to show you the whole thing for a while now. I was worried it might scare you away.”

“Never.” He scooted closer, touched my arm. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Or scaring me away with your gorgeous drawings. They’re amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Thanks.” My skin heated even in the chilly air. “But how did my drawings change your mind about stopping me?”

“I saw myself. I saw you. And I realized that I wasn’t doing the best job of listening. I’ve been doing a lot of telling. Telling you to get a new place to live. Telling you that I’d play George. Telling you to come clean with Bruno.”

“You meant well.” I returned the favor and patted his shoulder. Touching him felt good. Necessary even. I settled an arm around him. “And a lot of it was good advice.”

“But I wasn’t asking you what you want and why, and actually paying attention to your answers. Really listening. Like you always do.”

“I do?”

“You hear even the stuff I don’t say. I joked about how I know you, but you know me. I could see it in each sketch. And it made me want to do a better job of seeing you. Hearing you.”

“Wow.” I’d done my own thinking during our time apart that evening, but he might have outdone me in the profound realization department. My neck relaxed, a tension I hadn’t even known I’d been holding ebbing away. “Thank you.”

“So this is me, asking. Not telling. Not trying to solve the problem. What are you going to do?”

“I think you already know.” I pointed at the car.

“You’re going to sell it?” Jasper put deliberate emphasis on the word sell, a question, not a statement.

“It’s the right thing to do. And you made me see that.” I pulled him closer, both because of the cold and because his nearness made it easier to make these big confessions.

“I did?”

“When you said that I didn’t have to handle things myself, I realized the opposite. I need to handle this. I spent weeks running from the real solution. And not simply the owning up to Bruno part—you’re not wrong there either—but I have the way to make this right.”

“But it’s your dad’s legacy. You said that yourself. It’s the one thing you can’t part with.” Jasper bit his lip like he was trying hard not to be too argumentative.

“And maybe it’s the one thing I should,” I countered. I’d been round and round on this point in my own head, but saying it aloud actually helped me to feel more definite about the idea. Mom liked to go on about how people like Dad and Nona were guardian angels now. And I’d never bought that, especially in the case of Dad who could have done a lot more protecting when he was alive. I was done elevating him to a pedestal he didn’t deserve. However, if he were watching over me, was it so terrible to use the car to ensure my future?

“If I sell, I might get enough to replace the cards and to help make finding a new place to live easier. Maybe even have something left over to take a few art classes. I can make my dreams come true, at least some of them.”

“You can make your dreams come true even without the car, but I get what you’re saying.” Jasper exhaled, his breath warm against my neck. “I hate to think of you parting with it though. Your dad wanted you to have it.”

“And I did. I kept it even when I probably should have sold it to repay Bruno after the accident. I kept it even when I was scared to drive it. But like you said the other day, I’m not fourteen anymore. I can’t live my life by what he would have wanted for me. He wouldn’t have wanted any of this.” I did a broad, sweeping gesture encompassing myself.

“He didn’t know what he was missing.” Jasper gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, but I turned in to him so that our mouths met, more comfort than sizzle, but so very necessary right then.

“Thank you.” I hugged him against me. “I mean that. Thank you. And you do see me. You see all the parts he didn’t. And I’m done trying to hide the real me. The truth is that he wasn’t a very good dad—”