Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

I waved at everybody else and walked out without looking back. Pulling out my phone, I typed out a text to Theo and hesitated to send it. When I realized it wasn’t what I wanted, I sighed and turned it off, so I wasn’t tempted. Ren was right, I would have been angry at myself to reach out even when part of me was still irritated.

It didn’t take long to make it to the Friedman Art Center where Professor Ambrose’s office was perched in the art department wing of the building. I always loved seeing her there because her shelves were full of her favorite self-made pieces—paintings, pottery, any kind of medium that she felt invested in at the time.

My knock on her door was light, but she immediately looked up with a big smile on her aged face like always. “Adele! Come in, come in, dear. I was happy you could see me on such short notice.”

I entered and dropped into the seat across from her. “It’s no problem. Is everything okay?”

She waved her hand. “Of course. I didn’t mean to scare you by asking to come talk. It’s about the figure drawing class you got accepted into this summer with Kolinsky. I was ecstatic when you finally let me know you were going to take the spot offered.”

I’d only accepted the offer after talking to Theo about it. I wasn’t sure if I should have considering my doubt, but it was too good to pass up since it was the one type of drawing I knew would benefit my work most. “What about it?”

“There’s something I want you to consider,” she propositioned, the smile still spread across her lips. “I know it may seem like a ridiculous notion, but it’s one I truly want you to think about without giving me an answer now. Okay? Can you do that?”

I blinked. “Uh…”

“I think it’ll help you.”

“What will?”

When she explained it, my eyes widened, and I was pretty sure my heart stopped too. She delivered the idea so casually that it seemed like we were having a chat about the weather. Not…that.

After she finished her spiel, all I could do was stare at her with parted lips. My fingers had curled together on my lap as I soaked in every word. I knew why she suggested it, why she told me it could help me. But…

“I do

n’t know, Professor Ambrose.”

“I know.” She stood and walked around her desk, sitting in the chair directly next to mine and reaching for my hand. “I’ve noticed how hesitant you are lately. You never used to be so in your head, and I know there’s a lot to think about. Why not do something about it? Take control.”

Swallowing, I shook my head. I confided in her some time ago that I felt I’d lost control of my life, which was why I nosedived into rock bottom and done what I did. She’d known me since freshman year, seen my struggles, and was always willing to help. “I’ve been trying to get past the block, but—”

“Have you though, Adele? I know you, dear. You’ve always been dedicated no matter the situation. What you went through, what you’re still going through, is a lot. It will always feel like somebody is holding you down because they want to see you fail. But it’s up to you to push back and find your place in the world again however you can. I know a lot of students, and nobody else here at Bentley has the strength and perseverance to get through the magnitude of horrors like you can.”

“I don’t see how your suggestion helps do that,” I admitted honestly.

She patted my arm. “If you agree, you’d be putting yourself out there for yourself. Not for anybody else in that room. It’d be about accepting that you’re worthy of that kind of attention. You’d be fighting what your brain wants you to drown in. And you know what else? You’d be living the very art you create. Remember the piece you submitted to the Bentley Art Journal? It was of the girl posing in front of a mirror, but she was—”

“Faceless,” I whispered. I’d called the piece “Curvy” and it was no more than a few outlines of a woman being judged by the crowd.

“All your pieces are faceless,” she noted pointedly. “Perhaps it’s time to put a face on your paintings, dear. Really put yourself in the art that so many people stop and stare at. Because it isn’t the last name they see when something of yours is displayed. It’s the meaning.”

Inhaling slowly, I locked eyes on the floor and tried sorting out my thoughts. Even if I wanted to say no to her offer right then and there, she wouldn’t accept the answer. She was right. I needed to think about it. As for my art… “I feel like faceless creations are what I’m known for. It wouldn’t feel like me if suddenly I started painting people who were…”

“Complete?” she offered. “Have you considered the reason for that is because you’re afraid of what the faces would look like?”

I swallowed.

“They’re you. Each one. Aren’t they?”

I said nothing. “May I suggest something else?” she asked, squeezing my arm.

I nodded.

“Do something crazy. Something spontaneous that you’ve always wanted to do but were too afraid of. I’ve found that facing those fears, no matter how big or small, helps when it comes to chipping away at what the conscious might not tell you the real problem is.”

My lips parted to speak but closed when one image came to mind. One person. One thought that I’d had thousands of times. It sent sparks down my body, fire forming in the back of my neck, and my heartrate skyrocketing.

I thought about Theo.