An Innocent Thanksgiving

I knew that the obstacles standing in our way weren’t really disappearing as we talked. But it was nice to be able to forget about them for a little while—to sort of put them up on a shelf to take down later. I liked Cal, I always had, and it was clear to me now that wasn’t ever going to change. Even after all that had happened, I was still into him. Still wanted him, liked him. Even though I was sure a relationship between us wouldn’t work out, it was nice to pretend. Just for a bit.

We got dessert, and I knew that I shouldn’t say yes when Cal suggested the idea, a look in his eyes just sinful and playful enough that I flushed hot. I knew I definitely shouldn’t say yes when afterwards he suggested we go for a walk along the river. I should be getting back to Fern, to my daughter, being responsible. But I’d been responsible for five fucking years, and even if this thing with Cal couldn’t last, I didn’t want to give up pretending just yet.

“That sounds lovely,” I said instead, and the look that Cal gave me, so warm and soft and delighted, filled me up like champagne bubbles in my blood and I felt like I’d made the right choice.

He offered his arm to me as we walked, and I took it without thinking. It pressed our sides up together, and for once, I didn’t force myself away, didn’t make myself remember the reasons why this was a bad idea. I just enjoyed the warmth of him. I felt safe with him, in a way that I hadn’t felt in years. I’d had to hide my secret all this time, even from my parents, and I’d had to be the adult at home, no one to lean on. Now I had someone who knew the truth and who was willing to take care of me, at least for this one night, and it was such a relief I felt like a massive weight was being lifted off my shoulders.

The lights of the city made a lovely backdrop as we walked along the river. I was more often than not at home with Fern during the night, so I hadn’t really gotten to enjoy Nashville like this. “This makes me think of that one series you did,” I said, letting the words slide out of me before I got stiff and second-guessed them. “The one where you did all those cities at night.”

This was one of his earliest series, done before I was born. They were a series of paintings of cities from all over the world, and I really did mean all over the world—Seoul, Sidney, Tokyo, Berlin, Bangkok, Cairo, Buenos Aires, Los Angeles, New York City, Vancouver, London, Moscow, Cape Town, Tangier. I could remember looking that series up, when I had first started to become aware that my father’s best friend wasn’t just an artist but a famous one, and I had stared for ages at those paintings, imagining those cities.

Cal gave a startled noise. “Oh man. I haven’t thought about that series in years. That was one of the first series that I did, it’s the one that really put me on the map. No pun intended.” He shot me a warm grin.

“You know that was…” I really shouldn’t have been saying this, but I blamed the wine and the late night, and the stupid romantic lights of the city. “That was when I realized I was attracted to you. I had been doing this research on you, trying to… understand you, I suppose, not just as a friend but in the larger context of what you did. I would spend forever just staring at those paintings.”

It was hard to tell in the dark, but I was fairly sure that Cal was blushing. “Painting that series was… it was really enlightening,” he said. “I decided—or I had just decided that fuck it, I was going to really go for this whole artist thing. And people kept telling me that I was ridiculous. That I wasn’t going to get to do a lot of the things that everyone else got to do, like go on vacation. For some reason the vacation thing was what really stuck with people, they kept bringing it up. If you don’t get a steady nine to five office job you won’t be able to go to Hawaii, something like that.

“And at some point I figured, well, if I could be a broke artist in Ohio or whatever, then I could be a broke artist anywhere in the world, so I got in my car and went on a road trip. My first stop was Chicago. I drove all over in that car, literally. Canada, the United States, Mexico, down even farther until I had to give it up to get to South America.”