“Capri,” I said looking at every bit and piece of her that I’d missed over the last few weeks. Her guarded brown eyes were unfortunately glaring at me. I could remedy that. Her perfect lips puckered up, and the way her nose fought to scrunch up in amusement at the way I was looking at her. She was beautiful, and I loved how effortless it was for her. She never tried to be gorgeous, she just was.
“Stop looking at me like that, and just tell me why you’re at my showing.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She tried to look pissed, but I caught a quick lapse of her tough girl act when her lips turned down in a pout. She was wondering if I was okay. Even when I acted like a certified jackass, she was still thinking of how I was. I loved that she was so caring even when she had no reason to be. She painted me. Like, a lot.
I turned back and looked around the room again. Yep, there I was. I looked at her again as she wringed her hands together in front of her. “You love me,” I declared. It wasn’t a question. Her love for me was painted all across those canvases.
She fell back at my words and held her hand over her chest. Okay, so she didn’t think I was too sharp. We could work on that. “Since when?” I asked stepping in closer to her. I wasn’t letting her get away this time.
“Since I can remember,” she whispered eyes wide. I stepped in again and reached my hand up to cradle her face. I groaned like a pussy at touching her again after so long. I rubbed her cheek with my thumb. How could I have hurt this woman?
“Capri, I’m so sorry,” I started to say but she pulled herself out of my touch.
“Don’t.” She shook her head and retreated even further. Well, this wasn’t what I’d planned on. “I don’t want to hear any excuses about why I shouldn’t love you, or why you don’t deserve my love because it’s already here.” She grabbed her shirt over her heart. “And I love it here. So don’t try to take it away.” Fuck, I’m an asshole.
I shook my head and stepped toward her again to explain to her that I wasn’t going to say that at all. I mean, I did have some excuses up my sleeve, but not for why she shouldn’t love me. They were for why I couldn’t find it in me to trust what we had.
“And don’t say it back, either,” she said staring at me. Say what? What wasn’t I supposed to say? “Don’t tell me you love me,” she ordered and the words cut through me like a knife. Why wouldn’t she want me to say that to her? Wait, did I want to say that to her?
I watched this amazing girl, who’d captured my attention for years before she captured my heart this season. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her, and I had an overwhelming urge to prove to her how special she was to me every day for the rest of my life.
“Don’t,” she whispered, and I cursed under my breath at the sincerity of her words. I might really have ruined this. Dread washed over me so quickly I could barely stand. “Just go,” she said, “please.” I shook my head to protest, but the air in the room felt like it would choke me at any minute. What had I done? I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t.
I turned toward her with renewed purpose and stalked her way, but she put her hands up to stop me. “I mean it, Wes.” Her bottom lip trembled.
“Dude, I think that’s enough for today.” August stepped between us and damn, I had forgotten he was here. I understood, though. She was breaking because of me. Again.
“Meet you at the truck.” I nodded and turned from her silently vowing this wasn’t it for us. I was going to make this right.
“That was a lie.” I heard August speak to her.
“I don’t want to hear it, August. I want to know it,” she said back, and I swore my feet kicked up in their steps. Challenge accepted.
“These are really something,” my mom said holding up one of my paintings.
“They’re okay,” I said still not satisfied with using so few colors, and I probably never would be.
“Sweetheart,” she rolled up the picture I’d painted for fun of a dog’s paw smashing into the sand at the dog beach and put it into a box, “clearly they are more than okay. That hotel bigwig bought a few, and the gallery extended your showing for another month. That’s not okay. My little girl is brilliant.”
I smiled at her and rolled the packing tape across the box I’d just filled. Brilliant was a stretch, but I had to admit I was pretty proud of myself. It was a week after the bachelorette party that I got the phone call. I knew that because it was the first day I had left the house since Wes had broken my heart. It was also the day I gave up on waiting for him to call or come by.
Bia called that day saying the owner of The Bay purchased three of my paintings. It might not sound like a lot, but I’d just become the richest I’d ever been. I finally felt validated. Being colorblind could not, and would not, stop me from creating art people wanted to both see and purchase. It was after that phone call that I packed my Wes portfolio into the car and took it down to the gallery to ask about a showing. Bia instantly approved it, and after a month of increased foot traffic through my section of the gallery, she extended the showing.
The small purchase the owner of The Bay made had given me enough money for the first two months’ rent on an apartment in Mission Bay. It was a tiny place, but it was all mine. The complex was even just minutes away from SYC where I was officially employed as the new art director. Not long after August had the reopening, his funding came through for an art program.
So much had changed in such a short amount of time, all positive changes. I should be optimistic about the forward momentum my life had suddenly taken, but I couldn’t help feeling saddened that I wasn’t sharing it with the one person who helped me get here.
“How have you been feeling lately?” My mom eyed me as she stacked one box on top of another. When they’d returned from their Mexico trip and saw my heartbreak covering the house in tissues and dirty dishes, she stayed home with me until I got back on my feet again.
“Better.” I shrugged a shoulder and folded up a new box. It was a little true anyway. I mean, I was exiting the house and eating normally again. I still found myself crying some nights as I fell asleep or letting tears fall in the shower, but I didn’t sit in the sadness for much longer than those moments.
“You know sweetie, I really do believe this will be one of his biggest regrets in his life.” My mom sat down on the bed next to me, obviously wanting to talk, but I kept myself busy filling boxes.
“Sucks for him,” I said tossing my sketchbook in quickly avoiding its memories.
“Not if he realizes soon enough that he made a mistake. Some people know immediately, but others, unfortunately, can’t see where they went wrong until much later in life, if ever.”
“And what if he sees that he’s made a mistake?” I asked taping up another box.
“You forgive him.”
“And what if he never realizes he messed up?” I blew a piece of hair from my eyes and sat on the bed next to her.
“You still forgive him.” She took the tape gun from my hands and set it aside.
“That’s dumb, Mom,” I told her, and she laughed.
“It’s not dumb. You forgive him regardless for yourself so you can move on to whatever direction your life goes. Whether it’s with him or not.”
I huffed out a sigh and looked around my room. What once was filled with the emptiness of the color white truly was empty now. If I hadn’t had been so fearful, I wonder if I ever would have been brave enough to add some color to the space even if only in one I could see? I guess that might turn out to be one of my regrets, spending years hiding myself behind insecurity rather than living in uniqueness.