The smell of roasted beef invades my nose when I enter Grayson’s house the next morning.
A tray of steaming food sits on the kitchen counter. Emilia is rushing around, putting on her coat while grabbing a piece of paper from a magnetic notepad on the fridge.
She turns around and sees me, her shoulders dropping in relief. “Oh, thank God you’re here. I’m so late for a doctor’s appointment and I had to get Grayson’s lunch tray ready. I need you to take it to him, all right? I’ll be back in a few hours. You can go home after you give it to him. I checked over everything, and there’s nothing that needs to be done.”
“But what—”
Before I can even manage to finish my question, Emilia flies past me out the front door.
I stare at the tray, knowing I should get it out to him before it gets cold.
Leaving my purse on the counter, I heave the tray into my hands. Approaching the door leading to the passageway, I realize I need to open it first before walking through with the tray.
I look out, finding a well-lit concrete tunnel. The hallway is wide and long, with a side table to the right just inside the doorway.
I pick up the tray and carefully walk it through, laying it down on the table. I shut the door firmly behind me. My steps echo down the hallway, wondering if he can hear me approaching.
I reach the end of the way, managing to hold onto the tray while giving two hard knocks to the wood door before me.
The door swings open, revealing Grayson. He’s wearing a white T-shirt covered in streaks of clay and torn jeans, and his feet are bare. His brown eyes turn soft and widen at the sight of me.
“Oh, hello. I was expecting Emilia.”
“She asked me to bring your lunch. She was running late for a doctor’s appointment.”
His eyebrows rise. “Of course. I completely forgot. Please come in.”
I step into the studio cautiously. I can see the next sculpture he’s working on. Something short and standing on a pedestal.
“Lily.”
I shake my head. “Forgive me. I was just looking at what you’re working on now.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
I avert my eyes from the clay. “I’m sorry.”
“No harm done,” he reassures me. “I’m just very sensitive about my work. You can put the tray down on the desk.”
I do as he says. “Speaking of work, how is your portfolio coming along?” he asks with my back to him.
I spin around. “It’s coming along slowly, but I’m enjoying myself.”
He smiles at me. “That’s wonderful. You wouldn’t by chance have your portfolio with you?”
My body warms from his question. I can’t stop grinning. “I do, actually. It’s in my car.”
“I’d love to see it after I finish lunch.”
“You can call me on the house phone when you’re finished and—”
He waves his hand at me. “No, no. Don’t be silly. I’ll bring the tray in myself. You can show it to me then.”
I nod. “Okay. I’ll get it from my car in the meantime.”
I reach the door, my hand on the doorknob, when a thought strikes me.
When I turn around to face him, he’s sitting at his desk, about to tuck into the meal.
“Grayson, may I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
He looks at me curiously. “Go on.”
“Have you…do you…I mean…”
“Just ask, Lily.”
“Do you need more than art to make you happy?”
“I’m perfectly content with my life.”
“‘Content’ isn’t the same as happy. I understand what you mean, but hiding away in your studio on this crumbling estate doesn’t exactly help you,” I counter.
I dare myself to look directly at Grayson, fearing the fury I expect to see in his eyes. Instead, a flash of amusement crosses his face. “Come again?”
My tongue tangles in my mouth as I attempt to form something more mature to say. “I…I…oh, hell.” I stop short when a deep laugh rumbles from his throat. My eyes widen in surprise.
He lifts his hand to me, palm facing out. “Continue, please.”
My shoulders relax from the amused sound of his voice. I clear my throat. “I meant to say that you need to open up to people and learn to trust them if you ever want something good to happen in your life. Surely you need more than your art to make you happy.”
I shut my eyes.
Too far. I went too far.
When I open my eyes again, he is standing over me. My heart starts pounding inside my chest as his eyes sear into me. He remains resolutely silent.
Leave. Move your damn feet. Leave now.
“I should go. Eat before it gets cold. I’ll go get my portfolio.”
I rush out the door, not even thinking once of looking back.
Once I reach the kitchen, I grip the counter to calm myself, shaking my head.
Fuck. Why did I say all that? I have no right…
The sound of my cell ringing in my pocket jolts me from my thoughts. Reed’s name is on the caller ID.
“Hi. Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Look, I know we’re taking a break, but I had an idea.”
I can’t help but be curious. “What?”
“I thought maybe we could recreate where we first met, our date, something like that.”
I pause, wondering if he’s being sincere.
“Look, I know I’ve been a complete shit to you, and I think we need to remind ourselves why we fell in love in the first place.”
Before I can say something, he stops me. “Lily, I miss you and I love you.”
My eyes shut from the power of his words.
Oh, fuck it. I need to try.
“Okay.”
“I’ll pick you up tonight at seven.”
I nod my head. “I’ll see you then.”
* * *
Grayson
“Surely you need more than your art to make you happy.”
That’s all I could think about as I ate my lunch, and on the short trek to the kitchen with the tray.
Nobody’s ever dared to speak to me like that before. But then, she was right. Nobody could speak to me like that because I’ve never left my crumbling estate. She was right about that, too. It is crumbling because I never cared before if the walls of my home fell around me. Who would care?
When I enter the kitchen carrying the tray, Lily is standing at the sink. She turns to me. “Just bring it over. I’ll take care of the dishes while I’m here. My portfolio’s on the table.”
She looks up at me with a quick grin, then takes the dishes and cutlery from the tray. I throw away my used napkin and put away the tray and salt and pepper shakers.
On the table is a zippered black leather portfolio. I sit down and slowly unzip the binder. Behind me, the water at the sink stops running, and a minute later Lily settles next to me.
I open the portfolio, coming face to face with the first picture—a close-up of the woman in The Lovers.
“I took more,” she says nervously.
I smile back at her. “Don’t worry. I believe you.”
And she did, because the next set of photos is of an old red barn standing in the snow.
I gasp in wonder. “Wow. That’s beautiful. I love the contrast between the red and white.”
“Thank you. I can’t explain it, but for some reason I’m drawn to contrasting colors.”
“That’s what you should name your first showing: ‘Contrast.’”
“Yeah, right.”
I glance at her, her eyes rolling at me. “‘My first showing,’ Are you kidding? I’m just starting out.”
“I’m not saying it’ll happen next week, but if you keep at it, you’ll never know what is truly possible until you believe in yourself and your craft.”
Her eyebrows narrow at me. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“No. Don’t you think you can do this? Have you shared this with anyone else?”
“Just my best friend Sky. And Matt at the camera shop.”
“Yes, of course. Matt at the camera shop.” She laughs at my teasing, warming my heart when I hear her reaction. I keep turning the pages, astounded by her talent. “But what about your fiancé?” I ask her.
I look up when she doesn’t reply right away. Her smile has disappeared. “I could never tell him. He wouldn’t understand. He’s not exactly the creative type.”
“That’s too bad. He’s your fiancé, after all.”
She nods silently. “I’d better go. I have some chores to finish.”
As she reaches for the portfolio, my hand brushes her warm one. Our eyes instantly lock on each other, neither of us speaking, our chests rising and falling with each breath. Her soft lips form an O as if she’s expecting something to happen.
I finally break the silence. “Thank you for showing it to me.”
She nods. “Of course. You’re welcome.”
Just as she’s about to walk away, I call out her name. She turns around to face me.
“You can do this, Lily. Don’t stop pursuing what you love. I believe in you.”
She freezes at my words. I open my mouth to say something but her voice stops me. “Thank you, Grayson,” she whispers.
I watch her leave, standing still, absorbing her gratitude, her calm demeanor, her innocence.
When I return to the studio, I get to work, pounding the clay. Again and again.
As much as I try to escape them, her words continue to occupy my mind.
I never leave my home because I fear the outside. To me, the outside is where I lost my parents, how I became the monster I look like today. I fear strangers’ reactions to me when they see me in person.
This is where I find peace. Nobody to judge me. It is only me in this wide open space, living my passion, creating something beautiful.
But she’s right. About everything. Every goddamn thing.
I do need something more than my art to make me happy. But the one thing I want I can never have.
I put down the clay and walk over to my desk. Opening a drawer, I pull out a clean sheet of vellum stationery and an envelope.