I BROWSE THROUGH MY FEED and pause when I see one of her beautiful images. Her artwork is inspirational. I can’t count how many times I’ve liked and taken screen shots of her art. I’ve become kind of a stalker, actually. I’m sure she doesn’t mind. I’m sure lots of people are doing the same thing. It’s not so much skill that I see in her art, but vibrancy, passion, that ‘something’ that I’ve been trying to achieve in my own paintings. Although we work in different mediums, she with watercolors, myself with oils, she is by far my favorite artist friend on Instagram.

I tap on the heart icon to check out my likes and comments, and I’m thrilled to see that she liked my most recent painting; an orchid set against a window. She even left a comment: Beautiful!, followed by a heart emoticon.

I instantly like her comment, giddy. I reach for my mug and drain the rest of my coffee, which is very cold now… yuck. I go back to browsing my feed, and a new message pops up — it’s her. @eKellyart

I reply instantly...

As soon as our conversation is over, I check her profile. I want to know more about her. But my creeping initially leads pretty much nowhere. There are no photos of her, nothing but her paintings. Unlike mine, her account is truly an art-only account. The profile caption reads:

Interesting… My eye is drawn to her name. Eli Kelly.

Wait a second…

Eli. Eli is a man’s name. @eKellyart is a man! I’d just always assumed she was a woman. Maybe ‘Kelly’ threw me off, or maybe it was the softness in her artwork. Uh… I mean, his artwork.

Well, go figure.

I’m still shocked when I turn off my phone, slip it into my purse, and grab my jacket.

Of course, I still don’t know what’s waiting for me around the corner. I walk down the street, carefree, humming my latest favorite song as I climb into my SUV and head off to spend the rest of the day with my perfect family.

I love watching her. Emma is just like I was at her age. I used to love dancing too. She’s only nine, but already, there’s so much grace in the way she moves. She stands a few inches taller than the other girls in her class, her eyes focused on the teacher’s instructions.

I keep my eyes on her as I reach into my bag for my iPad. I hand it to Theo who is already getting antsy. He’s usually good to watch his big sister for about five minutes, and then he starts to fidget. I feel bad every time I entertain him with an electronic device, but that’s what all moms do these days. I wonder what mothers did back in the day, before the Internet. I remember my aunt Sophia always kept a bunch of Hot Wheels cars in her purse to entertain my cousin, Anthony.

As soon as I hand him the tablet, his little fingers are tapping and he’s playing his favorite game. I watch him for a few seconds – he’s the spitting image of his father; golden hair and striking light blue eyes… even the glasses.

I turn to Emma again. She’s my mini-me; dark thick hair, an olive complexion, and big brown eyes. When I was expecting Theo, we knew he was a boy – we’d asked the doctor. I could already picture him; caramel complexion and a dark head of hair, just like his big sister. I was shocked when he came out with a soft fuzz of white hair on his head, and a few weeks later, when I realized he had his father’s eyes. I’d thought that my Latino genes would stomp all over John’s English and Swedish background. They say that dark always overtakes light, but not in this case.

I check my watch. Forty minutes left here, and then, we need to head off to Theo’s piano lessons. Then, off to the grocery store because I still haven’t figured out what we’re having for dinner. Saturdays are always crazy like this. It helps when John is around, but lately, he’s been doing a lot of conferences, signings, and media appearances. A lot more than usual.

I try to be understanding. I know he’s a big shot writer and all, and my friends keep saying how lucky I am to be married to such a perfect man; handsome, successful, and a good husband and father. The perfect man, really. I know all this, but yet… I can’t help feeling a little resentful sometimes, jealous even. He gets the cake, and the icing too. He gets to have the perfect family, and yes, he’s proud of us, always posting photos on Facebook. And he gets the exciting career too. He gets to escape, to take a breather, every time he goes off to one of these conferences or signings.

And me… I don’t get to escape. I don’t get the icing. I only get the cake. And I keep telling myself that it’s okay. I love the cake, and I’ve never been one for icing. John keeps telling me to hire help, but that’s not my style. I didn’t leave my career to spend my days at the spa while a stranger looks after my kids.

Theo pauses from his game for a second and shoots me one of his adorable grins. I smile back.

Yes, we’ll be all right.

John is away again this weekend, and I miss him. But these two little munchkins are keeping me company. I’m a bit lonely, but I’m used to it.

I’m going to buy a cooked chicken, and make their favorite pasta, and then we’ll watch a movie together. I’m simultaneously mentally jotting down my grocery list, and checking Instagram on my phone.

My heart skips a beat when I see another message from @eKellyart.

I smile, wondering what his sofa looks like, what he looks like. Does he live in an apartment? Or a house? Does he have a family? How old is he? All I know is that he’s from Denmark, and that he loves dogs. And he’s a very talented artist, of course.

I’d ventured to a dairy farm this past summer, and taken photos I could use as inspiration for my paintings. I love painting animals. I love to bring them to life using vibrant colors and whimsical strokes. Abstract-realism, some would call it. I paint mostly still-life, animals, and landscape, and occasionally, people.

I smile again.

My heart beats a little faster as I tap away. I glance at Theo who is engrossed in his game, and Emma who is still focused on her teacher.

I wait for a response but it doesn’t come. I’m as antsy as Theo is when he needs to sit and wait. Torture… Obviously, Eli Kelly is already bored with me and has moved on to his next Instagram stranger/friend. He’s probably checked out my feed, and maybe my curves have turned him off, or maybe the kids. So I’m not a young little blonde pixie. Screw you, Eli Kelly.

An image pops up — one of his paintings — a myriad of boats docked in front of colorful buildings. I remember seeing it before.

Oh, so that’s how it is. He’s just trying to sell art. Well, I must admit, flirting is not a bad strategy. Although I could afford it, I think I’ll pass.

I’m taken aback by this last message. And flattered.

What do you look like? How old are you? I want to ask.

I glance up at Emma. She’s looking straight at me, frowning. “Sorry, sorry,” I mouth. I’m a bad mom – chatting with some stranger on social media instead of paying attention to my daughter.

Wow… this conversation has moved fast. We are complete strangers and he’s about to tell me his whole life story. This is not right.

My pulse is racing. I don’t know why. We’re just having a normal conversation. I obviously lied… I don’t need to head to Theo’s lesson for another twenty minutes, but I just had the urge to run. If truth be told, he makes me feel a little too good, too excited, and that scares me a little.