I hang up at the sound of his laughter and put my phone away, as I turn my attention to the now-cold egg sandwich that I’d ordered for myself. Once I’m finished eating, I take the short walk to my studio and lock the door behind me. Glancing around at the paintings on the white walls, I wonder if I should rearrange them. A lot of them are Wyatt’s, but most of them are local artists’ work that I’ve fallen in love with through the years. Some of mine are also there, but I don’t display those in the front part of the gallery. The front of the gallery is reserved for items I have for sale, and the only creations of mine I sell are my kaleidoscope hearts.
I went to school to become an art teacher, but was unsure about it. When I told Wyatt I wanted to be an art teacher but couldn’t see myself in such a demanding field, he presented me with the idea for Paint it Back. He said this way my creativity would stay alive, and if I wanted, I could start a program for kids. Through the studio, we were able to start a summer program where older kids come over after their day camp and work on paintings. It started as a way to get them off the streets and focusing their energy on something else, but once school started, they kept setting up appointments to come by in small groups.
I’m setting white sheets over the easels for my Monday afternoon class, when my phone rings.
“Elle,” my brother says brightly, as if he hadn’t practically kicked me out a couple of hours ago. “I forgot to tell you, some people are coming over later.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, around twelve. You think you can make some of your bean dip?”
It takes everything in me not to growl at his request. “Sure. How many people?”
“Hmmm . . . me, Bean, Jenson, and Bobby . . . that’s it.”
“So only four people are eating?” I ask.
“Yeah, four.”
I blink rapidly, wondering if he’s going to include me in there at all.
“Well, five, if you want to stick around,” he says, clearing his throat as he corrects himself.
“Who’s Bobby? That guy you work with?”
“Yeah, he’s the new guy. You’ll like him, he’s cool.”
“Cool like you, I’m sure,” I mutter. My brother and his friends are undercover comic book nerds in the guise of jocks. He’s had the same group of friends since he was in grade school, and it’s not often he brings another one into the close-knit group they have. I imagine that Bobby must fit the same description as the rest of them.
“You can tell Mia if you want,” he adds, as a selling point.
“Mia and Jenson in the same room? No, thank you.”
Vic laughs. “She’s not over it?”
“Over him leaving her to be with his ex-girlfriend? I doubt it.” I raise a brow as I take new brushes out of their package and put them in the silver canisters that sit beside each easel.
“He’s a dick,” Vic says. “Then again, she’s not very bright. I would never have let you date one of my friends.”
I put down the supplies in my hand and brace myself on the edge of the counter. “And why is that, exactly?”
He laughs a deep, rich laugh that would have made me smile under other circumstances. “Come on, Elle. You know them.”
His words make me cringe. I do know them. I know them well.
“Anyway, I’ll see you later. They get here at twelve for the pre-show so . . .”
“Yeah, I got it, Vic. Your dip will be ready before kick-off. Did that girl leave already?”
“Yeah, she left. I invited her over for dinner on Wednesday. Oliver and Jenson are also coming over with some . . . female friends, so you’ll meet her then.”
I make a mental note to disappear on Wednesday night, and tell Vic I’ll see him later. Walking back to the gallery section, I notice one of my kaleidoscope hearts is crooked in its holding place, so I tilt it back upright. A magazine that covered an event we held here once had described my hearts as “heartbreaking, poignant, beautiful pieces.” This specific one is on display, but not for sale. It was one of the first ones I made, and Wyatt refused to get rid of it. I used a lot of purples for this particular piece, and every time the sun peeks in here, speckled beams of purple light bounce off the walls.
“If anybody comes in here trying to buy it, you tell them I’ll match their price and double it,” he’d said to me with a grin.
Tears begin to well in my eyes as I stand there, looking at the way the light reflects off of it, and thinking of Wyatt. I wipe my eyes, take a breath, and walk out, locking the door behind me. I make it back to Vic’s and hear him in the shower. I pop open a bottle of wine while I work on the dip, pouring the mashed beans at the bottom, the avocado in the middle, and sour cream on top. Once I’m done making a large bowl of that, I take out the Crock-pot I bought my brother three Christmases ago that he clearly hasn’t used, and begin to set up some meatballs. Taking one last sip of wine, I walk to my room and throw myself into the bed.