11. Dean: Encouraging the Artist

Dean – Encouraging the Artist

Chapter eleven

"Well, that was embarrassing," Dylan says as we drive back to the apartment.

"What was?" I ask.

"You basically making out with Mae."

"What are you talking about?" I glance over at him. His teenage frown is firmly set on his face. It's a look I haven't seen for a while, and the sight of it makes me take in a deep breath.

"Dad, you were just straddling her."

"I was not." It's not the whole truth, but my fourteen-year-old son doesn't need to know that. "We fell."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "I saw that lingering look."

"You don't know what you're talking about. We were both recovering from the shock of being chased around by a murderous mother goose." Again, what I say is only partially true. I may have looked at Mae with a semi-lingering look. And I may have lain over her for a few more seconds than necessary. But I know nothing can happen between us. Involvement with her would mean the termination of the condos, which I can't allow. Just because Mae gave me an easel doesn't mean I can just quit my job to become an artist again.

"Sure. I'll be so angry if your involvement with her blows my chances with Mina."

"Ah-ha!" I cry out, triumphant. "You do like her. I knew it."

His arms cross against his chest, and he flips the hood of his jacket up. "I didn't say that."

"Actually, you did." I wonder if my parents had this much fun teasing me about girls when I was Dylan's age. It's the only payback I can get from all the brooding. "You said you don't want me to blow your chances with her."

"I meant just as friends."

"Oh, okay," in a teasing voice. "Sure, said every hormonal fourteen-year-old boy ever."

"Dad!" Dylan cries out, flipping down his hood so he can spear me with the full force of his glare.

"Hey. I've been there, buddy. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Ugh," Dylan cries. "Can we please stop talking about this?"

"Sure. But I don't see why it's such a big deal to admit that you have a crush on a girl." He's going to have to learn to do it sometime. Otherwise, he'll never work up the courage to ask anyone out on a date. They'll just spend their entire lives dancing around each other, the attraction growing, almost taking that next step but never.

I shift in my seat. All this thinking about Dylan has made it uncomfortably clear that he's not the only Cornel man denying his feelings. Although, I know that my attraction for Mae can't be acted on because it will only lead to one thing - heartbreak.

Dylan shifts his body toward mine. "Okay, then. Do you like Mae?" he asks point blank.

"Wha—no."

He scoffs. "What a hypocrite."

"That isn't fair. Adult relationships are much more complicated than fairytale romances you guys get to have in high school."

"How so?"

I sigh. "Because there's more…things involved to consider." More ways you open yourself up for disappointment.

"You mean kids?" Dylan asks.

"Sometimes." I hadn't even considered that. I've been so caught up in what a relationship with Mae would mean for the condos that I hadn't thought about what it would mean for Dylan. What it would do to both of our kids if things didn't work out?

"Well, you won't hear me complaining," Dylan says. "I don't want you to get married again."

This comment completely throws me off.

"What did you just say?" I ask.

"I don't want you to ever get remarried," Dylan repeats, his voice tinged with anger.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. I never realized how much my relationships affected him.

"Why?" Relationships, let alone marriage, haven't exactly been at the forefront of my mind for the last couple of years. But for Dylan to be so against the possibility means something else is happening here.

"Because you're so much happier alone," Dylan says, his voice going quiet.

Am I? I think to myself.

"When that woman was around—"

"Come on, now. She's still your mom." I hate to intervene, but I can't let him disrespect Anna like that. She might not have been around lately, but she still went through the discomfort and pain of pregnancy and birth.

Dylan just rolls his eyes. "Whatever, when Anna (he emphasizes melodramatically) was around, you seemed miserable all the time, except when you were in your studio painting."

"You remember that?" Dylan was really little back then, and I can't believe his memory goes that far back.

"Yeah." Dylan looks so small in the passenger seat. He's been growing so quickly lately that I forget he's still just a kid. I reach over and pull him into a one-armed hug, the best I can do while still driving. "I've been wanting to ask you why you stopped painting," Dylan continues. "It seemed to bring you so much joy back in the day. Remember when you had your first gallery?"

"Of course." I smile at the memory. Anna may have wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, but those days, more often than not, Dylan would spend time with me in the studio, playing with his toys while I painted. While I was setting up the gallery, Dylan was stumbling around like toddlers do, playing with his toy airplane. "It was one of the best nights of my life—other than when you were born."

"Nice save." Dylan rolls his eyes at me again, but I know he's just joking, and we both laugh.

"You should get another studio," Dylan suggests. "You could paint the farms. They're going to be destroyed soon anyway, right?"

I feel my heart drop into my stomach at his words.

"Yeah," I agree, my voice not nearly as convincing as it should be. The condos will be built. It's too late to stop it now.

"So, what a great way to preserve their memories."

"You make a good point." I could present one of the paintings to Mae. Maybe it would help her forgive me.

"Well?" Dylan asks. He sounds so self-assured—definitely my son.

"It's funny we're talking about this," I say, "because Mae actually just gave me an easel she found in a crawl space."

"See?" Dylans says. "The universe is begging you to paint."

"Why is this so important to you?" I ask him, looking at him from the corner of my eye.

"Because…" he trails off.

"Because…why?" I turn the truck into our building's parking garage.

"Because…I don't know." And that's all the answer he gives me before exiting the car, slamming the passenger door behind him.

***

The next day, I take Mae up on her offer to go to the art store with me. Dylan refuses to tell me why my painting is so important to him, but I can tell that it is. And if my own joy of painting isn't enough to get me back into it, my son's determination definitely is.

I pause after walking through the door, breathing in the familiar art store scent.

"Man, it's been a while. Too long."

Mae takes a prolonged sniff. "It's so good, right?"

"So, what first?"

"Well, I think the canvases are around there." She points to the back corner of the building.

"Okay, great." I start walking in that direction, but her hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Wait," she says.

"What?" I swing back to look at her.

"We aren't going to shop together?"

Mae's face is tilted up toward mine, her hazel eyes wide, the sides of her lips pulled down into a charming faint pout. It's a bad idea I now realize. I mean going to the art store together, each getting our separate items and leaving is just two friends running an errand together. But meandering through the store together, taking our time to browse its contents while we chat about our days? That sounds like a date. Mae's lips pull down a fraction more at my long pause. And my resolve breaks.

"Oh," I say. "I mean. We can." Weak. I am so weak when it comes to Mae. Where did the hardened businessman about to tear down a beloved farm disappear to?

"Yay!" She grabs my arm. "The yarn's over here." With her warm body pressed against my side, I can't be too angry at my cowardice.

We walk over to the yarn together, and she shows me the pattern she wants to recreate.

"I want to use the same pink colors because they match Mina's room," she explains. "But I want to replace the blues with green."

"Ah." I have no idea what she's saying, but I nod my head. I'm sure whatever Mae makes will look wonderful.

I follow her around as she holds different skeins up and compares them to each other. The colors all look the same to me, but Mae looks at each one like a scientist looking at chemicals under a microscope. I should be bored out of my mind, standing there watching her shop, but her scrunched-up nose and the way she bites her lip as she considers her options keep me entertained.

After what seems like an hour, Mae finally has a basket of stuff.

"Good?" I ask.

"I think so," she says, although she's still eyeing the yarn with a yearning gaze that makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her away. I'm sure she could spend a week in this section. "Now for your stuff."

It's strange. I feel simultaneously like a stranger and at home among the painting supplies.

"What are you thinking?" Mae asks me as I contemplate the various art supplies.

"Um, probably just a few canvases in different sizes," I say.

"Like really big ones? Or more medium-sized?"

"Probably more on the medium side," I eye each canvas, my ideas already sketching themselves out. It really has been too long since I picked up a paintbrush.

"Got it," Mae says, looking at the canvases with the same expression she used to look at the yarn. My heart races in my chest.

After a couple of minutes, I pick out a few of the more expensive ones and put them in our cart.

Then, I move on to the paints. There are a couple of variety packs for sale, but I only need about four colors and white, so I decide to buy individual ones. Dylan's idea of painting the farms was a good one. I should have brought some pictures of the land to compare, but I see a couple of greens and a yellowish one that look like they should match fairly well. I get two of each. Of course, I add some blues for that gorgeous sky.

"Okay, I think I'm ready," I say, as I grab a handful of brushes from one of the racks.

"You sure?" Mae asks.

"Yeah."

We head to the register, and Mae checks out, her bill over a hundred dollars.

"Wow," I say.

She shrugs her shoulders. "What? Yarn's expensive."

"I guess." Then I laugh. "You should think about raising sheep. Might turn out to be cheaper."

Mae punches me lightly on the shoulder but laughs as well. "Maybe I will."

My total is a little more than Mae's, but I expected that. Good-quality art supplies aren't cheap.

"I can't wait to see what you come up with," she says, after helping me unload all of my stuff into the back room of the farmhouse. This room has large French Doors that perfectly showcase the landscape outside. "And?" She asks, hands on her hips like she's expecting something.

I look around. "What?"

"You're supposed to say you can't wait to see what I make." She has a small frown on her face that I want to kiss away. But I don't do that, because we're friends. Just. Friends.

"Oh, right," I say instead.

"I'm just kidding." Mae brushes off my reaction with a wave of her hand. "I know you couldn't care less."

"Hey." I catch her by the arm as she walks away. "That's not fair. I think it's cool you know how to do that and that you use your skills to make things for your daughter."

"I can make you something too if you want?"

I want to say yes to that. The thought of us together in this room, silently working on our projects, together but apart, makes my heart race. And the thought of being wrapped up in a soft sweater that smells like Mae makes my blood run toward an area just south of my stomach.

I clear my throat. "You know, I'm probably good on that for now."

She just giggles. "That's what I thought. Anyway, happy painting!" With that, she turns on the heels of her cowgirl boots and walks out.

I'm left alone with a blank canvas, one of the most uncomfortable places to be. I have some of my old brushes here at the house. I uncover them and bend the soft bristles in my hands, prepping them for painting.

"Hello, old friends," I murmur.

"Dad? Oh, no. You've officially gone crazy. I was worried that this day would come."

I look over and see Dylan standing in the doorway to the room. I must have been focused if I hadn't heard him stomping through the house.

"Hi to you too, Dyl," I say. "Where were you?"

"In the barn."

"Of course." I shoot him a knowing grin.

He frowns at me. "What was that for?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"I wasn't kidding before. I think it's awesome you're painting. I had no idea you'd take my advice so quickly." He smiles at me, and I shoot him a grin back.

"Well, truth be told, you weren't the only one pushing me back into it."

"Really? Oh, wait. Let me guess, Mae?" There's a bit of an edge in Dylan's voice, but I don't comment on it. I know he likes Mae. It's me getting into a serious relationship with her that he doesn't like. And that's never going to happen.

"Yes," I confirm. Just one friend pushing another friend to get back to their passion. One absolutely gorgeous friend with a smile that…

"Well, I don't think it counts as getting back into the saddle unless you put the brush to the canvas," Dylan says, saving me from my spiraling thoughts.

"I know, I know. I'll do it. Just give me time." I drop the paintbrushes into a glass filled with water.

"Well, good luck. I just came back in here to get something to drink." Dylan disappears, and I begin to set up my paints. I take my time squeezing blobs of color onto the palette in a circular pattern.

This is the easy part. I tell myself. I'm just covering the canvas with a base layer of white. I'm still nervous, though.

I spent so long blaming my distance from art on Anna leaving that it almost feels like I have no right to be doing it again.

Nevertheless, I bite the bullet and start covering the surface. Not every artist believes in preparing canvases this way, but if it's good enough for Bob Ross, it's good enough for me.

I leave that to dry for a bit, and I walk over to the doors to contemplate the view I'm going to replicate. It's a beautiful landscape, actually an artist's dream view. Too bad it'll be covered in condos soon. I shake my head. It may be too bad for the artist in me, but my bank account will be more than pleased.

Then, I just go for it. Once I get going, it's like a spark has been ignited in me.

***

"How's it coming?" Mae asks.

I'm in such a calm and meditative state that I don't even hear or see her at first.

But when I hear her voice, it startles me a little.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says.

"It's okay," I say, putting down my brush, "I just wasn't expecting you."

"Well? Can I see what you have so far?" she asks.

She walks over, but I turn it out of her view.

"What—what are you doing?" She sounds so petulant it makes me laugh.

"I don't typically like for people to see what I'm working on until after it's done. It's a weird superstition I have."

She stops walking, turns her back to the painting and covers her eyes. "Ah, okay. Well, that's fine."

From this angle, I can see the nape of her neck and the fine dark hairs brushing her skin. It's the perfect place for someone to leave a bruising kiss.

I step toward Mae.

A loud crash and frightened scream interrupt us.

Mae and I glance at each other and then run from the house. Mae and Dylan are screeching around the yard. We rush out and see them running around like headless chickens, both thankfully unharmed.

"The goats!" Mina yells, and runs to her mom.

"What happened?" Mae asks.

"They just broke through the siding. It happened in a second."

Mae and I jump into action. We work together to wrangle them back into a different part of the barn. We've only known each other for a month now, but our movements are in sync, weaving around each other as we corral the animals. After it's all done, and Mae has counted and recounted to ensure we have all seven of them corralled, we stand in the yard breathless, looking at each other in disbelief.

"Well, that was exciting," I comment.

"I'm just so glad we got all of them. Dopey, Sleepy, Sneezy, Bashful, Grumpy, Happy, and Doc." Mina gasps.

"The seven dwarves?" I laugh. It's such a Mae thing to do. "Classic."

"I couldn't resist." She grins up at me, pleased with herself and still panting from the exercise.

I pick a piece of straw from her hair and say, "You know that makes Mina Snow White. So, you must be the Evil Queen!"

She tickles my side. "Oh, shut it!"