9. Sylvan

9

SYLVAN

I hated to watch Irving go. I had so many unresolved plans for the morning, and now that he was gone, none of them would come to fruition. I believed him when he said we wouldn't see each other again too, which made his departure all the more painful.

There was only one thing left that I could do, and that was throw myself back into my art. I had fresh inspiration and surely I would have no trouble getting the creative juices to flow.

I spent the next few days doing nothing but painting and taking short breaks to eat and sleep, pouring my heart and soul into one particular piece. This piece was special, and I had no intention of selling it. I didn't plan on keeping it either, instead giving it away to the only other person besides myself who might appreciate it.

"Yes, this is perfect," I said, pulling my brush away to admire my work. "Better than anything else I've ever painted. It's a shame it will never hang in a gallery, but the world isn't ready for this kind of masterpiece, now are they?" I scoffed at myself. "Oh, Sylvan, you're being ridiculous. You've painted far better than this, you're just biased."

With that, I left the final details to dry and set about picking a frame. There were a few that I made after a gorgeous white birch fell in a windstorm last year that would fit the canvas, but they weren't quite right. There was one frame left from a pine I'd rescued from a friend's yard after they had to chop it down for safety, but it wasn't right either. And then I saw it: the perfect frame made of smooth, polished walnut that gleamed in the candlelight.

"That will do quite nicely," I murmured, lifting the frame and bringing it over to the painting, holding it as if it were a newborn baby. "That's it – that's the one. The only thing I have to do now is find out where I'm supposed to send this thing once it's ready."

I turned to the only creature who I thought could help me, calling the place they worked with fingers crossed that they would answer.

"This is Monster's Sanctuary Library. May I help you with anything today?"

"Cousin, do you happen to have Irving Scott's home address?"

My cousin didn't answer for a moment as the rustling of papers and their fingers flipping through pages filled my ear. "Uh, no, I don't believe I do. He only gave his work address to us."

"I see. Do you think his work would mind if he received a package approximately the size of, say, a pillow?"

My cousin was smirking, I could tell by their tone when they spoke again. "No, I don't think they would. In any case, Mr. Scott can lie and say it's a work-related item."

"I doubt he would lie – he's not the type. Besides, he doesn't know I'm sending him anything yet."

"Does the professor like surprises?" they asked.

I shrugged. "I'm not really sure. If I were a betting man, I would say no, but he's more unpredictable than I initially gave him credit for. It doesn't matter, though. If he doesn't like it, he can throw it out."

"Mm, perhaps. Don't bungle things with this man, Sylvan. He's nice – and grounded – exactly the kind of person you would benefit from having in your life."

A pang shot through my heart. I couldn't bear to tell my cousin that there was nothing between us and that we'd already committed to never seeing each other again. The painting was more of a "thank you for playing along that night" gift than a gift for a lover.

"I'll try my best to keep him around," I said quietly. "Anyway, I have to go now if I want to get this thing out before the post office closes."

"Goodness, you're usually so much chattier," my cousin remarked. "Well, I'm sure I shall talk to you again soon."

"I'm sure you will. Bye, cousin."

I hung up and clutched the phone to my breast, wishing I could go back in time and be honest from the beginning. Everything would have been much easier if only I hadn't slept with Irving for one fateful night.