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James
One Month Later
My hands are stainedwith blue. I stare at the nails for a second, wondering how I’m going to get it all out, if I can ever get it all out. But it doesn’t really matter, I know that deep down.
I sip my beer and stare at my hands. I keep seeing her face, smiling and laughing, trying to say something to me. I keep seeing it, over and over. Back at my studio, I have maybe twenty paintings of her, but they’re all failures, utter failures. I’ll probably burn them sooner or later.
I didn’t go to Austin. I didn’t go to Paris or anywhere else. Instead, I came back to New York and I painted for the last month, trying to figure out what the fuck happened back there at the beach, and where it left me.
I glance at my watch. He’s running late, of course, but I’m not surprised. It’s rush hour and he’s trying to navigate through the city. He’ll show up when he shows up, and I don’t have to rush it.
I haven’t talked to the other guys much. I just haven’t wanted to, especially not Henry. I don’t even know where he is, if I’m honest. I haven’t been able to look at his social media, just haven’t been able to bring myself to do it. I want to, I wish I could apologize, but I can’t. It’s too late for that. I owe Henry so much and now I feel like I’ve thrown it all away.
For her, for Emily. I glance at the blue in my nail beds again and sip my beer, trying to forget her, but I can’t. I just can’t.
Aiden shows up a half hour late. He’s wearing his work clothes, dirty jeans, dirty button-down denim shirt. He’s corporate now, but he doesn’t act is. The guy’s always going to worksites and supervising shit, just because he can. I think he’d be happier down on the jobs himself, hauling shit around, hammering crap, whatever it is they fucking do on job sites. He grins and walks over to me.
“Hey, man,” he says. I get up and we half shake, half hug. He sits on the stool next to me and orders a whisky.
“How’ve you been?”
“Good,” he says. “Just a busy day. You saw that new ‘scraper going up?”
“Sure, is that yours?”
“It is now,” he says, grinning. “Original team had some problems, so they called us in.”
“Damn man, that’s huge.”
“So we’re celebrating that.”
I grin at him and we toast, although I don’t feel like celebrating. And judging by the look in his eyes, I don’t think he is, either.
We drink in silence for a moment. “You talk to anyone else lately?” I ask him finally.
He shrugs. “Carter a little. I think Daniel’s in some hole in Vegas right now, playing cards and drinking himself to death.”
I sigh. “And Ryan’s losing himself in tennis.”
“I watched him play a couple nights ago, actually. He looks good.”
“I caught that, too.” I got the tennis channel just to watch Ryan play in some of the less popular tournaments.
“But no Henry,” Aiden says.
“Me neither.”
We lapse into silence again. I hate this weight that’s hanging down between us, dragging us both down. It’s never been weird with Aiden before. Although I haven’t known him as long as the others have, I still feel like he’s always easy to get along with, someone I can be close to.
“She’s still on my mind,” he says finally.
“Me too,” I admit, and hold up my hands. “Been painting her.”
He glances at the blue. “How are they?”
“Shit,” I say, dropping my hands.
“But at least you’re working.”
