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Her eyebrows pull inward. "But they're hanging all over your apartment. Some even have displays. Don't your friends comment on them?"
I laugh, cringing at the bitter sound. "Do you really think my friends are the artsy types? They don't notice stuff like that."
Her gaze lowers. She knows it's true. My friends, they're nothing but spoiled party rats. At least, that's what she must think—myself included in said group. Her head pops back up. "What about my brother? Does he know?"
"A little, yes. Although, I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm lying. I don't blame him. I'm not one to admit how much time I put into it, or take anyone into my studio. Painting helps me to... think. Or sometimes, not to think. To escape, essentially."
Why are you saying all this?
"But really, it's just a hobby," I add.
"Well, it shouldn't be."
Our eyes connect. Hers brim with confidence, and there's defiance there, too, a brewing challenge, if I dare question the statement, but before I do, she continues, "I don't know what you're working on with your father, but whatever it is, I think it's letting your talent go to waste."
Now my gaze drops. I wonder if she can sense the embarrassment rolling off me in thick waves. If only she knew the complete joke that I am during the day, the shadow outside my brother's office. And yet, I let her words swim in my brain, anyway...
She's just being nice. It's Juliana—that's what she does.
"Thanks." I force a smile. "That's sweet of you."
Her lips purse. "I'm being serious."
God, am I always such an easy read for her? I muse, ignoring the part of me that loves the idea.
"I know, you are."
When she scoffs, a thrill shoots through me. There's that defiance. Burn me alive, baby. "Okay, then, what if I told you Mei was also impressed? Like, stopped dead in her tracks, impressed, stuck staring up at your Victorian painting in the living room like some statue."
I blink. "Mei, your friend?"
"Yeah." She blinks faster.
Am I missing something here? "Umm... That's nice of her?"
"No, no. It wasn't out of niceness. Mei is a fine art's student. At Columbia. She's pursuing her master's right now, and even teaches a class there. She breathes this kind of stuff, and she noticed your talent straight away... She may have even used the word genius, but don't let it go to your head," she mumbles, blooming a smirk on my lips.
Yet, her reassurance doesn't quell the discomfort stirring inside me. I'm not quite sure how to handle such praise, especially from someone who's the polar opposite of all my friends, who might actually know what they're talking about...
"I think they're beautiful, if that counts for anything."
My breath catches. It does. More than she knows.
Perhaps she senses that, as I meet her gaze, not uttering a word yet speaking volumes. Somewhere between the realms of amazement, passion, and gratitude.
"Did you have a teacher?"
I break her stare, allowing myself to breathe again. "Yes, for a short time, when I was young. My mother sent me to one... The lessons stopped after my parents' divorce," I add, but regret it immediately when I catch Juliana's expression falter.
Even though she's not her mother and would never be to blame for her... transgressions... it's still an uncomfortable topic.
In our adolescence, while Juliana's mother, Amber, was our night-time nanny, she entertained an affair with my father for several years, but what Juliana doesn't know—or, well, she probably does know but isn't recognizing its importance—is that Amber was just one of many for my father. A mere speck in his vast portfolio of infidelity. Not to mention, Amber was unmarried at the time.
And although their divorce probably did shape my subconscious views on monogamy, it didn't affect my childhood that much. My mother, Sylvia, as much of the charismatic person that she is, she wasn't all that involved in my brother and I's lives. What she lacked in the mothering department, she filled with nannies and babysitters and assistants and after-school activities like painting, all of which were reserved primarily for me, as my brother was too busy being mentored by my father from a startlingly young age.
While our mother was off...
I don't know, living life?
