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CHAPTER TWELVE
Erin
The eveningwith Thomas’sparents raised more questions than it provided me with answers. They were, at least today, pleasant, loving people, the type who wouldn’tneglect their son like his mom admitted to doing.
The nurturing part of me wanted to encourage them to have an open discussion, purge out the mess and start their healing process. Another part said to stay the hell out of it and it’snone of my business. Ilistened to the latter and it worked. They were able to communicate, not about deep topics, but without arguing.
Icarried the joy for them with me as we stepped into Thomas’shouse, that was made up of the first two floors of the entire building. It looked nothing like my small and homey apartment with his expensive rugs and sofas in blue and gray colors and minimal paintings with the same color palette hanging on the walls.
“You can sit wherever you like.” He woke me from admiring his living room.
The vast sofa was the nearest to where Istood, and Idropped myself there. Though Ihad my cardigan on, the chill of the house crept up on me and Ihugged my arms to my body to keep myself warm.
Thomas, without making abig deal out of it, walked to the armchair, collected the white throw blanket from the backrest, and covered my lap with it.
“Thank you.” Suddenly in this silence it hit me that Iheld his hand for an entire dinner, and Ibusied myself with fixing it to hide my blush.
“I’mgoing to get the tea.” Iheard his gruff voice along with his steps as he headed to the kitchen. When he returned, he sat beside me, not too far, not too close. Safe. He placed the mug on the coffee table and Igrabbed the handle, bringing it to my lips, my nose wrinkling on an impulse at the familiar scent.
“Matcha? Ithought you said decaf?”
“Idid and it’sboth.” His whole expression screamedTrust meand Idid. Somewhere deep inside, Itrusted him.
As much as Thomas appreciated my talkative nature, he appreciated silence all the same. His eyes were wide awake, and as both of us sat there drinking our tea, he was the most relaxed I’dseen him.
Ihad issues with this silence, with sitting around and sipping tea. With every passing second, Iwanted to hold his hand again even more than before. Even though the dinner was over and he didn’tneed me, my body still reeled from his gaze and touch. It wanted what Ishouldn’thave even thought of so soon after abreakup, after swearing off relationships.
While Itraveled into my thoughts, my eyes traveled to Thomas. To his rich full hair, to the fickle color of his eyes, to his straight nose, eventually settling on his lips. They were so nice.
And they smiled. Because he noticed.
Shoot.
“Ihave more questions.” He broke the silence, pretending Ididn’tjust ogle him.
The mug provided my blushing cheeks acover when Isaid, “Sure.”
“Iasked this before, but I’mgiving this another try. Why did you choose to become ateacher?” He placed an arm on the cushions, the safe distance becoming less safe.
My indignation at the question prevailed any tension I’dbeen feeling. “Is there something wrong with wanting to teach? Like say, for someone else here?”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He raised his hands, humor trickling to his voice. “We’re not the same though. It’slike for you, there’snever ashortage of ideas, you paint almost every single day. They’re even good, the psychedelic creations.”
“Oh.” Compliments. Iliked compliments from Thomas. Ialso liked watching his forefinger grazing the cushions, especially since Iremembered what it felt like on my skin.
“What Imean is that with this kind of talent you don’tfall into the category ofThose who can’tdo, teach.” He signaled with his thumb to his chest.
Another compliment came my way, though Ialmost didn’thear it. Iheard Thomas’sself-deprecation, an unwarranted one. Ilooked him up online and I’dseen his work, none of it falling under the title ofcan’tdothere. He produced artworks, even as ayounger artist, that stood out from the rest.
“And yet you don’tplan to show it in agallery outside campus.” He spoke before Icould contradict him, “Why?”
“Right now, my ladies take second place in my life. Ilove them, but as you noticed, my true passion is in teaching.”
“Go on.” He motioned with his hand, then placed it back where it sat, outstretching it so it lay infinitesimally closer to me. “It’sstill not acomplete answer.”
Ineeded amoment to compose myself, both from his nearness and from having aman continuously showing interest in me. Thomas’seyes said Icould have as much time as I’dlike, and it made me want to tell him everything.
“It boils down to my mom. Through my dad’sabuse, she taught me to paint, to exist in this perfect universe we created, and Iwant to pay it forward.” Iobserved Thomas who still observed me with the same compassion. “To be apart of the healing process for children, for whatever bothers them big or small. To give them the means to find themselves if they can’tor won’tcommunicate with therapists.”
