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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thomas
The weekendtrudged by, Saturday and Sunday stretching out slowly, as Ihadn’theard from Erin. Not that we’dtalked alot outside of school, but Ihadn’teven received asingle work-related email.
Iconceded something Inever had before, about anyone or anything: Imissed her.
That feeling bothered me and there was nothing Icould do about it. So instead, Iworked on my usual routine to keep my thoughts at bay. Iran for miles and miles, took apage from my mother’sbook and baked for no one in particular, and worked on Erin’sassignments like replying to students, grading homework, and preparing my own presentations.
And none of it, as time-consuming as it was, distanced the memories of her from me. Her delicate skin beneath my fingers, how her velvety lips melded into mine when Ikissed her, and the sound of her ragged breaths as Igrazed her neck with my mouth.
“As ingrained as those memories were in my thoughts, none of them mattered. Even if Erin liked the kiss, and perhaps even liked me, the timing was off. Her wounds were still fresh, and Iwouldn’thave forced her into adecision. If she’ddecided to be with me, it would’ve been rushed, and the other option was something Irefused to entertain.
In the past months, without realizing it, I’dbecome enamored with her, how she looked at me, like Ihad aheart, one that could be mended. Icouldn’tpass up our friendship, wouldn’tdo anything to jeopardize it.
Armed with this decision, of being grateful of our friendship and being her friend as she was to me, Iarrived on Monday afternoon to the campus’sstudio to return things to their natural order.
The door opened without asound as Ishoved it lightly. Iobserved Erin from adistance, sitting with one foot on the stool, her boots lying on the floor next to her. My gaze traveled up her body, to her oversized denim overalls and astriped black and white long-sleeved T-shirt.
She was the same Erin and Iwas the same Thomas, the only difference being that we kissed, akiss she regretted. Akiss Icouldn’tstop thinking about.
Ishook my head, determined to put these memories to rest and start fresh as Iapproached her. “Erin.”
“Oh!” she shrieked and nearly stumbled off the stool.
“Sorry about that.” Ihalted, not wanting to intimidate her further.
“That’sokay, not your fault. Iwas too focused on the painting,” she mumbled, the words toppling out of her mouth, her face looking flustered.
“Can Ijoin you?” Iprepared myself for her rejection. She looked flustered, too flustered.
Erin inhaled, closed her eyes, smiled, then opened them and Iswore it felt like her warmth bridged through the nerves between us and defrosted my frozen insides.
“Hi, yes, always.”
My steps were cautious, my eyes observing her for any signs of not meaning what she said. Erin could be too nice, especially to people in need. When Iobserved none, Ileaned back into our regular conversations. “Ilike the direction you’re taking with Gloria.”
“Me too, the lady is unveiling herself.” She took awet cloth and corrected asmudge of paint she didn’tlike.
Iventured to stand next to her, examining the nearly complete painting. “Good.”
Our silence stretched, both of us immersed in the painting.
“What about sketching?” Icommented after scouring my brain for something, anything to say. “Did you ever consider taking them in that direction?”
“No.” She bowed her head and blended colors on the palette, moving the brush swiftly from left to right and in circles while avoiding eye contact with me.
“It’sthe lack of color, right?” Iteased, doing my best to bring us back to the path of easy friendship we had.
“No,” she exclaimed, anotch louder than her usual voice, mauling the palette with the brush before throwing it to its place on the easel. Ilet her take out her frustration, waiting patiently instead of saying something to drive her more upset.
“Ugh, I’msuch ahypocrite.” She sounded like she was talking to herself; her eyes were tainted with desperation when she finished and gave her attention back to me. “Thomas, I’ll be honest. You’re not the only one with art issues.”
“I’msorry, what?” Iturned my ear to her, my mouth twitching. Erin admitting amistake wasn’tnew, but it was darn cute how her lips pouted, and Iplanned on milking it.
“Ipushed your buttons this weekend for not holding anormal conversation about what bothers you, so Iwon’tbe ahypocrite and shut down.” She stared at me boldly, despite her self-doubts, and stood up straight. “Here goes then. I’mshit at sketching.”
Erin threaded her fingers through her hair. “It’snot like I’min aslump or anything, Ireally can’tdo it.”
