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“You studied art,” Irationalized, as soft as Icould.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to get my point. “Yes, Idid, but—”
“And you paint. Very, very well.”
“I’dsay I’madecent painter, yes.” She glanced at me from behind haunted eyes. “What does this have to do with the fact that Igave it my best for years and still ended up as afailure?”
Irecognized the source of that look. It said someonetoldher she was afailure. Someone who was supposed to love her and did the opposite, repeatedly. Iwanted to strangle him or them, then hug her and tell her she could do anything she set her mind to.
Evaluating what would benefit Erin the most, Ismiled beyond my anger for those other people. “Maybe you just had the wrong teachers.”
“Watch how you talk about my mom.” She mock-warned me, her eyes warming. With every meeting Iadmired Erin more for her ability to talk about painful subjects and then return to her bright, full-of-life self.
Iraised my hand in apledge. “Iwould never, I’mjust offering my humble experience to help.”
“Wait, what? You want to help me? Idon’t…Ican’t… Hold up.” She cleared her throat and rubbed her temples. “You don’tunderstand. Idon’thaveit. With drawing, everything is detail oriented and there’sso much technique, and Ihonestly can’t.”
What she didn’tknow was that my stubbornness outweighed hers. “I’ll make you adeal. I’ll be your guide into the drawing world. Zero pressure or expectations.”
Her eyebrows lowered in suspicion. “And…what would you want in return?”
“Ipromise that in return I’ll work on my paintings,” Iresponded quickly before she thought I’dproposition her to do something more lewd after last night.
“Why would you do that?” She examined me through squinted eyes. “You said you were empty, alost cause.”
“I’mtaking thelet’snot be ahypocriteroad with you, Iguess. And with the right guidance…”
“Again, with my mom?” She cut me off mid-sentence, giving me her idea of ascary face.
“As Isaid, Iwould never.” Ishook my head, my hand still clutched at my shirt.
She giggled, asound Ilocked in my head for later to keep me from punching ahole in the wall while Ifaced my painting demons.
“We can even start now.” The sentence was thrown into space, not knowing if it’dcatch or not.
“You’ll paint?” she repeated her question, full of disbelief. “Really?”
“Iwill honor our agreement, yes.” The relief Ifelt from the return of our friendship gave me way too much anxiety that Icovered up in front of her.
She tilted her head, not sold on the idea. Igave it another shot, for the excuse to be around her in asafe environment. “Do we have adeal?”
“How do Imake sure you’re not cheating?” She hadn’tmade amove to take my outstretched hand. “I’ll have you know, random shapes like triangles, circles, and such aren’tacceptable.”
“We don’tlive that far apart. You’re welcome to supervise my work anytime,” Isuggested and regretted the idea immediately.
She bit her lower lip and Imentally kicked myself for insinuating intimacy when Ipromised myself less than aday ago not to pressure her into anything. “Or Ican email photos of my work in progress.”
“Thomas, would you stop being so ancient? We send text messages.” Her humor returned, and Ididn’tmind even if it meant mocking me. That was also true, Iwas ancient.
“No problem, texting. Now, are we on?”
She inhaled, filling up her cheeks and losing her radiating smile. “With one condition.”
“All ears.” Ireadied myself, knowing I’dagree to anything she asked.
“You have to promise not to lose your temper with me.” The glint in her eyes cracked. “Ican’ttake any more mood swings, yelling, or telling me what Ican and can’tsay. If we’re friends then we’re equals. I’ll respect your boundaries and you’ll have to look inside yourself for patience.”
Erin spoke with no resentment. She understood my fucked-upness and sought to coexist with that, with me, which made me feel all the more fucked up and assholish for how Ihad treated her.
