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CHAPTER NINETEEN
Erin
Aweekor two, maybe three passed like this. Icouldn’ttell since time flew by with Thomas around, taking me to school, sleeping in my bed, letting me sleep in his, sharing meals with me and even another redeeming dinner with Laura and Zach, who scheduled to arrive together. Iliked it, Iliked it alot.
But Iliked Thomas so much more. Ifell hard for his brain, his hugs, the way he enveloped me in ablanket of security, reassuring me that our relationship was real.
It was so real, in fact, that we went to the dean’soffice to sign the consent forms.
“Are you sure, dear?” Gertrud, not as confident as Ifelt, asked. She raised her brows, her eyes dancing between Thomas and me, eventually landing on Thomas. “Iremember you didn’twant to…”
“That was along time ago.” Thomas cleared his throat.
Going back to how we started, Iimagined what that conversation must have looked like and stifled alaugh. Iwould’ve been just as surprised.
“What matters is that we’re together now.” He put his arm around my waist, giving me asmall squeeze. “And we’dlike to be transparent and sign the consent forms.”
“Of course.” She blushed, arare sight on the woman I’dknown for the past four-plus years.
We skimmed through the papers, signed them, then headed to the studio for the afternoon. Painting alongside him had been distracting, to say the least. When Ihadn’tbeen ogling him while he worked, he’dsneak attack me from behind as Ipainted, his soft lips pressing to my neck. I’dnever scraped off that many layers of apainting due to stray strokes of paint.
That afternoon started like one of those days, each of us focused on our palettes when Thomas’svoice broke the silence. “My parents invited us over for dinner in three weeks.”
“That sounds kinda formal.” Iplaced down my brush and turned to his profile.
Thomas had talked to them over the phone and we’dvisited them over coffee acouple times since we started dating. His mom and Ieven exchanged numbers. So hearing about an invitation for three weeks ahead struck me as strange. The one reason Icould think of was to talk as afamily about the past, maybe open up, in which case Ididn’tmind the formality at all.
He lowered his brush as well, placing his hands on his hips and facing me. “It is, in away. It’sfor my birthday.”
Iran to him and hugged his neck, feeling his arms encircle me slowly. “Yay! Birthday dinner! Duh, I’ll be the first to show up for that. Can Ido anything to help?”
“Erin, it’sme who doesn’twant to celebrate it.”
“What?” Isearched his face for an explanation, seeing his golden-brown eyes tainted with sadness. “Why? Does that mean you don’twant to even go there?”
“Ido and the last thing Iwant is to offend them by not showing up. Ijust don’twant to make more of it than it is.” He nuzzled his nose to mine, his tone clogged with emotions Icouldn’tdecipher.
Celebrating the day of Thomas’sbirth checked every box in my book as areason to party, although I’dnever do anything that would harm him without his permission. Since he already agreed to adinner with his parents, Isaw this as an opportunity to both relay the message to his mom and contribute to the preparations. Awin-win, really.
“Igot you.” Istole akiss and returned to my easel. “It’ll be the best low-key birthday you ever had.”
“Erin, I’mso glad you’re here.” Deborah welcomed me with awarm hug to our baking session the day before the birthday dinner. Ifollowed her into the kitchen where her marble counter had every product and appliance abaker could dream of.
“Wow.” Isurveyed the mountains of chocolate from numerous brands and fruit in endless colors. “Ithought we were going to do something small?” Isaid with asmile, cautious not to look like Iwas passing judgment.
Deborah turned from the counter and smiled at me, asmall and somewhat sad, somewhat special smile that reminded me of Thomas. “We, as afamily, never did anything special for his birthday. Iassumed filling the table with cake wouldn’tbe alot.”
“Iagree.” Ihopped on the kitchen island stool and leaned forward, trying to brush this whole thing off. “There’sno such thing as too much cake.”
Her smile lost the shadow of sadness that clouded over it, and she turned to boil water for the two teacups she had for us. As Ilooked at her arranging more products around in the kitchen, my mind wandered to theories as to why Deborah, an objectively affable woman who had the most pleasant, albeit serious husband, abstained from giving all of their love to their only child. Apang seared my heart whenever Iimagined what that little boy’slife must have been like.
The smell of the Earl Grey tea traveled around the kitchen, Bergamot mixed with the citrusy scent from the fruit. Isurveyed the kitchen and the dining area, paying attention to the paintings Thomas told me were his. They skirted outside of his current work, with no one particular line connecting between them, acollection of experiments made by astarting artist. They were as eclectic as they were wonderful.
Deborah placed the two cups in front of me, and took aseat next to mine. “Iappreciate you calling me, asking to do this together. Idon’thave adaughter to do this type of activity with, and my mistakes prevented me from doing any of it with Thomas. When he left, Itruly understood what I’dlost.”
Her expression clouded over, and Ireached out and covered her fragile hand with mine. Whatever devastated this family hid in the corners of this house, and despite their progress, some of it stuck on the walls. Maybe that was why they put up Thomas’spaintings, to keep the ugly out.
Ikept Laura’sadvice in mind and forced us both to move forward. “As long as we’re on the right track, right?” Itilted my head to meet her eyes. “With time, you’ll get him back.”
