Chapter 28

I really enjoyed painting. It wasn’t hard on my wrist, like typing was. It didn’t require thinking. In fact, I found it was easier not to think when I was painting. It was like stepping into another world. I even started watching episodes of the Bob Ross painting show on YouTube. It was just as mind-numbing to watch other people painting as it was to actually paint. I liked the results of painting though. It was interesting to see the house cluttering up with colorful canvases. It was probably the most color my house had ever seen.

After the first couple canvases, I started painting scenes again. Not landscapes, but moments from my life remembered only as objects or pieces of furniture. I painted one of my high school bedroom. It brought back a lot of memories. Me and James had an evening drinking wine and reminiscing about the good parts of high school. We skipped the sad parts. Neither of us wanted to acknowledge the hardships out loud. He had his demons, and I had mine. There was definitely still work to be done on ourselves, that was obvious. I had spent a decade trying to write out my issues, but that wasn’t exactly a solution. It really only transferred my insecurities and fears into text that could look back at me and mock me. Writing felt defeating more than it felt cathartic. It was just all I knew, so it was what I did. Painting was more of a fun experience.

It helped that James was a creative person too. He was very encouraging towards my new hobby. He even painted a few things of his own, which were surprisingly good. Apparently he had taken a few painting classes. It was just one of the many skills he had. He also knew a bit about woodworking. He enjoyed bird watching, not that you could really do that in my area. He spoke four languages. His skills were varied, and he was always working on developing new ones. He read even more that I did. He had read most of the books I mentioned. He told me about a few I have never heard of and many I had heard about but hadn’t read myself. We could talk for hours about books. Or anything, really. We still had a crazy amount of things in common. Music, TV, movies. The more time we spent together, the more prepared I felt I was to spend the month in his life.

The next time James went home to visit his kids, I called Gabe to come over. Mostly, I wanted to know where he stood on the situation. He had set everything up to go this way, but that didn’t mean it was going the way he hoped. He didn’t seem enthusiastic.

“I’m not entirely convinced you’re ready.” Gabe confessed. I shrugged.

“I never said I was ready. I said I was prepared. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” I corrected.

“Have you ever been around kids?” He asked. He already knew the answer, so I don’t know why he asked. Maybe he wanted me to feel insecure. I shrugged.

“They aren’t kids though. They’re small adults. Well, not small either.” I rambled. Gabe laughed.

“Young adults.” He corrected. I nodded.

“Yes, young adults. I don’t really know how I’d handle actual children. Like, crying and screaming and changing diapers.” I groaned. Gabe laughed and shook his head.

“Unless it was yours, I doubt you could.” He agreed. I raised my eyebrow.

“What makes you think I’d be good with my own children?” I questioned, crossing my arms.

“That was not the part you were supposed to take as an insult.” He commented. I shrugged again.

“Well, that’s the part I’m insulted by.” I insisted. He shook his head.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay with what’s happening.” He sighed. I nodded.

“I’m okay. Are you?” I pried. He raised his eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He seemed confused. I rolled my eyes.

“Okay, so we’re never going to talk about it, even when it’s kind of important. That’s fine. We can stay living in this weird denial. I just feel like it’s part of the natural progression of how things are going, and, maybe things should be said.” I rambled. He sighed.

“We’ve talked about it before. You thought I was joking, but I never said I was.” He reminded me.

“That’s vague. We’ve had so many conversations over the years.” I groaned. He shook his head.

“Not like that.” He argued. I was quiet, scanning through our chat history in my brain. I couldn’t remember most of the conversations we had. If I looked at my journals, I might be able to figure it out. But I didn’t really feel like doing that and dragging other stuff up.

“Are you referring to the pact to get married at 40?” My jaw dropped when he nodded.

“You’re so kidding.” I insisted. He shook his head.

“No. Really?” I squeaked. He nodded.

“If everything works out, I’ll be happy for you. But I’ll also be a little disappointed, I’m not going to lie.” He admitted. I shook my head slowly.

“Gabe, if you wanted to be with me, why didn’t you say something?” I sighed. He shrugged.

“Because I knew it wasn’t me you wanted to be with.” He answered after a long pause. I nodded.

“But, I’ve always loved you.” He added. I took a deep breath.

“I love you too Gabe.” I exhaled. He nodded.

“I know.” He answered casually. I rolled my eyes again.

“If you knew I loved you, why didn’t you tell me you felt the same? We could have given it a shot.” I snapped. Gabe laughed as he adjusted the way he was sitting.

“No. There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Without that passion, I just don’t see it working.” He corrected me. I didn’t even know what to say to that. In typical Gabe-fashion, he simply changed the subject to my new hobby and started asking about the paintings. After I showed him a few of them, he started laughing like a maniac.

“I notice there’s a running theme here.” He commented. I raised my eyebrow.

“What theme?” I asked. I didn’t see a pattern. They were all just random moments. He smirked.

“These all have one thing in common. James.” He pointed out. I went to argue him, but paused. Each of them could be traced back to a moment in those shared timelines. From date locations to beds we shared, I had unknowingly painted our history. It now decorated my living room like an art gallery.

James had been a part of some of the best and worst moments of my life. We never spoke of the worst moments, and for good reason. Neither of us wanted to remember what went wrong. But if we were looking at trying this disaster again, I think we needed to have a serious conversation. I needed to know if he was still harboring any of those negative feelings towards me. In his shoes, I’d be holding it all against me. I didn’t know how I was going to approach the subject. I wasn’t good in serious situations. I was a creature of comfort and discomfort is the enemy. I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to face some of my inner discomfort. I needed to actually confront the issues instead of dancing around the past. It would be easier to sleep at night too.

I tried to craft the “perfect” apology. Because I couldn’t write out my thoughts, I used the voice-to-text on my phone. I started with point forms. I said everything I was sorry for. I thought about the big romantic gestures people made in movies. I decided to give it a shot. I even got the ingredients to make a homemade lasagna and a low-fat chocolate mousse. It had been a while since I tried to cook anything from scratch. I may have burnt the first round of the mousse. But I made a successful dinner and I had everything ready when his taxi pulled up to the house. I greeted him at the door, like a house wife. I lead him to the kitchen, where dinner was set out. His reaction was not exactly what I had been expecting. He looked disappointed. Defeated.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, gently squeezing his arm.

“That’s what I was going to ask you.” He sighed. I shook my head.

“Nothing.” I dismissed. I dropped down at the island, equally defeated.

“So, this isn’t a reconsideration?” He slowly sat down. I raised my eyebrow.

“That’s what you thought?” I squeaked. He shrugged.

“I knew Gabe was coming over. I thought maybe you two got to talking, and,” He paused.

“I just know there’s history.” He finished. I quickly shook my head.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about this. I mean, I must have imagined a hundred things I would have done differently. Or would do differently if ever given the chance. I never thought I’d get the chance, so I never let myself indulge in the fantasies. But, the what if’s of the past always creep in when you’re lonely.” I rambled. James looked over and nodded.

“I guess that’s the insecurity?” He questioned. I nodded.

“The thing is, I don’t feel that way this time. I want to indulge. I want to get lost in this. In us. I think I’m happy for the first time in my entire life. I want more of that feeling, and you seem to be attached to that.” I hinted. His smile widened as he reached for my hand. He wrapped his fingers through mine. We sat in silence, just staring at each other, for a few minutes. Finally, he broke eye contact.

“Is this homemade?” He asked, motioning to the lasagna. I nodded.

“From scratch. So is the low-fat chocolate mousse I made for dessert.” I added with a smile.

“Wow. It looks, amazing.” He complimented.

“Maybe save the compliments until you actually taste it. It’s been a while since I made anything like this.” I suggested. He laughed and shook his head.

“It’s made with love. It’s going to taste amazing too.” He insisted. I smiled. I wasn’t a fan of praise or compliments because I didn’t know how to take positive feedback. I was suspicious that most compliments were underhanded or at my expense somehow. I was a bit paranoid in my old age, after all. I didn’t feel that way when he complimented me though. His compliments felt genuine.

The lasagna was cheesy and delicious. The mousse was light and sweet. We shared a bottle of red wine over dinner. By the end of the night, we were slow-dancing in the living room with the stereo playing in the background and the moonlight pouring in from the glass doors. I never gave him the apology I had planned along with the dinner. Somehow, I felt like it wasn’t necessary. It didn’t feel necessary to bring up the past at all. If James was still harboring any ill feelings from the past, he had compartmentalized it. This had nothing to do with the past. This was happening now, in real time. It wasn’t a fantasy or daydream, it was reality. I never harbored ill feelings towards him, only myself. But I was starting to feel like if he had forgiven me, maybe I could too.

Our month was over before I even knew it. I had no idea what I would need to pack, since the weather was a little different in his area. I had to pack the warmest clothes I had because I was going to freeze if I didn’t. His house was also bigger than mine, and heated by a fireplace in the living room. It was going to be a little chilly. I made sure to roll up my comforter for added warmth. I didn’t own boots, so if there was snow my toes were going to be cold. I packed every pair of socks I had so I could layer them. I didn’t have a real jacket either, but I figured I could buy one when we got there. There was a good chance I was going to need to go clothes shopping at some point in the near future. My wardrobe was not warm enough. I thought about taking Hayley out shopping, so we could bond a bit. I wasn’t sure what my role was supposed to be. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be a second mother. That’s reserved for younger kids. As an adult herself, Hayley would look at me as a peer. I just wanted her to like me because I knew her opinion was important to James.