14. Willow
FOURTEEN
Willow
W e’re painting the clear glass mason jars into chalky pale greens, blues and white. I would feel at peace, except for the fact that I keep thinking about Ben. I'm not meaning to, quite the opposite. His handsome face keeps popping uninvited into my silly mind. What color would Ben like on a mason jar? My gaze travels to Laura, seated across from me, and to Dax, next to her. Both are blissfully painting, with Dax’s the most creative of us three. Of all us, in fact, because the product of their work is a Pollack-esque jar, using all of the colors in spatters. Every single one of us, besides Dax, was using one color only. Now some, inspired, are mixing it up a little. When I take mine home, and see them daily on my bathroom window sill, will I think of the retreat, of my new friends, or will I think of Ben?
I've never had my mind this occupied by a man before, except when we’re breaking up. In those cases of my past, I’ve been consumed by trying to fix it, wondering where things went wrong. Normal stuff. But Ben and I just met, so none of that applies. Right before we came together in here as a group, I privately told Laura that my mind was elsewhere.
She and I exchange a look and my paintbrush slides forward, hitting a vase of sunflowers in the middle of the table, splotching it with pure white. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Sylvia motions to the tissues. “Not the first time. It comes off easily when it’s still wet.”
I hurry to clean my wandering mind — I mean, paint stroke — grinning to myself while shaking my head, because I really am a mess right now. Laura winks at me and glances to Rachel, who is absorbed in painting a blue mason jar, and says nothing.
Beside me, Gemma's name lights up my phone’s screen, a smiling photo of her with her surfboard relaxing my nerves. I took this picture, one that so perfectly encapsulates my friend that it’s been Gem’s contact image for two-plus years now. “Excuse me, it's my best friend calling."
Everyone continues in uninterrupted peace as I hurry out of the room and answer, “Hey Gem. You got my text?”
"Have you found your smile yet?"
“Hang on. Let me just get to somewhere where I don’t disturb everyone.” Closing the arts and crafts room’s door, I hurriedly glance around and find that I’m alone. Not that I was expecting Ben, which would be a nice surprise, but Jaxson could have arrived while we were all in there, and I certainly don’t want him overhearing this. Kicking off my sandals, curling up on a cream-colored loveseat, I have the main room all to myself, so I get comfortable and tell her the truth, “I found my frown, not my smile.”
“Oh no,” she gasps, “Are you having a terrible time? Is it awful there?"
"No no no. It's wonderful. It's everything I thought it would be, except for the drama. And the supreme hunk."
Gemma squeals, changing gears completely, “Stop it! You met someone? There's a hot single guy at the retreat with you? "
"Yes and no."
After a long pause she demands, “Tell me everything!”
"I don't have long to talk. His mother could come out at any minute."
She asks, "A guy went on a retreat with his mother?" obviously weirded out, "How old is he?"
Thinking it funny the track her mind is going on, I decide to run with it. "He's in his thirties. And she's beautiful."
“Ew. Is this some kind of Oedipus thing?"
"Could be."
"Stay away from him!"
I laugh, "I'm kidding!"
Doubtful, she asks, “Which part?"
"His mother owns the business. Well, co-owns it. And I just learned that he lives next-door on his own farm, because someone else asked. There is no Oedipal thing. I was just messing with you.”
“You're disgusting."
"I'm hilarious is what I am. No, but seriously, he's absolutely gorgeous. However he has a major flaw. He's married."
Huge pause. “Then I keep my earlier command in tact! Stay away from him!"
As the words, "It's complicated,” fall from my lips, I immediately feel how stereotypical they sound, the words of every woman who ever fell for a married man.
“Stay away!”
“I’m keeping my little crush at bay but it is really difficult. Here's why." I whisper to her what happened with Shelby, all the big and tiny details, while repeatedly checking over my shoulder to make sure I remain alone. The part about my photo, I keep quiet. I haven't told her yet that I even bought my expensive DSLR camera, because I don't know how she will take it.
Gemma has always thought so highly of my job. I make pretty good money, and I've been able to save some, unlike her, she often tells me. Gemma is a singer but she hasn't found her way into making a living at it yet, so she's been waiting tables for far longer than she hoped to. My revealing a secret desire to become an actual photographer, to pursue a creative art — which are notoriously unstable — might not be well received. And like I told Ben, my lawn hasn’t become strong yet. Have to keep my tiny blade of grass safe, even from her. Just in case. The only reason I showed my photograph to Ben today was he looked so sad. I was hoping it would make him feel better, to see nature’s beauty, and ended up receiving much more than I anticipated. I decide instead to share with her a small part of that story, keeping it vague. “We had a moment outside, before I came in for lunch, where it felt like…he got me. It was just the two of us and I don't know, something kind of happened.” Feeling slightly guilty for keeping all of the details to myself, I admit a very true, “It's hard to explain."
There is silence on the other end of the line until, "This is an extraordinary situation, Willow, because you've actually had a chance to witness their dynamic. It’s not like he told you they don’t get along, and you never meet her so you have to just take a married guy’s word for it, right? You saw two battles with your own eyes! And trust me, I get why you thought it might be foreplay, at first, but the second time cancelled that out. Pretty clearly!” She laughs, then flattens me with, “You need to ask his Mom what's going on."
“No way,” I balk, “I’m not interfering like that! Besides, I already tried to…until Shelby interrupted us. I didn't get a chance to talk to Rachel afterward and find out more. But to ask out of the blue? Now that it’s over? In the moment would have been one thing. But now? No way. Too awkward. It's really just not my place."
“If you're trying to make it your place, then you're gonna have to start somewhere. "
I sigh, “What does it matter? He lives all the way out here and I’m in California."
"True. Yeah, you should probably just drop it. I am intrigued, but logistically it's not very likely that this could work out."
My stomach turns over, the discouraging words having an impact I don't want to feel. She's right, is the problem. Sometimes when you hear your concerns coming from somebody else's mouth, it cements them. This is one of those times. "I won't have any trouble staying away from him. He wouldn't even join us for lunch because of the trouble he caused. Oh! I didn't mention it but we're all getting a refund.”
“What?!”
“I know. I feel kind of shitty about it, actually. All of these meals and classes are on the schedule, the paint supplies, who knows what else? It's gotta be expensive for them! They’re just really concerned about their reputation. Reviews are crucial.”
Behind me, Laura comes out of the room and I know she won't mind overhearing me quietly say, “It wasn't how you wanna start a first night."
Laura nods and mouths, “Bathroom,” pointing as she walks in that direction.
I return the nod and tell Gemma, "I'm gonna let you go. I'm in the middle of painting mason jars."
I can hear the smile in her voice. “That sounds oddly fun!”
"It is! We’re using chalk paint. Oh shit. I wasn't going to tell you because I'm making one for you. Dammit…now I went ahead and told you that, too."
She laughs, “Don't tell me what color."
“White.”
She cracks up, and I do too. "I'll talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you, Willow girl. Whatever you do, don't sleep with him."
"Where the hell would I make that happen?"
"Not sleeping with him? You can do that everywhere."
"And if I wanted to sleep with him I could do that everywhere too."
"Naughty girl.”
“I’m kidding.”
“I know, but you wish…” she says with what I know is a grin before her picture disappears.
I rise from the loveseat as soon as New Hampshire walks out, closing the door and waving her hand as a warning to not go in there. I grin, then lose the smile as an idea comes to me. “Laura, do you know what I'm thinking?"
"That we need margaritas?"
“This is why we're friends."
We walk into the arts and crafts room and I announce, “Everyone, we have decided that we need margaritas?—”
Laura explains as if it’s obvious, “—to properly paint these mason jars."
“Exactly. ”
Then Laura surprises me, and everyone, by announcing with class, "I'm buying." Rachel and Sylvia open their mouths to object but Laura insists, “I am Venmo-ing what I surmise will be the cost of our celebration to you and you can't say no!"
The room explodes in energy, some dancing in their chairs, others applauding. A cacophony of paint brushes put down as everyone heads toward the bar.
Rachel laughs, “This is supposed to be for the final night.”
Sylvia grins, “But oh well! We’re breaking new ground.”
Let the party begin!