8. Cam #3
Jordan had said exactly what I thought he would, but it felt so much worse than I expected.
Of course it had been a joke. Of course it had. Even if he knew I was gay, he wouldn’t be interested, but he didn’t know, so what the hell did I think he was going to say?
Only now, he was staring at me again, that same inscrutable expression haunting his features, and I felt even more awkward.
“So what made you decide to give my grandparents art lessons?” I asked, relieved that, for once, I’d managed to think of something normal to say, and not launched into a five-minute essay on the evils of kudzu or the ecological effects of deer overpopulation. “Sick of making lattes already?”
“I’ve been sick of making lattes for years,” Jordan said with a laugh. “But I didn’t decide to give your grandparents a lesson so much as your grandmother bullied me into it. I don’t think I really had a choice.”
“Yeah, she’s not great at taking no for an answer.”
“I’m realizing that now.” He grinned. “It was just supposed to be a one-hour lesson, but she keeps feeding me and bringing me coffee, and just ten minutes ago she went inside to see if she could find a pair of your grandfather’s old cuff links, because I mentioned I liked owls, and I guess he has a pair shaped like them? ”
I laughed in spite of myself. “She’s kind of a force of nature.”
“She won’t sit still for more than three minutes at a time.
” He glanced over his shoulder and smiled.
Grandpa had set his previous painting aside and was now working on what appeared to be a portrait of Nana, only she was sticking her tongue out, her hands protruding from her head like antlers.
“But the way your grandfather looks at her—it’s really sweet. ”
“She’s like a hot air balloon,” I said. “She’d be off to the moon without him for ballast, and without her, he’d never leave the ground. They make a good pair.”
“They both do really love you,” Jordan said after a moment. “Arthur doesn’t say as much, but his eyes light up whenever Doris talks about you. It must be nice to have extended family like that.”
His voice was wistful, and I realized I didn’t know anything about his grandparents.
I’d never asked Levi. All I knew was that their mom had been strung out half the time, and that by the time Levi was in high school, she’d more or less checked out.
My home life hadn’t been ideal either, but I supposed it could have been worse.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Yeah, I’m really lucky.”
Jordan cocked his head to the side again, studying me, and I wondered how much Levi had ever told him about my parents. Probably not much, considering I’d told Levi as little as possible. And I didn’t want Jordan to think I was asking for pity.
“You’re really good with him,” I said, trying to change the subject.
“With who?”
“Grandpa. Arthur, I mean. He tries not to show it, but he’s been struggling since his stroke. I honestly haven’t seen him laugh the way he did with you since before it happened.”
“Really?” A flush crept up Jordan’s cheeks, making him even more adorable, unfortunately for me.
“What were you talking about just now, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Jordan’s cheeks went pinker still. “Just, um, his painting.”
“Somehow I find that a little hard to believe.”
“Let’s call it artist-client privilege. Private information I can’t divulge.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Not bad exactly. Just maybe not something you want to think about in connection with your grandfather.”
I glanced over at the paper he’d set aside. “What could be so funny about a landscape painting?”
Jordan bit his lip like he was trying not to laugh. “It, uh, wasn’t exactly a landscape.”
I frowned, studying the painting where it lay drying on the table. “Hills? A pond? A sunset? What else would you call that?”
“Those aren’t exactly hills,” he said with a snicker.
“Really? What are they?”
“Um. You might call them…melons?”
My jaw dropped, my eyes darting from his face to the painting, which suddenly took on an entirely new meaning.
“Oh, wow. That is…wow. I did not think about it that way.”
“I told you you didn’t want to know!” Jordan protested, laughing openly now.
“I should have listened.”
“Yeah, well, remember that when Arthur becomes the next Georgia O’Keeffe. You could have lived your life in blissful ignorance, but you had to go asking questions.”
“Lesson definitely learned.”
“In that case, I’d say my work here is done. You’ve learned your lesson, your grandparents have gotten theirs, and it’s probably time for me to get out of your hair so you can all have lunch.”
But when he explained as much to Nana a few minutes later, she wouldn’t hear of it.
“Nonsense.” She shook her head. “We’ve kept you here all morning. The least we can do is feed you for your trouble.”
“You’ve paid me for my trouble,” Jordan said. “And fed me, for that matter.”
“Those were snacks,” Nana said. “I’m talking about a meal. The artistic process is exhausting. I won’t have people saying I took advantage of a genius’s talents and left him depleted and unable to paint for months. You’re staying for lunch, and that’s that.”