Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Xander
“So … why is this a secret again?” Seven asks, pulling his car up out the front of the nursing home.
“Because I don’t want Aggy to be mad at me.”
Seven splutters. “I don’t want her mad with me either. Tell me you’re not going to try and muscle her into a place like this. You know she’ll never go.”
“If she keeps annoying me, she will.” I chew on my bottom lip, not sure how much to tell Seven. Knowing my luck, he’ll tattle to Molly, who’ll say something to Aggy during their weekly baking. “I really like spending time with the old people.”
“The … old people. Do you call them that?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do they hate you?”
“Probably, but not for that.” I grin at him innocently.
“Here’s an idea.” He reaches across me to pop open my door. “Don’t insult their age and try to get to know them. We should be so lucky to live the lives they have.”
“ You will.” He and Molly will have long, happy lives. “I’m fully committed to dying in my thirties.”
“You shouldn’t put that out into the universe.”
“I’m not. The universe is putting it on me.” Besides, as far as I’m concerned, my Bertha brothers will likely be sick of me by then, so it’s as good of a time as any to go. If nothing else gets me, heartache can. It sounds morbidly romantic. Maybe if I have it etched onto my tombstone, someone in fifty years will read it and be sad for me.
“You get yearly blood tests, and you’re always perfectly fine. Stop talking yourself into it.”
“My white blood cells were up last time.”
“Only from your previous test.” Seven laughs. “They were still within range.”
That’s what he thinks. They might be in the average range, but the elevated levels weren’t average for me . Which means there’s something going on with me, and the doctor wouldn’t sign off on the extra testing I requested. If I drop dead tomorrow, I’ve given Seven strict instructions to sue him.
“I’m going to die one day, and you’ll all be sorry.”
“Very sorry. I’ll have to hear Molly sobbing over it for the rest of our lives.”
I pause, then slowly lift my eyes to his. “You’d be sad too … right?”
“I’d be devastated, you ninny. Stop talking about this.”
He would, but he’d get over it. Molly would help him, and he’d help Molly, and soon enough, they’d forget about me. They’ll go on to have their own family and vaguely remember that guy they used to live with that one time.
Seven’s scowling at me, and it’s maybe my favorite expression to see him wear. He’s trying to hide his hurt, and that goes a long way to reminding me that he does love me. For now. No matter what my brain tries to tell me.
Maybe being loved for right now is enough.
Before I can get out, I lean over the center console and squeeze him in a hug. Seven squeezes me back, lips pressing hard against my temple, and I want to crawl into his lap and live there forever. Seven is my safety. The thought of losing him makes my throat close over, and it would be so easy to slip into that headspace where I’m choking, can’t breathe, where that existential dread sinks down into me.
“Z?”
I jolt back. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”
He watches me for a moment, then whispers, “I love you.”
In an ideal world, he always would. He, Molly, and I would have our little family and be happy together. And in an even idealer world, Derek would be there too.
I came back here with Aggy last week, at the same time, and found Derek teaching his class again. This time, I’m planning to hang around until he finishes in the hope of some more alone time, and I can’t have Aggy getting in the way of that. I wish I could make her understand. I wish she knew that this isn’t some stupid crush. There aren’t a lot of people who make me feel safe, but Derek is one of them, and if it was up to me, I’d get to have him always. As mine. All mine. It would be ideal, really, because then I wouldn’t have to race off to the pharmacy every time there’s something wrong.
Then maybe I wouldn’t need Seven and Molly as much as I do now, and it would take them longer to regret having me in their lives.
“Pick me up in two hours?” I check, even though he’s already agreed.
“I’ll be here.”
I jump out and slam the door behind me, then hurry into the building. The front desk lady, Mary, recognizes me instantly, and her face lights up with a smile.
“Bethany was hoping you’d be back,” Mary says, grabbing a volunteer badge for me.
My face wrinkles. “Really?”
“Yes, she’s talked of nothing else except your class for the last week.”
I’m speechless for a moment. Maybe Seven might have a teeny-weeny point that these old people are more than just reminders of my mortality. Bethany doesn’t talk much, and her movements are limited, but even with the arthritis, I can tell she had a steady hand and good eye once upon a time. Besides, Aggy is older than most of them, and I love her.
I clip the badge to my T-shirt, shaking my guilt over the reminder that the only reason I came back was for Derek.
“I can’t wait,” I tell Mary. Then, I head down the hall and get ready.
It’s not until halfway into the class that I get that first glimpse of Derek, those stunning, curious eyes gazing around the doorframe and into the room. He’s too slow to look away, and I catch him watching me, holding on to the hope that he’s been doing that for a while now.
My face splits into a grin, and I beeline straight for the door. “You’re here early.”
“I’ve got to set up.” There’s a slight pause and then, “I haven’t seen you this week.”
“Careful, you almost sound disappointed about that.”
The way amusement lights up his whole face has me swooning. “If it means you’re good, then I’m good.”
At least he didn’t say something shitty about being happy about it. Pushing my luck, I give his sleeve a tug. “Come on, I set up a station for you too.”
Derek blinks rapidly. “Me? ”
“Yep.” This time, I tug his sleeve and don’t let go until he takes a reluctant step into the room.
“I can’t paint.”
“Damn, you’ll really be a fish out of water amongst these masterpieces.” I wave my hand toward where Kevin has somehow managed to turn his dog into a turd this week.
Derek stamps down his smile. “I need to set up.”
“We’ll wrap up five minutes early, and I’ll come and help you. It’s just shifting a few tables.”
“You’ll help me move tables?”
The skepticism in his tone makes me narrow my eyes at him. “I’m a lot stronger than I look.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“Then stay,” I say, not above injecting some pleading into my voice. “I haven’t seen you all week. If you don’t stay, I might start to miss you, and then my brain will play tricks on me so I can see you at the pharmacy instead.”
It’s not until the humor drains from Derek’s face that I realize I’ve said the wrong thing. Joking about my mental health is something that comes naturally to me, so half of the time, I don’t even know what fucked-up things I’m saying.
The way Derek immediately closes off makes it clear I’ve crossed lines with him though. He pulls gently from my grip and steps back. “I’ll decide whether or not to join your class on my own. You don’t need to guilt me into it.”
Then he turns on his heel and leaves me with a big, fat lump of anxious energy burning through my gut.
“Struck out, did you?” Kevin grunts.
“Go back to your scat play,” I snap before returning to the front of the room and ignoring them for the rest of the class.
I don’t know why I’m here again. I barely say a word to Mary as I collect my badge and storm into the room to set up for this week’s class. All the easels, all the paints, all the supplies are things I bring with me. Things I pay for. I’m still not sure why I’m wasting my money.
I’ve just set the last art pad in place when I turn to plant myself in a chair as I wait for the residents. My eyes brush over the seat by the door, and I jolt at finding someone sitting there.
“Derek?”
He doesn’t completely meet my eye as he picks up a paintbrush. “Got here early enough this week.”
Considering I assumed he’d avoid me like his life depended on it, I’m not prepared for this. Seeing him. Talking.
“You … did.” I creep a little closer. After last week, I know that I owe him an apology, but it refuses to come out. Even my inside voice is stubborn. “I thought you hated me.”
He manages a small smile. “I told you the other night that I didn’t.”
“That wasn’t on purpose.” The whole way to the pharmacy, that terrifying dread had only been disrupted by the fear that Derek would think I was faking it. That he’d think I was there to make him feel bad and follow through on the joke I’d made. Sure, I’m petty enough to do that, but I didn’t.
“I know.” He runs his thumb over the bristles of the paintbrush and nods at the paper. “So what do I do?”
“You paint.”
That makes him laugh, and pride ripples through my chest. “Unlike you, most people aren’t a natural at this. What do I paint? What colors do I use? How … how do I make it actually look like a thing?”
“Just … pick something. Picture it, how it moves, how the shape of it flows. Think of how the light captures it and keep building. Keep layering.”
“I can’t work out whether it’s a sign of optimism that you think anyone is capable of it or if you devalue yourself and what you do that much.”
I don’t want to think about that question. “Pick an animal.”
“A … bird.”
“Okay, what sort of bird? A swan? An eagle? A red-footed booby?”
He snorts. “You wanted to say booby, didn’t you?”
“Little bit. So … do you like boobies?”
“The birds or the part of a woman’s anatomy?”
I know I’m being cheeky by even asking, but I answer, “Both.”
“The bird I have no opinion on. The anatomy … does nothing for me. I’m completely gay.”
I don’t remember how or when I learned that Derek’s queer, but it’s good to have it confirmed officially. I’ve always low-key suspected, the same way I’m sure he’s always suspected about me as well, but that doesn’t stop me from confirming it. “Me too.”
“Let’s paint a raven,” he says.
I want to wave that suggestion off and get us back to more personal topics, but I’m afraid to scare him away like I did last week, so instead, I pull a chair up beside him. “Okay, what colors do we need for a raven?”
“Black.”
“And?”
Derek’s brow rumples. “Umm … I dunno? Maybe brown for a nest.”
“And yellow, orange, red? For the features, white, blue, we’ll make some gray.” I squeeze out some colors across the round board. We don’t have long, but I want to show Derek how things work together. How, when you look closer, the little details build to create an overall image. I start simple, with a wing. I lay the base color, create the shape, then layer the blacks and blues and whites. I add volume to the paints, and while they might not be as easy to work with as my acrylics, the wing takes shape. I move quickly, wanting at least a decent enough one down before everyone else gets here, and it’s not until I’m adding texture, making it more three-dimensional, that I glance over and find Derek’s still gripping the clean paintbrush loosely between his fingers.
I glance from it up to his face, immediately finding his eyes on me.
“You’re not doing anything.”
One corner of his lips gives the tiniest kick. “I’m watching.”
“You won’t learn much from that.”
“Actually, I’d argue that I’m learning a lot.” His voice is a smooth, deep whisper. The kind that pools in my belly and makes me warm all over. He’s got these tiny lines by his eyes that I can only see up close, and they make his whole face friendlier. “You’re really good.”
I frown, turning back to the wing. I haven’t let any of the paints dry since I was rushing, and they haven’t blended together well at all. The shape isn’t working, and the feathers don’t look all that feathery. I smudge out one particularly bad edge with my thumb, but it only ends up looking worse. “Sorry,” I say. “I ruined your paper.”
Before Derek can respond, the door opens, and I turn to find Kevin, Bethany, and Toni walking in.
“What bullshit are we painting this week?” Kevin grumbles.
The quiet bubble between me and Derek snaps, and I reluctantly get up to help them.
Derek stays for the whole class.