8 #3
“What? No I don’t!” I’m definitely blushing now, but it’s not even true. I mean, I like Owen fine as a person but I’m certainly not into him. I would never even consider it!
I grab the remaining two beers off the bartop just for something to do with my hands, but Nolan puts his beers back down and leans down to my eye level.
“You are being super weird right now. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t like him.”
I give him my best incredulous look. “I genuinely don’t like Owen like that. I’ve only met him once.”
“Then what’s this?” Nolan flicks one of my cheeks, referencing the frustratingly obvious blush there.
“It’s hot in here,” I protest. “And it’s completely normal to want to know if people are talking about you. It doesn’t mean you have a crush on them. Just keep watching. Try to catch more.”
“No. I’m not enabling you. We’re going back over there.”
Nolan grabs the beers again and starts marching back before I can stop him.
I stagger behind, trying to look casual but also kind of freaking out.
I mean, there’s no way Owen actually likes me, right?
But I don’t know what else that conversation could have been.
I guess Nolan’s lip reading could have been wrong?
Actually, that seems like the most plausible scenario.
The brothers don’t notice us approaching right away, and we catch the very end of their hushed conversation.
“You don’t know her,” Andy is saying.
“I don’t,” Owen replies, “but I know you.”
“Do you?”
A beat passes between them. Owen retracts the hand he had been resting on Andy’s shoulder. Both men seem to realize we’re there at the same time.
“Sorry,” Andy says, and it’s not clear if it’s meant to Owen or us. But when his eyes catch mine there’s a clear plea there, and I know I’ll do anything to fix this for him.
“Hey guys,” I smile big and hand over the full glasses like I didn’t notice a thing wrong. “Beers for everyone. Should we head over to Lia’s art? She said we should come over as soon as we’re all here.” I take the spare beer in Nolan’s hands for myself, then nod my head towards the back.
“Yeah,” Owen exhales, visibly weary. “Good idea.”
When we find Lia, she’s talking excitedly to a tall girl with dark brown skin, bright blue eye makeup, and long twists in her hair. Lia spots us and waves, then comes to grab me and Andy by the hand and pull us closer.
“Welcome to my lair,” she says with a beaming grin, depositing us near a wall where two knit sweaters are hanging. “I’m going to make you stand here and guard my post for a second so I can get a drink.”
“Wait, before you go.” I grab her shoulder. “Let me introduce you. This is Andy’s brother, Owen. Owen, this is our friend Amelia.”
When Owen sees her, something about him visibly shifts into gear. His scowl from the Andy conversation is replaced by a warm, cocky smile. Then he leans in and takes her hand, saying in almost comically honeyed tones, “Amelia, so nice to meet you. I understand you’re the woman of the hour.”
And there goes Nolan’s theory that he’s interested in me.
Not that I’m disappointed or something. I really don’t like Owen like that. It just, you know… it feels good to feel wanted sometimes.
Whatever.
“Well, I’m just one part of a pretty big show, but yes I’m excited to be here,” Lia replies, and honestly I’m proud of her for staying civil in the face of such overt flirting.
She does this weird thing where she always needs to have the upper hand in romantic situations, and tends to snap when other people make the first move.
Don’t ask—I don’t get it either.
Owen doesn’t take the hint, shamelessly scanning her from head to toe and back again. “Gorgeous and talented, it must be my lucky day.”
Lia’s gaze mimics his, taking stock of Owen’s dark hair, blue eyes, strong build, and slightly-too-formal clothes. When she meets his eyes again, she responds with a simple, “Ew.”
Nolan nearly spits out his drink. Andy blushes crimson. Owen seems, at most, mildly discouraged, with a devilish grin still pulling at the corners of his lips.
And me? I have far, far exceeded the amount of awkwardness I can handle in a day. In sheer desperation, I pivot to face the woman next to Lia with a too-loud, “Hi! I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Sophie.”
“Hey, I’m Rayna,” she says with a wave and a shy smile.
“Oh, you’re Rayna! Lia’s Rayna! I thought you looked familiar. So nice to finally meet you. Are you a hugger? Can I hug you?” When she nods, I pull her in tight.
Lia and Rayna have been seeing each other casually for a few weeks. Nothing serious yet it sounds like, but enough that I’ve heard the name and know Lia’s excited about how things are going.
“Lia told me you do makeup content and I admit I totally went and followed your account. I’ve watched kind of a lot of your videos, and I developed a secret dream that someday you’d help me figure out which eyeliner shape looks best on my face.”
“Oh my god, you follow me?” Rayna replies, a new brightness blooming in her expression. “Don’t worry, I got you. Everyone’s so focused on contouring right now, but eyeliner makes just as much of a difference for how people see your face shape.”
“Okay not to interrupt this love fest, because I’m so excited for you two to meet,” Lia says, wrapping an arm around Rayna’s waist, “but I really do want to grab a drink. Do you want to come with, babe?”
“Oh, sure. We’ll talk more later.”
I squeeze Rayna’s arm in agreement, then let them go off to the bar.
In the wake of their departure, Andy immediately turns to his brother. “Great first impression.”
Owen shrugs. “Didn’t realize she’s gay.”
“She’s bi,” he replies curtly. “Try to keep it in your pants.”
“Oh sorry,” Owen returns with equal bite, “did you and Sophie want a monopoly on flirting at this event?”
“Owen.”
“What?”
“That’s not—”
“Oh, we weren’t—”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Oh shit…” Nolan says from the sidelines.
“You know we’re just friends,” I insist, more flustered than I should be. “And we should focus on Lia’s art anyway. She’ll want our thoughts when she gets back.”
Reluctantly—practically melting under the heat of the awkwardness—Andy, Nolan, Owen, and I turned to face the wall.
Before us are two sweaters, one mounted higher on the wall than the other.
The top sweater is mostly light blue, except for the image of a woman’s eyes and forehead peeking up above the bottom edge—crocheted in amazing realism with darker shades of yarn.
(Lia really is good at her craft.) The woman has on heavy makeup and long lashes, with small, shining white beads sewn on around her eyes.
Below that, the lower sweater depicts the woman’s shoulders and chest.
The dark blue yarn shows her wearing a low-cut top, with the same shimmering white beads glittering across the top curves of her breasts.
The negative space between the two sweaters stands in for her nose, lips, and neck.
We stand in silent observation for a few minutes, until Lia and Rayna walk up holding bottles of beer and each other’s hands.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Lia says excitedly as she joins our line. “We’re going left to right. Andy, what do you think?”
“They’re great, Lia,” he says. “I haven’t seen you use beads before but it adds a lot.”
That’s about as verbose as Andy will ever be and Lia knows it. “I’ll take it. Soph?”
“I am obsessed,” I say, immediately pointing to specific areas of the work.
“I don’t know if this was your intention, but she looks really sad to me. Something about the blues, coupled with the beads around her eyes that shine like they’re tears. It’s like she wants so badly to look beautiful, and puts so much effort into her appearance, but feels like it’s never enough.
Maybe her self-image relies on external validation, but there’s self-loathing underneath that she’s not addressing. I even think you can see that in the shape of her brows. She looks determined, like she doesn’t want to cry.
I also think the two pieces separately would tell a completely different story than they do together. Like the bottom sweater alone would be more of a blanket commentary on female objectification, while the top alone would give me almost a pop art feel.”
I turn back to face Lia. “Am I anywhere close to right?”
“There’s no right and wrong, but this effusiveness is exactly why you’re my best friend.” Lia blows a kiss, which I catch in my hand and plant on my cheek with a smile. Then she asks, “Nolan?”
“I mean…” he exhales, “Yeah, it’s great, but you’re not going to actually wear them, are you? I don’t ever want to see the bottom one on my sister. That’s just nasty.”
He’s blocking out the view of the lower sweater with his hands, which Lia bats downwards with a level of violence only siblings can get away with.
“Ma sei scemo? It’s art.”
I’m never sure exactly what the Mercado siblings say to each other in Italian, but I assume that one basically means you’re an idiot.
Finally, Lia pivots to face Owen. And honestly, it’s a tremendous show of good will on her part that she even asks, “And you?”
Owen’s hands are in his pockets. “It’s good I guess.”
I see Lia’s mouth open, and I just know whatever comes out of it is really going to dampen the vibe, so I jump in as quickly as I can. “Do you think you’ll do any more pieces in this style? With the vertical stacking? It’s such an interesting effect.”
Lia’s mouth closes, then she looks to Andy out of the side of her eye.
His clenched jaw and heated face broadcast his stress, and—miraculously—it’s enough to make her drop the brewing fight.
“I hope so,” she says, looking back at me, “but probably not until I have another exhibit space lined up that’s this big.”
Without looking at him, I reach to the side and take Andy’s hand in mine, squeezing once. Just to remind him I'm there.