23. Gwen
CHAPTER 23
GWEN
“ H appy birthday to you,” Caleb and Gavin finish singing.
I laugh uproariously. “That might be the worst rendition I’ve ever heard but I appreciate the effort. And, Caleb, those dance moves were something else.”
He struts around in a circle, showing them off some more. “Thank you.”
“Where’s the cake?” Gavin asks, looking around the kitchen.
“Silas and I had it earlier.”
Caleb gasps. “How fucking rude.”
“Yeah, how horrible of me to want to celebrate my girlfriend’s birthday without others around.”
“Keep in mind that last night Silas had to suffer through my family’s party for me,” I explain.
“I still can’t believe your dad owns the Coyotes. So, can you get us tickets when the season starts?” Caleb asks.
Silas just shakes his head.
“I can do better than that. How would you like to sit in the owner’s box for a game?” I say.
Caleb’s eyes almost pop from his head. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Totally. From time to time during the season, my dad will ask me if I want to use the box. I usually say no because I’m at school and don’t want to drive back for a game. But now I have a reason to accept.”
“Hell yeah,” Gavin says. “That would be amazing. Could we meet some of the players too?”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe another time when there isn’t a game. The players are usually busy after the game, and when they’re leaving they just want to get home.”
“Maybe you can invite your friend Demi too,” Gavin suggests.
“I’ll think about it,” I tease.
He places his hand on his chest. “What’s wrong with me? I’m a nice guy, yet you keep avoiding getting us together.”
“I care about you both. If you get together and it doesn’t work out, it could ruin my friendship with you.”
“What about your friendship with her?” he asks.
“Oh, it won’t ruin that. She and I are friends for life.”
Caleb laughs. “How to tell someone they’re not important to you without telling them.”
My head snaps toward him and I glare. “Don’t be a jerk. That’s not what just happened.”
“It kind of seems like it was,” Gavin says.
“I’m sorry if it did. But Demi and I have been best friends for years, you can’t expect me to choose you after a couple of months of knowing each other. Would you pick me over Caleb?”
He glances at Caleb and smirks. “I might.”
We all laugh while Silas removes the remainder of the cake from the freezer. He places it in the middle of the table, along with bowls, spoons, and a knife.
“Thanks, man,” Gavin says.
Caleb picks up a bowl. “What’s this for? I can eat right from the box.”
“No, you can cut a slice like a civilized person and save some cake for the birthday girl,” Silas tells him.
“But she already had some,” Caleb counters.
I laugh. “I did, but it was so good, I might want another piece later or tomorrow.”
Silas solves the problem by adding a chunk for each of them in their bowls. He returns the rest to the freezer. “Why don’t you take your cake with you and go.”
Caleb shrugs. “I’m okay with that. I’m only here for the cake.” He winks to let me know he’s joking.
“Thanks for the cake, and happy birthday again,” Gavin says, throwing a wave over his shoulder before they disappear from view.
“I really need to invest in some new locks,” Silas says, his hand cupping the back of his neck.
“Don’t do it on my account. They’re kind of endearing after a while.”
“I think you mean annoying,” he quips, and I laugh.
He opens one of the top cabinets and removes something but I can’t tell what it is. “I have something for your birthday.”
“Silas, you already gave me my presents this morning.” He had a coffee mug made that says “Little Miss Dangerous” on it. He also gave me a new gym bag to bring to my training sessions.
“Those weren’t your main gift. This is.” He holds up the small box wrapped in light-purple paper with a tiny dark-purple bow on top as he walks over and then hands it to me.
I can’t imagine what this could be, and I’m too excited to try and figure it out. I tear into the paper and find a nondescript white box inside. When I remove the top, there’s tissue paper to move out of the way, and underneath is the most exquisite pendant. My gaze flies to his face. “Silas, this is beautiful.”
“It’s a Dara knot, which is a Celtic symbol for inner strength. It’s made out of platinum because the color reminded me of your eyes when the sunlight hits them just right.”
I trace over the delicate and intricate design with my index finger. “It’s perfect in every way. I love the meaning and why you chose it. Can you please help me put it on?” I hand him the chain with the pendant swinging from it. Lifting my heavy locks from my neck, I feel his fingertips brush my nape as he fastens it on me. When he’s done, I let my hair fall and glance down at where it lies in the middle of my chest. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received. Aside from you, that is.” I smile. “Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his waist and he draws me closer. His heart beats steadily under my ear, and I imagine it’s saying, “I’m blessed. I’m blessed. I’m blessed.”
When people have near-death experiences and they talk about walking toward the light, I always imagine it’ll be like arriving at a giant art studio. And now, stepping into the bright space is like coming home and being engulfed in welcoming arms.
I haven’t been in this particular room since I was visiting over the winter break last year. Though eight months have passed, in some ways it seems like only yesterday. In other ways, it seems like a lifetime ago. So much has happened in between, some good, some bad, some horrible, and some wonderful too.
My personal studio is the space where I’ve always felt like the truest version of myself. Here, it’s me and my paintings. Just an artist and a canvas with no outside influences. There’s no phone or social media, no chaos of what’s going on in the world. In here, none of that matters. It’s my sacred space, a sanctuary that’s been missed.
If rooms and people could be soulmates, this one would be mine. It understands me in a way that no one else can. I imagine Silas feels the same about his gym.
Walking around, I trail the fingers of one hand along the butcher block counter that lines the side wall. I glance up at the shelves above, filled with my supplies. Have they missed me as much as I’ve missed them?
The empty canvas on the easel calls to me. As I move toward it, an image appears in my mind like a snapshot. I see a splash of dark, rusty red color with some oranges mixed in for contrast. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I’ve begun other projects with less to go on than that. This is the first spark of creativity I’ve felt in months, and I’m instantly energized and motivated to create. Grabbing some brushes and paint, I stand behind my easel and close my eyes. It takes me more time than usual to get focused and free my mind from the everyday clutter. I force myself to shut down the continual self-dialogue we forget we’re listening to, and stay in the present moment. I think about the flash of rusty red I saw, and when I’ve got a clear picture in my mind, I finally begin.
Starting at the bottom of the canvas, I add broad strokes of brown mixed with red until it looks the way I’d like. Moving up, I add some hints of orange for light and brown for shadows. Once I complete a small section, inspiration hits for the next part.
Six hours later, when I’m finally done, I stare at the finished product in silence with tears streaming down my face. I should’ve known painting was all the therapy I needed. In six hours, it feels like I’ve shed fifty pounds of negative emotions. Talk about cathartic.
I’ve never had such a visceral reaction looking at my own art before. What I’ve created today is my best work to date.
I drop to the floor, hug my legs to my chest, and stare up at my painting. Basking in the warmth of gratitude flowing through me, I whisper, “Thank you.”