Chapter 31
FEE
Mac
Meet you at the dining hall in five
Fee
Can’t wait! See you soon.
My stomach flip-flops in a pleasantly familiar way as I head for our favorite table.
We planned an early dinner, before we’re claimed by responsibility.
Afterward, I’ll head to the studio to work on a new project.
I finished the one I was working on before, but then I came up with another idea that I love more and immediately dove right in.
The original work is now my backup in case I don’t get this done in time.
While I’m at the studio, Mac and the guys are putting in some time on the ice.
I drop my bag at the table and wait for Mac.
Fee
They have your fave tonight!
Mac
Bacon mac and cheese????
Fee
Yup! And the southwest bowl we both love.
Mac
I love this for us.
Fee
Me too. Should I go in and grab food or wait?
Mac
Behind you.
I spin around in time for Mac’s arms to come around my waist. He lifts me off my feet and nuzzles into my hair. “Hi.” His lips trail up my neck to my cheek.
“Hi.” I relish the easy affection and the swarm of happy butterflies bumping around in my stomach.
He brushes his lips over mine. “You’re pretty and you smell good.”
“You’re handsome and your cologne does things to me.”
For a moment I get lost in the warmth in his eyes.
My heart gallops and squeezes. My sister’s nickname for me fits perfectly when it comes to Mac.
All these feelings are new and big, and sometimes they overwhelm me, especially when I consider how quickly this semester is passing and how soon he’ll be graduating.
“Let’s get food. I’m starving.” Mac laces our fingers and we enter the food hall. We stop at Best Bowls first and I order the southwest without onions, then move onto the pasta bar where Mac orders the meal that matches his name.
Once we’re at our table with our meals, I share my news. “I made a decision."
He stops with his fork halfway to his mouth. “About?”
“The art show.”
His dimple jumps to attention. “Are you entering that really cool piece?”
“It’s kind of my backup now. I had a fresh idea, so I’ve been working on that,” I confide.
“If I can get it done in time, I’ll use it.
” And if I can summon the courage to own my alter ego, because this new piece is a merging of my styles, and it will be impossible to hide behind a social media identity if I enter it in the spring gallery.
“I’m super proud of you, Fee.” He squeezes my hand. “I know you’re nervous about putting your work out there, but you’re so talented, and other people should get to experience your art.”
“Thanks. I know it’s something I need to get over if I want this to be my career.
” There’s vulnerability in putting it out there with my face and name attached to it.
Mac is vulnerable every time he gets on the ice with the Terror guys, or in front of all the students on campus; so is Tally when she has a dance showcase, and Cammie with her fics, and I want to be brave enough, too.
We trade meals halfway through, and when Mac is finished with the bowl, I pass him back the rest of the mac and cheese and excuse myself to the bathroom to make sure I don’t have food between my teeth.
I frown at a poster stuck to one of the announcement boards that looks like a knockoff of mine.
Irritation prickles my scalp when I spot a sticker on the side of the toilet paper dispenser with the same design.
I pull the poster down and fold it up, tucking it in my pocket.
Before I rejoin Mac, I check my secret social media profile and find a ton of new messages.
One of my recent videos has gone viral today, and people are tagging me because a copycat has popped up on campus.
And now I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’m annoyed, with the copycat yes, but more with myself.
It’s my fault for not owning my art. I’m more determined than ever to finish my new piece and reveal it in the art showcase.
I’m up in my head when I return to the table. Mac surprises me with German chocolate cake to share, and even though it’s my favorite, I barely touch it, my stomach all twisted up with my frustration.
“Are you feeling okay?” Mac asks as he helps me into my winter coat.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Are you sure? You’re not yourself, and you haven’t been since you went to the bathroom. Did you run into someone? Did someone say something to you?” he presses.
I wait until we’re outside, away from the crowded dining hall, before I link our pinkies. “You know those posters in your bedroom? The ones you’ve been collecting?”
He rolls his shoulders back, and before I can spill my secret, he reveals it for me. “They’re yours. You drew them, didn’t you?”
I roll my bottom lip between my teeth and nod, hoping he’s not upset that I kept this from him.
“I knew it!” he exclaims, then lowers his voice. “They felt familiar. This is so fucking cool. You have such a following, Fee. People love your art. They wait all month for your next piece. I wait all month for it.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I whisper. “But you’re the only person who knows. Not even Tally or Cammie or Enid knows.”
“Don’t be sorry. I get why you wanted to keep that for yourself.” He cups my cheek in his palm and his eyes darken. “Did someone say something shitty? Is that why you’re not yourself? Fuck the haters, Fee, they’re just jealous.”
“It’s not that. There’s a copycat trying to take credit for my work. I just…I didn’t want people to know it was me, and then have these expectations, you know? I liked the anonymity, but I don’t love that someone else is trying to claim it as theirs now.”
“I understand how nerve-wracking it can be to open yourself up for criticism, but you have all these people who will champion you. Your art is inspiring. It’s a real gift, and I feel lucky to be one of the people you share it with, but other people should be able to fall in love with it, too.”
“Creating is so intensely personal for me, and it’s my deepest connection to my mom.
” I share another fragile piece of myself.
“She signed me up for my first art lesson when I was four. I remember it, so clearly.” I close my eyes for a moment.
It had been a painting class. I’d been so excited about being able to get messy and not worry about accidentally getting paint on the table or the floor.
“I can still smell the paint and her perfume, feel the warmth of her hand holding mine when she taught me how to paint a circle and turn it into the sun.” I laugh a little.
My mom was thrilled to have a daughter who liked something other than hockey, and I see now that she dove into it with me because it was something she could be good at, too.
She always wanted to show the world that she was the perfect mom, with the perfect life, and the talented, artsy daughter.
“It was a terrible painting, but it lived on the wall in our living room my whole life. I’ve always felt this deep connection to my mom every time I pick up a paintbrush.
” I felt special when she took me to art galleries or signed me up for classes.
It was time for just her and me. The instructors always praised her for having such a creative daughter.
“But now that she’s gone—” I clear my throat.
“I feel her with me when I’m in front of a canvas, designing or creating.
I know she wasn’t perfect, but I loved that time with her.
It makes not being able to hug her again hurt less.
” But also more, because I see her more clearly now, and sometimes I wish I still had those rose-tinted glasses.
“Ophelia.” He pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly for a long minute before he leans back and cups my face in his hands.
“You are remarkable, and your mom knew that. I’m sorry you can’t share this with her, but I’m so glad you have this connection to her through your art.
” He strokes my cheek gently. “I’m here for you, okay?
I can’t replace what you’ve lost, and you already have all these great people supporting you, but I want to be one of the people you rely on.
I know Cammie is your bestie, but I can be your backup and your boyfriend. ”
“Why are you so perfect?” I whisper, tears spilling over.
“I’m not even close, but whatever you need, I want to be that for you,” he whispers earnestly.
Something shifts between us. I memorize the moment: snowflakes settling on his auburn lashes before they melt away, the sharp winter wind against my wet cheeks, the heat of his palm on my skin.
I cover his hand with mine. “Mac.”
“I’m right here.”
“I think…” I try to place the warmth spreading through me, to identify this feeling that fills me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. It coats the raw spaces in my heart like a balm. Oh. “I think I’m falling for you,” I whisper.
A beautiful, wide smile lights up his face.
“This is what love is supposed to feel like, isn’t it?” I’m safe and cared for with Mac. Protected and cherished. “Like we’re a team.”
Like my parents tried to be, like Lexi and Roman are, like Chase and Cammie. They’re whole separately, but together they’re formidable, admirable partners. We could win the Amazing Race together.
“You’re my best friend, Fee,” Mac says earnestly. “And I’ve been falling for you since the moment I met you.”