44. This is bullshit
Forty-Four
THIS IS BULLSHIT
Liv
“Okay, tonight we’re painting a boat on the lake at sunset.”
Rachel pulls out an already painted canvas: a small rowboat sitting on the water, with trees silhouetted against the backdrop of the lake and small ripples of water radiating out from the bottom of the boat. The sky is a blend of pinks, purples, and oranges splashed across the canvas.
It’s beautiful, and I’m one hundred percent sure there isn’t a chance in hell I can create anything even remotely close to it even if it were a paint by numbers.
“Well, here’s to trying new things and painting shitty pictures in front of complete strangers.” Viv clinks her plastic cup against mine.
“Please. Yours is probably going to be gorgeous. Don’t even deny it,” I say, lifting my cup to my lips.
“Oh, I know. I was talking about you.” She winks. Reg, sitting on her opposite side, in front of his own blank canvas, snorts.
“Friends are supposed to be supportive!” I shove her playfully in the shoulder. Wine spills over the side of her cup and into her lap, making Viv laugh even harder.
“Reg, help me out here.” Viv turns to the surly old man.
“Don’t involve me in your nonsense,” he grumbles, squeezing tubes of paint onto the palette.
“Unbelievable.”
“It’s going to be unbelievable if you tell me you haven’t finished that book yet so you can start the one I left for you. What kind of reader are you anyway?” Fran says, climbing into the seat next to mine, placing her little six-pack of spiked seltzers on the floor next to her.
“A slow one?”
“Hey, Fran!” Viv waves, her voice sing-songy and tilting up at the end.
Reg clears his throat and straightens his shirt, shifting in his stool.
“Hi, hun,” Fran reaches across me and grabs Viv’s fingers, pats my knee, and then leans forward, looking past both of us. “Hey, Reg.” Her voice has dropped an octave.
“Oh, uh, hey there, Frannie.” Reg glances at her and then away immediately.
Interesting.
Viv nudges my shoulder, clearly noticing what I’m noticing.
“So, did you finish the book or what? Hot shadow daddies are waiting for you, and I’m waiting for my next small-town romance. Does your book have the one bed trope? Tell me yes. That’s my favorite.” Fran says.
“First, yes, I did. Second, yes it does, and it was a great scene. Third, please don’t take offense but are you always this pushy with books?”
Fran tilts her head and purses her lips. “Only when I know the book is worth it. Besides, you’re on vacation. I assumed you’d have plenty of reading time!”
Viv snorts. “Liv doesn’t have the time because she’s busy getting her freak on with a hot B&B owner,” she mumbles under her breath.
She chortles when I fling my foot sideways, kicking her under the table.
“What was that?” Reg asks, looking over the frame of his glasses.
Shaking her head and shrugging like she has no clue what Reg is talking about, Viv squirts paint onto the palette beside her canvas.
“I’ll bring my book to the shop tomorrow, so you can have it. It was a cute read. A little bit of spice, and a totally swoon-worthy crush. I think you’ll like the main character a lot. She’s feisty,” I say, turning back to Fran.
“I’m sorry for being pushy. I just really hoped to get to talk fantasy reads before you left. No one around here wants to talk about hot fae or morally gray dragon shifters. I’ve been trying to get a book club up and running forever now but no one bites.”
“I can always call you. We can still talk books, even when I’m back in the city.”
“Count me in too, Fran! I read all the things,” Viv says.
Fran’s face lights up. She claps her hands together.
“Goodie!” She pulls out a spiked seltzer and cracks it open. “Cheers to Paint and Sip night! Rachel is the best teacher.”
“No, you need to add a curve. It’s a boat, for goodness’ sake! It’s not a floating box!” Viv laughs.
“Leave her alone, Viv. How bad could it—” Fran leans over and looks at my canvas. “Oh. Yeah, hun, you need to add some curve to the boat.”
“I did!”
“Ehhh…” Fran’s voice hits a higher pitch than I’d ever heard it. Viv giggles to the right of me and Reg sighs, clearly exasperated by our incessant noise. He looks over to see what the ruckus is about but bypasses my canvas for another.
“Frannie, yours is”—Reg clears his throat—“it’s really nice.”
Fran looks over her shoulder, then back at her canvas, then back over her shoulder.
“Thanks, Reg. I look forward to looking at yours too, when it’s done.
” He’s turned his canvas away from all of us, so no one can see what his painting looks like.
Fran said he does that every time in case his painting looks like shit. He’s very sensitive, so we’re told.
“All you have to do is tap, tap, tap, with the black lightly and it’ll look like a tree. Don’t overthink it,” Viv suggests as I flick my paintbrush against the canvas, hoping it’ll turn into a tree.
“I am tapping!”
“You know what, it looks fantastic. Here, have another sip of your wine.” She lifts my glass and hands it to me.
“Wine will not make me a better painter, Viv.”
“Well, it can’t make you worse. Drink up.”
“Oh, Fran! The colors are beautiful!” Rachel appraises her painting as she wanders by to check our progress.
“Liv…” Her voice dies on her lips. I turn to look up at her only to find her covering her mouth, cheeks red from the laughter she’s trying to stifle.
“This is bullshit.” I slap my paintbrush onto the table.
“Go ahead, Rach, tell her what you think of her box on the water surrounded by black cotton balls that are supposed to be silhouetted trees, and some Van Gogh Starry Night shit in the sky there,” Viv teases.
“Oh, fuck off,” I mumble, trying my best to scowl when all I want to do is laugh. It’s true. My painting is awful.
Rachel struggles to speak between gasps for air and fits of giggles. “Babe, it’s awful. I’m so sorry, but this is not your thing.” She swipes the tears from her eyes.
“Some teacher you are!” I protest, but the vitriol isn’t there. “It is pretty awful. Kinda looks like a three-year-old painted it.”
Fran, Rachel, and Viv burst out laughing at my expense, and I can’t help but join in. I love these ladies.
Reg clears his throat, and we all wipe our eyes, our giggles fading.
“Reg, are you ready to show us your work?” Rachel claps her hands together, and Reg nods. He turns his canvas so that it faces us.
“Oh, Reg, it’s beautiful.” Rachel gasps.
The colors splash across the canvas in a vibrant medley. The boat does not look like a box. In fact, the shading is so lifelike that if I didn’t know he painted it, I’d think it was a photograph.
“Wow. I did not know you were such an artist, Reg!” Viv clasps her hand over her heart.
“Never doubted you’d create the most beautiful art here,” Fran says softly, no longer looking at the painting, but at Reg, who’s rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact with any of us, but mostly Fran.
“Thanks, Frannie.”
Is he blushing? Because that’s adorable.
“Hey everyone! Let’s take a group picture with your paintings!” Rachel calls out.
“How about I hold the camera, and you all take a picture?” I joke, not needing to document my artistic failures.
“Oh, come on, bestie.” Viv throws her arm around me. “Jokes aside, we love you and your terrible art, and you need to be a part of this photo. We need to preserve the memory of our first paint and sip!”
Groaning, I grab my canvas, and the whole class lines up—there are maybe seven people in all. With buzzed smiles and, for most of us, decent art, we hold up our canvases.
Rachel sets the timer and runs into the frame, throwing her arms around Viv and me.
“Say cheese!”
“Cheese!”
“This is totally going up on the café wall!” she squeals, clapping her hands together.
“Can we get a copy too?” I ask.
I don’t want to leave this memory, and the people we’ve met here, behind.