Seventeen
The first thing Celia saw when she walked in was Kelsey slipping out the back door and heading for a patio chair. What, now she decided to give them privacy?
It was too late to retreat. She walked through the long dark entry hall, dread thick in her throat, memories seeping from each closed door she passed. Studio. Craft room. Bedroom.
León hovered just inside the bright kitchen, hands shoved deep into his front pockets. She saw his deep inhalation when she rounded the corner, then he lowered his shoulders and exhaled.
“Hey,” he said softly, his dark eyes grave as he looked her up and down.
Celia tried to reply, but nothing came out.
“You look scared,” León said, his voice low. “It’s okay. Please don’t be scared.”
Sharp relief coursed through her, and her face crumpled. She covered it with her hands before he could see, but León was there before she knew it, collecting her into a rough embrace, his face buried in her hair.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he crooned as she wept. “I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have joked about it.”
“Oh, León,” she finally got out. He just held her, stroking her back, until she began to calm down. His warm body was a familiar comfort, his voice a soft rumbling against her. “I’m sorry I ran,” she finally mewled.
“It’s okay. We can talk about it. Tomorrow or whenever.”
“Now,” she said, face tight against his shoulder. “I want to talk now. I’ll just worry until we do.”
“Okay. Okay. Let’s sit down.” He walked her to the couch, guiding her to the nearest spot, then securing himself tight against her side.
···
León’s anger melted at her first sob. Was this what she kept so tensely guarded all the time? He hadn’t known his stupid words could do this to her. He hadn’t meant a one.
She let him hold her close on the couch, tucked inside his arms but aimed her gaze steadfastly across the room.
“I’m sorry I ran,” she repeated, her nose red, cheeks glossy with tears. “I know I’m supposed to be honest and talk, but I panicked.”
Thank you, Kelsey. “I panicked and took off once before, remember? But we’re okay now.”
She swallowed, face turning down. But León saw that sink in, felt some tension leave her shoulders under his arm. He brushed some damp hair off her cheek.
“I’ve been worried,” she finally gulped. “Cooking, posing, it’s not important. I like it, but I’m afraid I shouldn’t.”
He rubbed her arm gently. She hadn’t said she forgave him, but she would. “What you do is important,” he insisted quietly.
She wiped her cheeks. “It’s not art. It doesn’t take talent. I’m more than a…a caretaker.”
He drew little circles on her shoulder with his fingertips, leaning his head against hers. “I shouldn’t have laughed about it, reinita.”
“You weren’t wrong, though. You paint, and I do laundry.”
“Maybe we have different talents, but we both do what we’re good at.”
Motion outside through the glass door caught León’s eye. Kelsey. She’d clapped a hand to her forehead, eyes closed, clearly lit by the lights inside.
“No,” Celia said quietly. “Being good at laundry isn’t a talent, León.”
He pressed his lips into a tight line. “I don’t mean it like that. There’s a lot of organization in making a home. It’s comfortable here. You have skill, and it shows.”
“Millions of women can do that,” Celia said. “But tomorrow, you get to show your work to a bunch of people who will talk about emotions and honesty. No one does that for a clean house.”
What was she after here?
León reached for her chin to turn her face to his, but she resisted, shaking her loose curls so they hid her face.
“Cielito,” he fumbled. “What if I told you more often what I like about it?”
“It’s not you.” She pleated and unpleated the belt on her dress with limp fingers. “I need something else, something I’m really great at that tells people who I am.”
“Not everyone gets that, Celia.”
Outside, Kelsey dropped her head in her hands. That sliding door wasn’t completely closed! Eavesdropper.
“I can’t settle,” Celia insisted, her body shivering against his, her voice creaking. “I don’t know how to explain. It’s too big.”
“What do you want me to say here? You’re talented, your cooking alone—”
“I can feed the people with actual talent, but…León, listen, I need more! I can’t just keep a stupid house!”
“There is nothing stupid about that!” He loosened his arms, turning toward her. “My mother worked hard to make a home and support her kids, so we could go out and do more than she got to! It’s…it’s noble!”
Outside, Kelsey groaned, “Oh good god.”
León shot a glance toward the sound as Celia stiffened in his arms.
“No wonder you feel so comfortable here,” she spat.
What?
León released her and bounced to his feet. “What’s wrong with that?”
Her frustrated face, red and naked, turned up to him. Her eyes finally met his, flashing mutiny.
“I don’t want to be noble!” she cried. Her spine went painfully straight. “It’s true. The only thing you have to do is paint and fuck the model!”
“I didn’t say that!” The edge in her voice slashed through him.
She stood to face him, hands curled into fists. “I have to make art. I have to do something!”
“Celia,” he said carefully. This was going incredibly wrong. He reached for her, but she backed adroitly out of range. “You don’t have to make art to be special. You are special. You are art.” He waved his hand at the paintings stacked in the hallway. “You literally are the fucking art!”
She crossed her arms across her stomach. “It’s not mine. Something has to change.”
No. No!
“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” she said. Angry tears brimmed in her eyes.
Raising a hand to his forehead, he heaved a painful breath. “All because I made a stupid joke?”
She winced. “It’s not about you!”
“But we’re happy, we’ve been…you’re happy, aren’t you?”
Her eyes pleaded with him, but she said nothing. Unbelievable!
“Aren’t you?” he insisted.
Her lips parted, then slowly closed.
Her silence broke him, the rejection a shattering blow. A change? Why? If the paintings weren’t enough…he had to get out. He’d leave on his own before he let her tell him to go.
He lurched for the door, then stopped and spun around to face her again. She was still paralyzed, sorrowful and mute. He pointed a fierce finger at her, leaning in, eyes burning.
“You belong to me!” he shouted. “You remember that! I’m not playing! I am not done with you!”
He stormed to the front door and out, slamming it behind him.
···
Celia sank to the couch, reaching for a pillow and crushing it to her face.
He didn’t understand. She couldn’t explain.
Standing up for herself always ended in an argument, shouting, fingers pointing at her. How did other people get their way so easily?
The pillow made it hard to breathe. Good.
A touch on her shoulder made her jump and look. Kelsey. Her light eyes were worried, her hand tentative.
“You okay?” she asked.
Celia took a deep breath, hands gouging into the pillow as she lowered it to her lap.
“He left,” she croaked. “If I’d just said I was happy, he would have listened.”
“It could have gone better,” Kelsey agreed softly. “Maybe next time, it will. He said he’s not done.”
“Not done pushing me around! I belong to him, did you hear that too?” The pillow slowly somersaulted to the floor as Celia gave up her grip on it, and she watched it go. A sickly weight churned deep in her stomach. Was what she wanted so impossible?
“I did all of this wrong,” she said. “I ignored my worries until I exploded.”
“He needed deflating, honey,” Kelsey said as she gently sat close to Celia. “When they’re so cocky that they start making jokes, you have to get loud.” She leaned over for the pillow, smoothing it as she set it back in place.
Celia scrubbed at her hot cheeks with stiff hands. Her neck hurt, tight and rigid. She felt…anger? Fear? Her insides ached, but with what?
“I don’t know how to do this,” she choked out. “How do you speak up without making them mad?”
“You didn’t ‘make’ him anything. You don’t have that power.” At Celia’s skeptical stare, Kelsey shook her head. “His reaction isn’t your fault.”
Celia flexed her painful fingers. “It ended with him mad, either way.”
Kelsey tilted her head and patted Celia’s knee. “You want to tell me about it? Get some practice for when he comes back?”
Lord no! She’d never said her true fear aloud, not even to León. Art might save me, she’d said, but not from what.
Kelsey was looking at her, waiting.
She had to tell, didn’t she? Or nothing would change.
“Maybe we could have something to drink?” Kelsey asked.
Celia jumped up, grasping at delay. “Of course, I’m so sorry. I have wine in the fridge.”
“Just ginger ale, please.”
Celia’s head was deep in the fridge in a moment. The cool air soothed her raw cheeks. “Women drink wine when they talk about men, right? I think you brought this bottle, actually. Months ago.” She was chattering. Distraction. The mundane task helped.
She returned to the couch with bottle, soda, and glassware, proffering the wine as she approached. “You sure?”
“Ginger ale has like half the calories,” Kelsey said.
Celia poured, and Kelsey waited patiently.
Do you have to let every single thing scare you, Celia Rose?
Her chest began pounding again. Okay. She’d been putting off the confession. She took a huge swallow of wine, the glass trembling against her lower lip despite her concentration.
“So,” Kelsey said. “I may have heard you two arguing. What’s this change you’re going to make?”
Celia took a deep breath. Tranquila. She would try.
“Growing up was bad,” she said carefully. “Only Andrew knows. He was here a lot. He saw me sometimes get really…low about it. He helps when it happens.”
“He’s not judgy. I like that about him.” Kelsey leaned to bump her shoulder against Celia. “I’ll be cool too, I promise.”
Celia fingered her wine glass, watching the liquid lap gently at the sides. “None of you ever press me or ask questions. I think it’s why we’re friends.” She swallowed hard. “León asks. He presses. It’s hard for me.”
Kelsey sipped, patient.
“Growing up…” Celia looked down, pulling her hands into her lap. “My dad jumped off a bridge. I was eight.”
Kelsey’s sorrowful gasp hurt to hear. Her hands reached over, fingers chilled from her drink, and she squeezed Celia’s hands hard. “Oh, honey. How awful.”
“My mom, she was violent after. I think Dad protected me, but once he was gone….” Celia risked a glance up to see the reaction.
Revulsion curled Kelsey’s lip, her eyes narrowing. “She hit you?”
Celia nodded, feeling the familiar shame crawl up her back. “She tried to control it, but she would lose her temper. It was bad for her too when Dad died.”
“Oh, that’s bullshit,” Kelsey said. At Celia’s flinch, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean you. I mean, hitting your own child? It’s disgusting! And after your dad…. Oh, honey!”
Kelsey flung her arms around Celia’s shoulders.
Strangely, no tears threatened. Maybe it was the wine, but Celia felt a warm easing in her stomach. Was that relief? “I’m okay,” she murmured, surprised.
Kelsey released her but looked skeptical. “I know you don’t get along with your mom, but I get it now.”
“Her dad spanked her,” Celia explained. “She didn’t know any other way.”
“Oh, that’s crap. There’s spanking, but you said ‘violent.’”
Lips pressed tight, Celia fought to be honest. “She’d beat me. Only where bruises wouldn’t show. She broke wooden spoons on me. She felt bad after, but…she bought replacement spoons.”
Kelsey goggled. “How?! Going into a store and picking out—oh my god!”
Celia watched Kelsey’s face flush with righteous anger and all for her. How could talking feel bad and good at the same time?
“León brought it all back out in me,” she said.
Confusion flitted across Kelsey’s face. “Wait,” she said, tensing. “He doesn’t hit you, right?”
Celia shook her head vehemently. “Oh no, he would never!”
“Then, I don’t follow.”
“I only just saw it, tonight. I always tried to keep my mom happy, so she wouldn’t…. I never talked, kept the house clean, and my grades up. I watched her for clues, to anticipate what she wanted so I could make sure she had it.”
Kelsey slowly nodded. “Okay, I get that. You do that with us too, you know. But you’re not scared of us, right?”
Celia felt a warm blush creep up her cheeks. “No. It’s just how I am now. When I like someone.”
“So, you catered to León,” Kelsey said, almost to herself. “This is all making sense.” She looked back up, eyes shrewd. “Honey, the way he barks at you sometimes, no wonder you responded that way. But, really, he’s nice to you?”
A quick flare of joy was instantly doused by ice-cold memory. León had stormed out.
“He was.” A lump rose in Celia’s throat. “You saw, he doesn’t want me to change. I have to, though.”
“Good for you. He can do his own laundry.”
“Oh no,” Celia almost laughed. León, domesticated? “I mean, the art list. I gave up on it to help him paint. I can’t do that. It’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
Celia took a deep breath. This was the hardest thing to admit—it felt so selfish.
“My dad, Kelsey. Sometimes I feel like his way is an option for me.”
Kelsey stood in alarm, scattering pillows. “Oh no, it’s not!”
Celia raised her face, apprehensive. “I know that, truly. There’s something wrong with me, though. I go into a spiral sometimes.”
“Wait, how does the art list stop you from…that?”
“Being stuck in my head is bad for me. I need to learn to express myself. Get it out. I thought art would be the way, but I’m not good enough.”
“You can keep trying,” Kelsey said. “León’s lessons didn’t help?”
Celia shook her head. “Not with painting. But he makes me admit when I feel things, he’s always digging. I was learning to talk. Like this.” Her eyes fell. “I messed it up tonight.”
“Well, you made a start. It’s not fair for him to trigger you into giving him everything.”
Celia sighed unevenly, weary. “He didn’t know. And I trigger him too, I think.”
Kelsey finally sat again, rubbing her forehead and reaching for her ginger ale. “I knew it. Mister Artist has issues too. Well, spill.”
How to explain this part? “León thinks his talent is the only thing people like about him. When people help him, like his parents or me, he pays them back by painting well.”
“Convenient,” Kelsey said, sipping her ginger ale.
Celia nodded. “I’m not sure he knows how to deal with people when art isn’t involved. When I started helping him, he sort of homed in on me. I was speaking his language.”
“No wonder you two gravitated together so fast,” Kelsey mused. “Your dysfunctions match.”
Celia felt a chill. Was that all this was?
“So, you see all his baggage,” Kelsey continued, “but he has no clue about yours. Typical.”
Kelsey’s hand rubbing her shoulder felt nice. When had she put an arm back around her?
“That’s my fault,” Celia said. “I never tell him the important things, my real fears. I didn’t want to think about it myself.”
“It is absolutely not your fault. And you’re changing it now, right?”
Celia let her head rest against Kelsey’s shoulder. Hearing that felt surprisingly good. “I’ll probably still do his stupid laundry,” she said. Amazingly, a giggle almost escaped her. Definitely the wine.
“Celia,” Kelsey said, “I’m going to tell you something. Taking care of someone isn’t stupid. It’s one of the kindest, hardest things you can do. My mom handled everything, so I could just be a kid.”
“Noble,” Celia murmured and felt Kelsey chuckle.
“I hope I’m a little like her,” she continued. “I’m going to find out soon.”
Celia was silent, not following.
“I’m going to have a baby,” Kelsey said.
Celia sat up in shock, grabbing at Kelsey’s hand with a yelp. “What? When? Oh, Kelsey!”
Kelsey’s sunny grin transformed her. “I’m about three months in. I was going to have to tell you soon anyway.”
“Oh my god, this is why you won’t drink wine anymore!”
“I thought for sure that would give me away,” Kelsey beamed.
Celia couldn’t contain her questions. “Who? Is it Charlie? Will you get married?”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” Kelsey laughed. “No, if Charlie and I wanted to be together, we would have done it by now. But he’ll be involved. So will my mom. I’m going to move in with her, and she’ll help.”
Celia shuddered. The very thought! “Are you happy about it?”
Kelsey simply glowed. “I’m thrilled! I mean, I am now. It was killing me to not tell you all! A baby, can you imagine?” She eyed Celia thoughtfully. “You could still have a baby, you know. You’re good at taking care of people. You’d rock it.”
Celia recoiled. “No. I can’t have a family.”
“Of course, you can. You do! We’re your family, me and Andrew, and Trevor. Maybe León if he can get his act together.”
“No, I mean—” Celia paused, then plunged ahead. “I won’t ever have kids. Someone has to stop my family from going on like they have.”
Kelsey’s eyes brimmed, saddened. “Oh, Celia.” She hugged her friend tightly. “You stopped them by not being like them.”
“Is that enough?” Celia said, muffled up against her friend’s shoulder. “How do I undo it all?”
Kelsey finally let her go. “The thing you have to do,” she said fiercely, “is what’s good for you. Undo it that way! If you want your art list, work on it. If you like taking care of León, do that too.”
Celia held her breath, feeling almost hopeful. Kelsey made it sound easy.
“Just play to your strengths more!” Kelsey said. “Organize something. Start another business! Just don’t let León keep calling all the shots. Take your own shot, girl.”
Celia drained the last of her wine. Feelings were exhausting, even the good ones! “For now, just tell me everything about this baby.”
Kelsey plunged into the details, to Celia’s relief. Part of her searched gingerly inside, though, for fear or anger. It didn’t seem to be there anymore.
Telling Kelsey hadn’t been as difficult as she’d expected. Maybe she couldn’t paint, but talking didn’t take talent. Only courage.
Maybe she could tell León, someday.
One thing was for sure, she would not let today’s roller coaster send her into a spiral. No backlash from revealing too much, not this time!
She was getting better, dammit!