Thirty One
Incubadoraofficially opened its doors in the damp gray morning. Waiting on the sidewalk, bundled up and chatting, were Dolores and Hector’s abuela. Hector stood behind them, thin arms wrapped around a stuffed duffel. He bounced when Celia opened the door, welcoming them into the warmth. Hector’s abuela handed her a covered plate of food as she entered, and Dolores removed her wrap to reveal a festive white blouse with turquoise embroidery. The little signs of celebration put a happy lump in Celia’s throat.
“I’m taking Hector upstairs,” León said to her, coming close. His glance took in her fidgety excitement, then he reached for her hand and leaned his shoulder against hers. She leaned back with a deep breath. “Tranquila,” he murmured, and she squeezed his hand. He let go with a beaming smile and headed for the stairs, Hector and his abuela following.
Dolores was left standing, her eyebrows as high as they could go. She looked pointedly to León’s retreating back, then to Celia’s face. Feeling the heat on her cheeks, Celia shrugged with a smile, and Dolores clucked to herself as she headed up to her office.
Celia stayed to bask in her newly opened haven.
Rich red brick climbed to the lofty ceiling strung with multi-colored flags. Tall silvery windows fogged by the cool weather diffused the morning’s gentle gray light. Polished concrete floors reflected long tables laden with literature and platters of bright finger food. Easels stood ready, paints and oil crayons awaiting their first use. Low mariachi music filled the room, Deja Que Salga la Luna playing quietly. The faint earthy smell of fresh clay trailed from Andrew’s classroom.
Now, to fill her space with people.
Trevor’s car passed outside, so Celia went out to meet him. Traversing the block, she stopped to view Incubadora from this angle. No rain fell, but the wet sidewalks reflected the golden light inside. She didn’t know about her new neighbors, but to her it was the most inviting thing she’d ever seen.
Andrew waved at her as he exited Trevor’s car, parked in her alley. She watched as Trevor opened his trunk and loaded bag after bag of gear onto both of their shoulders. Today, Trevor would photograph the entire opening, and Kelsey would post the best online. Celia saw Trevor steal a kiss before he and Andrew met her.
“How was the fishing trip?” she asked. She caught them blushing as they went through the front door she held open.
“We stayed in the hotel for most of it,” Andrew said. “It rained like crazy.” He set down some bags.
Trevor put an arm around his waist. “He did better than expected, sitting outside and doing nothing.”
“I’ll give anything a chance,” Andrew grinned. He looked eagerly toward the food table, and swiped a pastry on his way into his classroom. Anyone who came in today could create clay masterpieces with a free teacher at their disposal.
Kelsey fluttered in, wearing her version of an artsy caftan and littering the front desk with her purse, phone, and tablet.
“You’re wearing the blue dress,” she said with a grin. “You gonna make León regret what he’s missing?”
Celia looked down at the thin turquoise knit, warmth spreading through her at his name. “He’s not missing anything.”
“He’s blind, then.”
Catching Trevor’s eye, Kelsey moved off to where he was getting shots of the awaiting easels. They were instantly heads-down over screens again.
The first members of the public filtered in. They looked around, tried some food, then wandered back out. Well, the next ones might ask questions.
León trouped back down with his group, and Hector agreed to paint something at the easel by the window. Trevor crouched down to take photos, making sure to include Hector’s abuela watching in the background.
Celia savored the sight of an artist in her front window, finally! León hovered avidly, watching Hector set up.
Look at him.
He stood on his toes and ran eager fingers through his dark hair when Hector’s first color went on the canvas. It was no surprise when he turned his head, eyes wide with longing, seeking her out. When he realized she was already watching him, his smile outshone every light in the room.
Kelsey came up behind her. “Oh ho, did he finally stop playing?”
Celia shook her head, unwilling to look away from her love. “We talked,” she said.
León’s smile drew her like a magnet, and she was walking to him before she realized. He met her halfway, sliding arms around her waist and beaming as he leaned in for a kiss. Celia felt the room melt away.
Kelsey shrieked.
Trevor turned at her squawk, then chuckled and snapped a few photos of the couple. Andrew poked his head out of the classroom, hands covered in wet clay. He grinned.
“Good god, it’s about damn time!”
···
Celia had never been this happy in her entire life. Week after week, new joys were added.
Their loft could have become a creative clutter, but León and Celia worked together to contain the inherent messiness of inspiration. His studio space by the windows blossomed with colors and textures while her kitchen bubbled with simmering aromatics and nourishment. The two hearts of their apartment wrestled and danced in beautiful chaos. He cleaned when paint strayed outside its confines, and she accepted that art was messy. Across their bare brick walls, their story unfolded as one painting at a time was added.
Three more residents moved in, giving Hector his first roommates. Howard, a musicologist down from San Francisco, fused hip-hop with Chinese traditional melodies. Shmuel was a young local man who made multimedia installations. And Sengdaloune, a local Laotian woman, welded metal sculptures piece by tiny piece. The electrical system was put to the test by her equipment and passed. People walking by began to notice the art being created in the large windows, the welding, in particular, attracting attention. The small sales gallery in the front grew slowly, and one metal sculpture was sold.
The following week, Andrew had his first full classroom. Suddenly, small round pots took over the back of the space as they dried. The kiln on the top floor ran daily, and everyone was glad for the dumbwaiter to take the pieces up three flights.
Hector began inviting friends in for impromptu painting sessions, then asked if he could officially teach a class. He knew his style and could show anyone how to try it themselves. Celia sat in on a session so she could make something awful.
León tried to keep a straight face when he poked his head in. “You can do everything but paint,” he teased.
She swiped up a drip of spray paint with one finger and drew a stripe on his wrist. “You just don’t get my style, mi lienzo.”
His laugh distracted the whole class.
In the next month, five more residents moved in. Celia cooked dinners when she could but found the residents taking over the job on their own. They enjoyed the sense of community when cooking and eating together. Celia and León sometimes joined them, the communal table barely able to seat everyone. Conversations flew, jokes peppered with words in different languages. Food and stories were exchanged, and some nights León had to hold Celia afterward as she cried, overwhelmed by happy tears.
Two more classes started, led by residents who discovered that guiding others in the creative process sparked inspiration for their own pieces. Hector had initiated the tradition, and although Celia attempted to dissuade residents from shouldering extra responsibilities, the classes unexpectedly amplified everyone’s work.
León’s parents were invited to come visit.
Celia had one of her rare panics, trying to make everything better than perfect. She failed, but they were still impressed, being led over the warehouse from top to bottom. León was bursting with pride, his father teasing him about his luck.
Dinner simmering on the stove, Celia sat on a yellow couch next to León’s mother, sweat pricking at her palms. It was harder to make conversation when there wasn’t a task she could retreat into, but surely she could do this.
León’s mother studied Celia for a moment before speaking. “León has changed since he met you. He seems to have found his place in the world.”
Celia smiled bashfully, feeling the edges of her anxiety soften. “He changed me a lot, too.”
As if on cue, León’s laughter, accompanied by his father’s, floated from the other side of the room, and Celia felt her heart swell with affection.
“I’m glad you forgave him,” his mother continued. “Leónito can be dramatic.”
Celia chuckled at the understatement, her tense back starting to ease.
His mother smiled gently. “It was past time he learned to think of someone besides himself.”
As if on cue, León’s eyes sought Celia from across the room. His beaming face started a warm flush up her neck and into her cheeks.
“And I see that now, he does,” León’s mother continued. “Our family is always close, even when distance separates us. Now we include your place, your town, in our hearts.”
The approval unlocked something astounding deep within Celia. She had no words for it. Feeling the pull to straighten a couch pillow or go check the food, she started to rise. Then she paused and sank back. She couldn’t be so unkind as to run off after that.
“Thank you,” she said, clasping her hands to hide the faint trembling.
“Estella, mi vida,” León’s father called, “come see this painting of your son’s!”
The visit flew quickly, and plans were made for the new couple to visit New York in a few months.
León did his best not to pester her to sit for him, but there were days he couldn’t resist. She couldn’t work all the time, and he craved having his muse in front of him.
“Here, this will be an easy pose,” he begged, pulling her to the bed by the hand. “Pants off. Underwear too.” She complied quickly. “You can keep the sweater on, I think. Yes, that’s gorgeous. Green sweater, blue bed. Lovely.” He directed her to lay on her stomach, diagonally across their bed, facing him. “Okay, feet up at the knees. Cross them at the ankles.” He moved to pull the sweater down to her waist, bunching it artfully at her left hip. “Right. Pull the sweater cuffs almost over your hands. Lace your fingers. Okay, lower your head and peek at me over your hands.”
She followed his directions, then waited as he pulled out his phone to capture a few shots. He had to get these because she just couldn’t sit as much now. But when she could…he dragged his easel over, threw a canvas on it, and began painting furiously.
“I’ll be fast, cielito, promise.”
“I have time, it’s okay.” She held the position without moving a muscle. “I would sit for you more if I could, León. Maybe I can take a day off next week.”
“To work for me? Oh no. You rest on your day off.” He leaned around the canvas to look at her a little more closely. “Well, maybe a little sitting.” He scrubbed more paint on the canvas. She could hear him muttering to himself.
“Musa encantadora, reina, Eres tú….”
She grinned behind her hands. He did still get worked up.
Spring brought even more residents to Incubadora, filling the last of the beds. The entire building, top to bottom, surged with the voices and pigments and scents of art. Celia longed to expand her new family, but her funds weren’t unlimited. She cast about for ideas; inexpensive ways to bring in more of the community, or failing that, overlooked sources of money.
Coming down to the front desk one bright afternoon to collect mail, she heard squeals and shouts on the street outside. Children playing. A whole herd of them, by the sound. Sun slanted in the tall front windows, the glare rendering them opaque. As she turned away, the front door wrenched open with a rush of air and Hector tumbled inside, breathless and damp, his ruddy face lit with a wide grin.
“What’s going on out there?” she asked.
“Football, Celia! The street’s blocked so we’re playing.”
The shrieks outside rang louder with the door open, and Celia rounded the desk to peek outside at the fun.
Sure enough, a laughing clutch of children, all knobbly arms and legs, flocked around a soccer ball as it rocketed back and forth under their kicking feet. Mothers with toddlers, some Celia had met before, roosted in the narrow shade across the street, watching.
And among the children, a taller figure raced around them shouting instructions, bouncing and pointing at the ball, as loud as any kid. Her capricious, energetic painter. His hair flew, sweaty and loose, his back twisting under the fabric of his t-shirt as the ball shot out toward him. He stopped it with a sneakered foot, face alight as the group turned to him.
“Tío León! Here!” they shouted, waving hands in the air, begging that the ball be sent their way. “?Tío, aquí!”
He kicked it squarely back, bubbling with laughter as he tried to direct them, any of them, to aim for the goal.
The sun on Celia’s face couldn’t rival the warmth that bloomed inside her. The playful chaos of the children gave voice to the wild love she felt for this man. He’d made friends; he was at home here. They were at home.
Hector joined her in the doorway, gulping down a bottle of water he’d fetched.
“Let’s get waters for the kids,” she said, still watching the scrum.
“I’ll bring some,” he said, jogging back in.
Maybe she spent too much time inside with her artists. Maybe it was time to invite in the whole community. The classes at Incubadora paid for a lot of expenses, but if she had more funds, she could offer free classes to the kids, just like León had said the neighbors wanted, back before they opened.
It wasn’t a hard decision. It was time to put her canyon house on the market.
···
Celia’s house sold in record time, furnishings and all. While she didn’t miss rattling around her empty white house, she couldn’t say goodbye without a last look. She invited the gang back for one last night of hanging around the firepit.
Between the full day and heavy traffic, everyone beat León and Celia there, including the pizza delivery driver. They just missed the April sunset, the city sparkling under a clear indigo sky when they came through the side gate. The patio looked so bare without its cushioned lounge chairs, her wall of windows mirroring back only the first stars.
León walked her down the sloped lawn, his hand warm in hers. Andrew already had the last fire cheerfully leaping, crackling and warm. Her familiar little pool glowed a still, luminous blue next to the silent, dark pool house. Celia stopped where the old food table had stood, more saddened than she’d expected. She looked down the canyon to the constellation of yellow city lights.
“I’m going to miss this view of the city,” she said.
Palm fronds whispered above them as León squeezed her hand. “It’s beautiful,” he agreed. “But you’re looking at it from a distance. I like our place, down in the heart of it. It’s more exciting, hearing the sirens and crowds and traffic.”
“Says the New Yorker,” Andrew said from his folding chair.
They joined their friends around the fire, León handing her a full paper plate before sitting too. Celia’s gaze roamed around the circle, a gentle warmth spreading through her as she observed each of her friends lit by the flickering light. Kelsey sprawled low in her chair, her yellow sundress brushing the grass below, rounded belly like a beach ball filling her lap. Trevor sat at ease, an ankle crossed over his knee, eating slowly as the fire reflected off his dark-rimmed glasses. Andrew leaned forward, elbows on his knees, beer bottle in one hand and a slice of pizza folded in the other, disappearing quickly in large bites.
And next to her, León, with hair pulled back from his gold-washed face, eyes black in the firelight. Her heart fluttered at his attention, looking up through his lashes, his bouncing knee nearly dumping his plate on the ground. She reached out, steadying his plate with a reassuring smile, her touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. As she relaxed, so did he, his shoulders easing as he picked up his pizza slice with paint-smudged hands.
Sitting in her old backyard, gutted and changing, brought up more feelings than she’d expected. Celia retired back into her chair, letting the fireside chatter wash over her as she used to.
This house had been an uneasy sanctuary, a place to hide. She’d needed a place to be small and alone.
The past would always be a part of her; Mom was still out there, and Dad’s choices, and her tendency toward spiraling anxiety.
But she couldn’t be small anymore. There were too many new people, too many changes, even in her friends.
She watched Andrew’s sensitive hands slipping around the curves of the beer bottle as he turned it. As he glanced sideways at Trevor, she recalled the charming glee on his face when he told her they were moving in together. She wasn’t the only one with a new home.
Kelsey’s yellow dress fluttered as she poked at Andrew with a bare foot, and Celia thought of her voice last week, talking sweetly at her round stomach. “Stop kicking, Ruth. Soon you can come out and meet me and Grandma and Tía Celia.”
Her family was growing. Through the fire, she saw Trevor taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt. He’d been so pleased to announce a new addition. “I hired an assistant, finally,” he’d said, pride bright in his smile. “A queer kid new to LA. Boy, does he need help getting around.”
León reached absently to take Celia’s hand, holding it low between their chairs, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. She looked fondly at his profile, glowing in the firelight as he listened to Andrew and Kelsey tease each other. She could see again León’s red cheeks when they’d surprised him with a dinner at the gin bar on the first night of his new show. Six paintings in a Hollywood gallery, running much longer than the last exhibition. His career was coming alive on his new coast.
The fire blazed in gold, the sky deepening to dark blue. León felt her gaze and met it, squeezing her hand. If she could paint, he would be a golden light to her aqua waters, the sun to her sea.
It’s okay to move on to something new, Celia Rose.
“Hey! Celia, snap out of it!” Andrew was suddenly standing over her, holding out an open hand. “We’re getting in the pool.”
“We’re what?”
Kelsey trilled a laugh. “Didn’t you hear a thing we said?”
Celia inhaled deeply, watching them all stand one by one. León dropped her hand to stand too, unzipping his hoodie. Andrew was already stripping off his shirt. “There aren’t any towels,” she said, struggling to come back to the present. “The pool house is empty.”
“It’s warm tonight,” Trevor said, kicking his shoes off under his chair. “We’ll dry by the fire.”
Celia watched wide-eyed as clothes were shed, a laugh tickling up inside her, warmth spreading from her belly to the tips of her fingers. Andrew was the first undressed, his white briefs gleaming against his dark brown skin in the firelight. Kelsey lay her sundress over the folding chair, one graceful hand supporting her unwieldy belly, the other adjusting a bra strap as it slipped low. Trevor folded his clothes carefully, setting his glasses atop them as Andrew vaulted up the two steps to the pool surround, his muscles flexing with the motion. He cannonballed into the pool before the rest made it onto the flagstones, the lights under the water shattering into a riotous chaos, the roaring splash echoing through the backyard.
Celia turned to León, pulse quickening as he straightened from pulling his jeans low, his dark boxer briefs familiar but somehow new by the fire. He raised playful eyebrows at her as Trevor jumped into the deep end, and Kelsey shrieked as she stepped down the stairs into the cold water, her laughter ringing clear and joyous. Celia grinned and pulled off her sweater.
There was no room for diving, no still surface to disturb. León held her hand, his grip reassuring and warm, and together they leapt into the splashing and laughter.
The shock of chilly water faded quickly, and León stroked along by her through the deep end, following her to the side of the pool where they’d spent so many nights hanging on the edge, looking at the city.
The familiar yip-yip of coyotes sounded below in the chaparral, but the sparkling city lay distant and silent. León was right; this perch of a house wasn’t for her any longer. The city streets below called to her, cradling her Incubadora, full of art, where they lived in the heart of it.
A tickle along her cheekbone surprised her—León, tracing a finger down her skin, his touch as gentle as moonlight on water. She turned to him. His brown eyes held that focused heat that turned her insides to fire. His wet hair streamed back to his shoulders, one black curl plastered against his neck. That had always done electric things to her too.
“Aqua green with turquoise,” he murmured. His finger trailed across the bridge of her nose. “A highlight here in cerulean with titanium white.” He traced along her jaw, then down her neck. “Bronze and burnt sienna for your shadows. And—”
She put a finger to his lips. “Tranquilo,” she said.
He tucked a wet lock of her hair behind her ear, a content smile curling his lips, his wet body drawing closer to hers. “Eres tú, mi amor.”
It’s you.
“Eres tú,” she replied gently.
León raised a dripping hand to cup her cheek and touched his soft mouth to hers.
“Hey!” Kelsey shouted. “No making out in the pool!” She laughed at Celia and León as they startled and broke apart. Andrew splashed water at Kelsey, the water droplets catching the firelight as they flew. Then he stuck out his tongue at her and hauled a grinning Trevor in for a wet kiss.
“So unfair,” Kelsey groused. She hauled on the waistband of her underwear, twisting in the hip-high water. “And my granny panties are falling down!”
León pushed a wave of water at her. “Who made you boss?”
“You call that a splash?” Kelsey retaliated with a wide swing of her hand, sending a cascade toward everyone. Andrew pulled his legs up in front of him and kicked furiously, adding to the maelstrom.
Ducking the airborne water, Celia laughed aloud, joy bubbling up uncontrollably. As León joined in the water fight, she pushed off the wall and dove under the water, a brief, pure quiet enveloping her. She surfaced in the middle of the pool under the cascade of splashing, then lay on her back, floating in the center one last time.
Laughter lapped at her at her from all sides, water pattering on her skin like rain.
She relaxed and let the water hold her up.