Chapter 4
FOUR
AUGUST
Three torturous hours later, Ellie and Rowan decide to take a food break and grab us some dinner. We’re at the hangry stage. And Ellie is mean when she’s hungry. She’s been like that since we were five.
I’ve learned throughout this process that painting is not for the weak. I think we did a pretty good job, despite being suffocated by paint fumes.
Riley presses her fingers to her temples. “I think I’m getting a headache.”
There’s no way I was going to let her sit in pain. I open the front door to the shop, and a cool breeze sweeps in, taking the strong fumes with it.
Before, the bright walls were giving me anxiety, but I’m a lot calmer now.
Riley takes it upon herself to finish a small section that’s left in a corner.
All I want at this moment is to be close to her, physically. The light floral scent that she carries around with her reminds me of the days she’d have a candle burning in her room. She had rows of candles for different moods: citrus, earthy, or sweet.
She stands on her toes, stretching her arm up as far as it can go. The tip of her tongue sticks out as she puts all her concentration into the one spot that’s giving her a tough time.
This is my opportunity to get up, grab a brush, and help. I could use one of her infamous eye rolls right about now.
My arm reaches above her, and she drops to her feet to look at me.
I smirk. “You’re welcome.”
She starts on a different section and hums along to a song playing from the small speaker, her phone connected to it. The upbeat sound tugs at my heartstrings when I’m pulled back into the past.
Riley and I had been soaking up the sun during summer break after I finished my sophomore year.
Dad let me borrow his convertible on a perfect, blue-sky day.
She screamed the lyrics into the sky with her hands raised above her head.
I’d just gotten my driver’s license, and Riley started her new job at The Surf Shack.
Our friendship blossomed into something I thought I could never have with her.
The ocean shared its salty breeze as we drove by, while the pink and orange sky swept over us. My eyes locked on the girl I’d fallen head over heels for. Her smile was so contagious that my cheeks started to hurt.
“I know I’ve said it before, but you really are good at painting,” I say. “I’m not sure what it is, but you don’t leave any empty spots. You’re a natural.”
She leans close to me, enough that I get to smell that floral scent of hers. It doesn’t smell like a specific flower, more like a field of wildflowers. My knees bend just an inch so I can hear what she needs to tell me.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispers, caressing me with the sound. “But I’m pretty sure I was a painter in my previous life. It’s kind of scary how good I am at this stuff.”
I let out a snort and decided to play along.
“Really?” I widen my eyes, looking around to make sure the secret is kept between the two of us. “If that’s the case, who am I talking with right now?”
She presses her lips together and hesitates. Another laugh wants to leave my mouth, but I shove it down. This is a very serious moment.
“My name was Michelangelo.” She gestures toward herself. “One day, I was sculpting this beautiful woman, and the next, I woke up in this body.”
“Wait. Are you telling me that you were once Michelangelo?”
She nods three times, keeping in character.
“Michelangelo who painted The Creation of Adam?”
A single brow raises, and she nods again.
“Michelangelo. The man who took a block of marble and carved the statue of Hercules and wrote over three hundred poems?”
She drops her arm and stops painting. Her mouth is open like a fish, and confusion takes over her eyes.
“How the hell do you know all of this?”
I break character and continue to paint. “Dad and I watched a documentary about him a few months ago. He was a fascinating man.”
Riley breaks and lets out a laugh. That sound alone makes me feel like I’ve accomplished the hardest task life could throw my way.
Silence settles in around us again. The only sound we have is music and people walking outside, keeping us company.
After a beat, Riley breaks it.
“How’s your dad doing?” She keeps her focus on the wall. “I’ve been meaning to stop by and visit him.”
A lump builds in my throat when I think about Dad. He’s only in the shop three days a week, leading me to handle the weekly meetings we have with vendors. I’ve come to learn that these meetings can easily be sent in an email.
‘Hey, we’re gonna send you some stuff you need on this day. Cool? Alright.’
I clear my throat and dip the rolling brush in more paint. “He’s doing okay. He started chemo.”
“Oh yeah? Ellie mentioned something about it starting up this week.”
“Yeah.”
Another beat.
“How have you been with the store? Is your dad still working?”
“Nah, he’s only in a couple of days now.”
She purses her lips, a sign that she’s thinking about something. “Have you worked with the infamous ledger, yet?”
I scrunch my nose and shake my head. “I’ll deal with it when the time comes.”
Riley turns to me, stopping what she’s doing. “You can’t avoid it.”
Here we go.
“I’m not avoiding it.”
“Yes, you are.”
I set my brush down and face her, my hands bracketing my hips. “I have this handled. It’s fine. I don’t need you to worry about whether I’m going to get to it.”
She tilts her head and crosses her arms, cocking her hip. “You’re going to push this off until the very last minute, and you’ll end up in crisis mode.”
“I won’t end up in crisis mode.”
Riley knows what that looks like for me: my hands raking through my hair while I mutter words to myself. One minute I’m a social butterfly, the next, I’m locked in a room trying to figure out how to figure things out on my own.
“Let me guess, you’re not gonna ask anyone for help?”
My foot taps on the wooden floor, the sound bouncing around the room. There’s nothing I can say in return because she’s right. I’m not asking for help, and I will end up putting it off until the last minute.
“You know your mom will help you.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I know that. I don’t need her help, though.”
She drops her arms, softening her stance, which makes her more approachable. “I know you don’t want to ask for help, okay? But there isn’t anything to be ashamed of if you do. I get that you want to make your dad proud, but do you think he’ll be proud if you’re struggling to keep up with things?”
We haven’t had an honest discussion like this in a long time. Riley is wise beyond her years, and I envy her for that. Her intelligence is what attracts me the most, and damn, I fucking miss her.
“And if you don’t want to go to anyone else for it, then at least ask me.”
The green color that wraps around the golden honey of her eyes steadies my heartbeat, but it picks back up when I realize she’s offering to help me if I feel myself getting lost. My thoughts tumble with words that try to come out of my mouth.
I open it to say something, anything, but we’re interrupted when someone comes in.
“We’re back,” Ellie sings.
“We brought tacos,” Rowan says in excitement.
Riley and I still stand, facing each other, while Ellie and Rowan talk to each other.
“Promise me you’ll ask me for help if you really need it, okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”