Page 18 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“Just a few months. I bought it over the summer, and I’m refurbishing it, one room at a time. But it’s just me doing the work, so it’s a slow process.”
Theo moved toward the fireplace and studied the painting above it, a watercolor I’d done of cherry trees in bloom near my family’s cabin up north. That squirmy, nervous feeling I always had when people looked at my artwork wormed its way into my stomach, and I halfway hoped he wouldn’t notice my signature at the bottom. But he did.
“Did you paint this?” he asked.
I couldn’t tell from his voice if he thought it was good or not. “Yes.”
“It’s beautiful.”
The nervous feeling eased up, and a little pride warmed my insides. “Thanks.”
He glanced around at the walls and on the built-in shelves, which held photographs of family and friends along with smaller paintings, sketches, and projects I’d done. “You did all these?”
“Yes.”
“What’s this?” He picked up a piece I’d recently finished, an old hardcover copy of a book of fairy tales, the pages of which I’d carved into an ornate tower like Rapunzel might have lived in and painted with watercolors.
“I call it an altered book.”
“Amazing.” He set it down and picked up another one. “Do you always do fairy tales?”
“No, but I’m inspired by them a lot. The romance, the history, the symbolism. I like mythology and poetry too.” Walking over to the shelves where he stood, I pulled out one of my favorites, a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets into which I’d carved and painted a heart.
He admired it for a moment. “How do you d
o it?”
“I sketch an idea and then try to figure out how to break it down into layers within the pages. When all of the technical stuff is worked out, I carve the design into the book with an Xacto knife. Once all the layers are done, I paint it with watercolors and then bind the sides.” Sharing how I did something was much easier for me than sharing the actual work. I could talk all day long about the process, and even teach someone to do it, but when it came to putting my art out there to be judged…that was hard. It felt like putting myself out there to be judged. I put the book back on the shelf.
“Do you sell your art?” Theo leaned down to look closer at a sketch of my sister.
“No. I mean, not yet,” I added quickly. “I’d like to, someday.”
He straightened up and looked at me. “When’s someday?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Soon, maybe.”
“Why not already?”
“You have to submit your work to festivals and galleries and…I’m not sure I’m that accomplished yet.” The squirmy feeling was back under his scrutiny. My friends and family said I was good, but what if they were just being nice?
“I’d say you’re pretty fucking accomplished. What’s holding you back?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing a little, which gave me the impression he saw right through me. I waited for him to get on me about being scared again, but instead he asked, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I glanced down at my black dress. “Yes. Why?”
He frowned. “It doesn’t fit you.”
“What do you mean? Yes, it does.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s all loose and baggy. You can’t even see your shape.”
“My shape?” I should have told him to buzz off, but instead I found myself going down the hall to look in the full-length mirror on the back of the guest room door. Why, I have no idea, since I knew exactly what this dress looked like on me. But I thought it fit fine.
Theo followed me. “Yeah. You have a nice shape, you should show it off. Be more confident.”
