Second Chance

Chapter 9 Reese

It is hard to explain how simple it feels to be with Steve again. We talk like 4 years haven’t passed. We spoke like our hearts were not broken. He laughs when I tell him silly stories of Tiffany and me from college. I love hearing his laugh again. “I can’t wait to meet Tiffany. She must be something if you are so devoted to her.” He tells me.

“I must warn you, she is a great friend, but her parents are pretty controlling. So prepare for them to give you the third degree and judge you if you meet them. They are distrustful of anyone around Tiff and are always trying to protect her to a fault.”

“You remember parents love me.” He winks at me.

“My mom loves you. I don’t think her parents like anyone.” I tell him. “Seriously, they always wanted to know where she was going, who she was with. They even had an app on her phone to track her and checked it multiple times a day. Some people use those types of apps in case something happens, but they might check them once a month or so.

Not Tiff’s parents. She would be out, and they would call and ask her why she was not at home or in the library. She stayed home from class one day because she wasn’t feeling well, and her mom called to find out why she didn’t attend class. It was a bit much.”

“Wow, I can’t fathom it. I am close with my parents, but they let me have my own life.”

“When I find a place of my own, I want to make sure I have room she can come visit or move in. So she has a space where she feels comfortable to find her path.”

“You are a great friend, Reese. I hope she knows that, " he tells me. She would do anything for me, so why wouldn’t I do the same for her?

“I am just being a friend.” I shrug.

We pull up at the address on my phone. I take a breath. I am going to let him see something I keep hidden, but I have little option. I have to have help packing up my studio.

“So, umm, this place is my studio. Not even Tiffany has seen this place. She has seen some of my art because she saw it when I had to turn it in, but this space has always been mine. I rented it from one of the art professors at the school. He owns the building and rents the space at an affordable rate for students so they can have a place to work outside the university.”

I find I am so nervous. Steve has seen my work before and saw how I turned the garage in the back of my mom’s yard into a small studio when I was in high school.

I turn on the light, and it flickers for a second before lighting up the room. We can hear the hum of the fluorescent tube as it starts up. Now that the room is lit, he can see all my work. I look at his face to see his reaction. He is staring at the mural on the wall, which I was very proud of.

When I first moved to LA, I missed my family and my hometown. So, I painted a mural with places from town, like the Train Park and the mountains east of town. The big K is on the hill above the old high school. I also added some of my friends from high school, including him, my mom, and my brothers. His eyes move from one section to another, taking it all in.

“WOW, that is amazing, " he tells me. I blush. I have to admit I am proud of this, but I never planned to let anyone else see it, let alone someone who knows those locations and those people.

“Thanks. I painted this in my Freshman year. It helped me feel a little less homesick.”

“I can see why,” his eyes still locked on the train park, where I painted him. I added him like he was hanging off the train there. I am seated at a bench near the train, looking at him in my mural. “It is like you captured the best parts of home.”

“That was my goal when I painted this,” I confess. I used pictures I had on my phone and used them to create those memories.

“So what will happen to this when you move out of your studio?” He is concerned.

“Sadly, the professor or another student will eventually paint over it. I knew that would happen, so once we have all my supplies and paintings packed up, I want to take pictures of it. That way, I will always have it with me in some way.”

“That is a shame.” I can tell he is disappointed. “Reese, this is truly amazing. You still don’t see how talented you are?”

“I mean, I am semi-talented when you look at people from home, but when you see the students here at the university, you see I am a medium-sized fish in a small pond. When I am in a bigger pond, I am not a big deal.” I confess.

“Then why change ponds? I am not the only one who feels you are incredible. You are a big deal in any size pond, but you get in a bigger pond and start to compare yourself to similar-sized fish and think you are smaller when you are not.” He builds off my analogy, but I laugh. “Sorry, you know what I am trying to say, Reese,” he apologizes.

“Yes, I understand what you are saying, even if it came out kind of odd.” I smile. He means well and is trying. “Let me show you some other pieces I am proud of.” I changed the subject. I showed him some of the other paintings I have done, which I think are my best work.

“You have a great talent, but I have to say when you care about the subject like you do in some of these pieces, they turn out even better than when you don't.”

“I thought I was the only one who noticed that.” I avert my eyes as I tell him.

“Nope, it is like when you care about what you are painting, that love shows through.” He lifts my head so I am looking at him. “Like the mural. I can see how much you love our town and your family because of the attention to detail you put into it. Same with the painting of the redhead. It is like you captured her very soul with your paintbrush.”

“That is Tiffany. I wanted to make sure my painting did her justice.” Looking at him feels so intimate. I look at his lips and wonder if kissing him would feel the way it used to. I find myself biting my lip as the nerves are getting to me.

“I haven’t met her yet, but I am sure this painting does.” I sense he wants to kiss me. Yet he turns abruptly. “So where do I start?” He breaks the tension and gets us focused on the task at hand.

“Well, since I had to leave town sooner than I expected, I had just started packing, so first things first, we need to finish packing up my supplies. I have already gotten tape and boxes.” I direct him to the supplies and we set to the task. I turn on music on my phone to make this a little more bearable. The room feels charged with electricity. I am trying to dance as I work.

Directing Steve as I need to. He is touching me whenever he can find an excuse, like holding my waist when I was on a step stool, stretching to reach the paint in the top cabinet, and putting his hand on my back when he steps behind me. I have to admit I am feeling mixed signals. We packed all the boxes. We wrap up my paintings to protect them on the road trip back to Arizona.

Now is the time to take pictures of my mural. I must admit I wanted to save this for last, like a farewell to my space. This space has been my refuge for the last four years. The place where I would come to cry when I was lonely—the place where I found myself again. I am going to miss this space.

Maybe I can find a studio space after I find a job. I have to admit I have outgrown the garage in the backyard. I also think Mom stored Nathan’s stuff out there when she changed his room into a playroom for the kids.