Chapter Forty-one

HE WHISKED HIS HEAD AND HIS SIENNA EYES WENT ablaze for a split second upon seeing me, only to return to the painting. He said nothing.

Staring ahead, I leaned toward him and spoke again, very softly. “He’s good at painting clouds, don’t you think? It’s hard to make clouds look real. Yep, that’s what Monet is. A good cloud painter.”

He feigned frustration and pretended to ignore me.

“How hard to you think it would be to do a paint-by-numbers of Water Lilies?”

He put his head down, as if disgusted, but I could tell he was trying hard to keep from cracking up.

“Would you please shut up? You’re bothering the paintings,” he said, gesturing in their direction.

“Do you think he called them ‘happy water lilies’ when he painted them?”

He covered his mouth and laughed. I pumped my fist in victory for breaking him.

Finally, he turned to scan me up and down. “You look real good,” he said.

I was still beaming. “So do you.”

We moved to the next painting.

“Well, you’re speaking to me; that’s a good sign,” I said.

“Shhhhhh,” he said. “It’s Monet, dammit.”

I gasped. “How dare you curse in front of Monet!”

We giggled as surrounding patrons glared at us. 

We moved to the next painting. David backed up, then moved to the left, then went on his knees. My cheeks were actually starting to hurt from smiling so much.

He stood next to me again, and again I spoke after a beat of silence, the two of us still staring straight ahead.

“I was wondering if you’re doing anything next Saturday night.”

“Committing suicide,” he replied.

“How about Friday night?”

Again we giggled.

Something occurred to me at that moment. “You know which Woody Allen movie that’s from, don’t you,” I remarked.

He nodded. “Play it Again, Sam.”

At that point, we turned to one another, and our eyes locked in their own embrace. We’d embraced each other in this look before—it was a look among friends, a look of love, of familiarity, of comfort. And it was our own.

 “Can we finish this exhibit and then get into the banter?” he asked.

I conceded. We finished the exhibit together, falling into our rhythm as if a day of separation had never passed. Afterwards, we ordered espresso and a piece of cake at the museum café.

“Happy Anniversary,” he said.

My heart leapt into my throat. “You remembered.”

“I thought about calling you that week. Chickened out, I guess.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Congratulations on the novel, too. I saw it at the Coop.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t go to your reading, either. I really, really wanted to, but—”

I held up my hand to cut him off. “It’s okay. I have a copy for you, though.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I already bought one.”

Of course he did.

“Congrats on your book, too. The chapter, I mean. I thought it was great.”

This time he beamed.

“You read it?” He sounded like a child looking for approval from a parent.

“Every word.”

One would have thought the sparks between us could’ve shorted out the lights.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m doing really well.”

“You look it—you look like you’ve found some peace.”

“I have.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.”

“How are you?” I asked.

“I’m doing pretty well.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” he replied. “Are you?”

“No.”

I think we were both secretly relieved to hear this. I knew I was.

“Were you seeing someone?” he asked.

“No.”

“I saw you at Perch one day with Granola Guy.”

“What were you doing in Amherst?” I asked.

“What were you doing with Granola Guy?”

“I’m not allowed to just hang out with guys?”

“You didn’t look like you were hanging out.”

“No?”

“You looked like you were flirting with each other.”

“Where were you—hiding in the bathroom or something?”

“I passed by the window. You were sitting at the corner table.”

“That’s impressive—could you see his Birkenstocks from the window?”

“You didn’t even see me.”

“Well then, that proves it. I mean, if I didn’t even see you, I must have been so engrossed in him. In fact, maybe that wasn’t really us. Maybe we were off fucking each other and those were just our holograms.”

“It’s possible—there was a glare on the window.”

“How do you know it was me at all?”

David cocked an eyebrow and gave me a look of I know.

“Did you fuck him?” he asked.

“I thought about it, actually.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I entertained the notion of a fling with Julian one last time.

“He wears a pooka-shell necklace. I can’t fuck a guy who wears a pooka-shell necklace. And he listens to Neil Diamond. That’s a deal breaker right there.”

He laughed, but I could tell he was relieved, his jealousy subsided. I looked pensively at my cake. “Seriously though, I really did spend most of my time with just me.”

We stopped talking and people-watched for a bit before we resumed conversation.

“Not even a one-night stand for you?” I asked.

“Nada.”

I raised my eyebrows, as if to say, wow.

“I did date someone for a couple of months, though.”

I froze, my fork in mid-air.

“And?”

“And we mutually decided to move on.”

We continued to talk for another hour, catching up. But mostly we gazed at each other. He was Devin and David rolled into one. He was charming and serious, witty and wise, alluring and evocative. And I was…ordinary.

We left just as the museum café closed. Together we walked out into the cold Boston night air.

“Catching the T?” he asked.

“God, I missed you, Dev.”

He pulled me to him and kissed me hard, and we then locked into an embrace. He picked me up and spun me around and kissed every part of my face. I could feel the steam from his breath on my cheeks.