Brush Strokes Page 7

  “What about you?” he adds, remembering to be polite.

  “Well, I’m hoping that I can maybe concentrate on my art for a bit. I’ve had some luck so far, but you know the business. It’s all about knowing the right people and getting exposure.”

  Todd is all too aware. While it requires a lot of talent, it’s also about being right. He’s seen people who would’ve been incredible if they had been doing five years ago what they do now. It doesn’t mean that they lack talent. They’re just not… current.

  “I know it’s not much, but I work for a smaller indie gallery in Williamsburg. If you’d like to honor us with your work, I’m sure we’d be happy to showcase it for you.”

  Suddenly sure she’s going to laugh at him, he doesn’t quite dare to look her in the eye.

  “Really? That would be really cool, Todd. I think my stuff would work best in a place like that.”

  “Think about it and let me know what you decide. I’ll talk to the owner.” He straightens in his chair. It’s a silver lining, if nothing else.

  “Do you guys do this a lot? Student’s works?”

  “We didn’t previously,” Todd tells her and hopes that Mrs. Floral won’t hate what he says next. “But we’re thinking that maybe we should. I think that everyone would gain.”

  “I think so too,” Giselle says, nodding. There’s a glow to her now; color high on her cheeks almost matches her hair. “I’ll get back to you for sure.”

  Back in his bedroom, Todd manages to make Sandwich jump the DVD obstacle once. He also manages to eat the entire Tupperware container of chili that he found in the fridge, pretend not to see the missed call from Evan, and avoid replying to Daniel’s text sent at two-thirty.

  > I hope you’ll feel better soon. I’m really looking forward to that coffee :)

  The only reason Todd smiles is because he’s so relieved over Giselle’s I’ll think about it.

  There’s a knock on his already-open door, and he looks up to see Dad standing there in his pajamas.

  “Are you still up?” he asks, despite the obvious answer to that question.

  “Yeah, came home a little over an hour ago.” Todd checks the time on his phone. “Well, make that two.”

  Dad smiles, all sleepy. “Had a good time?”

  “It was fun. Hung out with some new people I haven’t really gotten to know before.” He really did have a good time, despite the crappy music.

  “What did you get up to?”

  “There was a new band playing, and we hung out. Might’ve recruited someone to exhibit at work.”

  “Sounds like a good night.” Dad nods toward the empty Tupperware container on the floor next to Todd’s thigh. “I take it you didn’t eat out.”

  “Uh, no, sorry. I was starving.”

  “It was in the fridge for a reason.” Dad shakes his head, smiling.

  “Thanks. Did I wake you?”

  “No, bathroom. While I was up, I figured I might as well check to see you made it home.”

  Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Todd rubs his chest. “I did. I’ll go to bed in a minute.”

  “You wash that up first.” Dad points at the container before he disappears toward his and Mom’s bedroom.

  Sighing, Todd grabs it and rinses it carefully before he disposes it in the dishwasher, knowing all too well that Mom will kill him if he has managed to stain one of her containers permanently—again.

  * * *

  Todd’s classes are going surprisingly well for someone who procrastinates like a professional. Two weeks into the semester, and he’s not behind in a single class. That’s an improvement by a week and a half compared to last year.

  In the middle of Friday afternoon painting techniques class, Giselle texts him. He wipes the paint off his fingers the best that he can, hoping he won’t ruin his phone as he unlocks it to read the full text.

  > Hi Todd! If the offer still stands, I would love if you could talk to your manager about the possibility of displaying my art.

  His pulse picks up; his fingers tremble as he types a quick yes. Her text is a welcome break from staring at the gallery’s books, unable to comprehend what the numbers stand for, or the constant textbook-reading and quiz-taking that he does when he isn’t working. It also lightens the heaviness of his bad conscience, even if just by a fraction. He’s told Daniel that he has a severe case of pneumonia, instead of confessing what the real problem is. Not only is Mela disappointed in him, but he has also managed to paint himself into a corner. He’ll have to face the music at some point. It’s just easier to leave that for the future.

  He isn’t sure if it’s because of Mela’s busy for the first two weeks of school or if she’s so disappointed in him that they have barely talked since classes started. When she texts him during his walk from the subway stop to his building, it comes as a surprise, a welcome one.

  > Wanna go out tonight?

  < I’m working tomorrow :(

  > Just for a couple of drinks? No late night out!

  < All right, just because I miss you

  It’s a bar close to where she lives with a very obvious sports theme. She’s already there when he arrives, sitting at a corner table with Jesse. Todd slows and swallows. He’s supposed to be home and very sick. That’s what Daniel thinks, at least, but Mela knows the truth. He has no idea if Daniel has told Jesse or if Mela has. Maybe they both have told him, and he might have put two and two together. Shit.

  Sticking his sweaty hands into his pockets and squaring his shoulders, Todd walks over to them.

  “Hi.”

  To his surprise, Jesse smiles and reaches over the table to shake his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice how sweaty Todd’s palm is. Mela makes a kissy face.

  “Heya.”

  Todd sits down as the waitress walks over and he orders a coke, because she asked for his ID before when he tried to order a beer. She probably doesn’t remember, but Todd is not taking any chances tonight.

  “Did you talk to Daniel yet?” Mela, always so blunt, asks when he gets his drink.

  Todd glances at Jesse, but he doesn’t bat an eye. Maybe Daniel didn’t tell him about Todd being sick. Jesse clasps his shoulder as he heads toward the bathroom.

  “No, I’m still sick.” Sighing, Todd scratches his cheek. “I’m starting to feel bad.”

  “You’re starting to feel bad? Mind you, you’re ruining your chances with a possibly great guy.”

  Todd concentrates on the condensation on the outside of his glass. It’s not exactly true that he’s only now starting to feel bad, but it’s becoming too heavy to ignore. He doesn’t want to talk about this and doesn’t feel like pointing out that Daniel clearly isn’t such a great guy if he thinks it’s cool to take away people’s life work just like that.

  “Speaking of a possibly great guy.” He draws a pattern in the condensation with his fingertips. “How’s everything with Jesse?”

  Mela’s smile tells him everything. “It’s great so far. We’ve only met a few times since the party, not including today, because of school. It’s been worth it making time for him, though.”

  “So he’s really great, then?”

  “So far, so good.” The way she lights up when Jesse comes back to their table makes Todd’s chest ache for her. She deserves every second of this.

  “I’m gonna go get a new drink,” Jesse says and nods toward the bar. “You want one?”

  “I’ll come with you.” Mela slips around the table, heading toward the bar before Todd can blink.

  He looks after them and doesn’t understand the sudden rush until he looks at the door. Right inside, probably having just arrived, is Daniel. He looks around, clearly searching for someone.

  “Seriously?” he hisses at Mela while she’s still within earshot and fights the urge to rush out in sheer panic.

&
nbsp; “What?” she turns around, eyes narrowing. “Imagine how much less awkward this would’ve been if you had just talked to him like a grown-ass human being instead of making up excuses?”

  With that, she strides to the bar, where Jesse is already standing. He wants to hate her, but he can’t, because she’s right.

  His gaze finds Daniel again, and he watches, with a growing sense of dread, how Daniel first spots Jesse and Mela at the bar, smiling wide and waving. Jesse signs something and points toward the table, toward Todd, and Daniel looks his way. It takes one, two, three seconds—Todd counts them in his head—until their gazes lock. Daniel’s face falls.

  Then everything just stops. Todd can’t tell if his heart is still beating. The look on Daniel’s face makes it obvious—he had no clue that Todd would be here.

  Daniel looks away and bites his lip before he rolls his shoulders back and walks up to Todd.

  “Feeling better?” Daniel asks, hands in his pockets, as he stops in front of Todd. He’s not sitting down.

  Todd is grateful Mela and Jesse are still at the bar. They must have planned this. He’s also scared half to death being left alone with Daniel.

  “Yeah, about that,” he starts, voice a little higher than he intends. “Uh, I—”

  “—lied?” Daniel supplies helpfully. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like you’re ‘eating ice cream and watching a movie in bed’ to me.”

  Todd winces, swallowing desperately as he tries to find words. “I’m sorry.”

  “That you got caught.”

  Ouch. “For being a dick.”

  Daniel heaves a sigh and sinks down on the opposite side of the table.

  “You could’ve just told me that you didn’t want to see me again, instead of stringing me along.”

  Todd reaches up to readjust his beanie, but his hand falls back into his lap. He wants to say that it isn’t as easy as not wanting to see Daniel, but the situation is too complicated to explain. “Yeah, I should have.”

  “Better late than never, I guess.”

  Daniel seems less confident than the guy Todd met at that frat party. Maybe that comes with rejection, even for someone like him.

  “If it’s any consolation, I did want to see you again until I found out that you were trying to take the gallery away.”

  Todd bites his lip. He doesn’t have alcohol to blame for letting that slip out.

  “Come again?” Daniel says, and Todd repeats himself. It’s even more stupid the second time around.

  “Seriously?” Daniel stares at him. “That’s what this is about?”

  “Don’t make it sound like it’s nothing,” Todd blurts. “It’s culture, you know, art. It’s culture. It’s valuable for society.” And I have kids there, he wants to say, who don’t have much else in their free time. Whose parents can’t afford any other activities. Who have talent and interest, and this is their only option. He doesn’t. Todd juts his chin out, knowing full well that he looks exactly like a five-year-old when he does it. Evan has told him often. It just comes automatically when he gets defensive.

  “What? I lost you.”

  He doesn’t want to, because it makes him sound like a child, but he can’t refuse to repeat anything that Daniel hasn’t been able to catch. So he repeats himself, wincing as the words come out whinier than the first time.

  “Sure,” Daniel agrees, easy, as if he doesn’t have a conflicting interest. “There are hundreds of galleries in New York.”

  “You want to make it into a club,” Todd points out. “There are thousands of clubs too.”

  “There really aren’t,” Daniel snorts.

  Todd sees red. Seriously? He’s going to deny that there’s a club or bar on almost every corner around here?

  “I don’t think we’re talking about the same city.”

  “Clearly not.” Daniel gets to his feet. “Or maybe you can consider the possibility that you’ve misunderstood something? Like the fact that I want to make it into a meeting place for deaf and hard of hearing kids to meet others like them. Not a goddamn night club.”

  He leaves before Todd has a chance to say anything. A second later, Mela and Jesse come over. They’re not even trying to pretend they haven’t watched the entire interaction from the bar.

  “He wants to make a club for kids who are deaf or hard of hearing?” Todd asks, still staring at the door where Daniel disappeared.

  “It’s a project he’s been working on with a few of his friends for a while now. It’s very important to him.” Jesse shrugs.

  Todd’s brain screeches to an abrupt halt. This must be the project Daniel spoke about the night they met. “Oh, god.”

  Todd doesn’t know what to say . His brain echoes empty, and he spends the rest of the evening staring into his glass. Mela and Jesse give up on trying to talk to him pretty quickly.

  He’s not stupid. People with hearing loss are a minority, and a safe place to hang out must be incredibly important. For kids it’s probably even more so.

  Todd glances over at Jesse and Mela. They’re in their own bubble, discussing something, touching, sitting so close together. He knows that he should be angry with them, goddamn furious even. For some reason he can’t quite muster the energy. Daniel finding out the truth was bound to happen. Much like ripping off a band aid, it’ll hurt like hell for a while, but maybe things will be better afterward. He hopes it hurts more for him than it does for Daniel. It wouldn’t be fair for Daniel to take the biggest hit for something that’s seventy-five percent Todd’s fault. Okay, maybe closer to ninety.

  Either way, he can’t really see how things could get any worse.

  After an hour, he leaves without saying goodbye. When he’s at the station waiting for the train, he texts Mela to let her know where he is and then stuffs his phone in his pocket.

  He messed up. There’s no other way to put it. Daniel won’t want to talk to him again. Truth be told, Todd doesn’t want to talk to himself either.

  Mom and Dad aren’t home. They would’ve known that something is up just by looking at him. He’s always been easy to read.

  Making a nest on his bed out of blankets and pillows, Todd curls up in front of a movie. Right now, he wishes that he really was sick. Dying, even. Okay, maybe not dying, but somewhere close. It would’ve been less horrific coughing his lungs out than having this concrete weight on his chest that’s making it difficult to breathe.

  He barely registers what’s happening on screen, because all his focus is on that angry text he expects from Daniel, but his phone stays quiet all evening.

  “I suck,” he mutters to himself.

  Sandwich twitches her nose, going still in her cage. Todd suspects that means she agrees. He can’t blame her.

  Chapter Three

  On the plus side, it’s a lot easier to focus on school when he doesn’t have to worry about coming up with excuses to not see Daniel.

  On the down side, the concrete weight is still there two weeks later, chafing whenever he has a moment to himself. Todd has typed out an apology text at least once every night. He hasn’t sent any of them. An apology doesn’t make up for any of this. During the days he tells himself that it’s for the best. They met once—that time in the gallery and the last time don’t really count—and they don’t know each other at all. But as soon as he’s in bed, his mind starts spinning without permission.

  Where would they be be now, if that coffee date had happened? Every time he goes down that road, he gets a sinking feeling. Daniel still wants the gallery to close, he has to remember that, even though it doesn’t make it okay for Todd to act like a grade-A dick. He can’t overlook the fact that Daniel’s club means, no matter how great a cause it is, that Todd’s safe space and Mrs. Floral’s life work is gone.

  It usually takes a couple of hours of feeling bad, reminding himself why, and then going back to
feeling bad again before he’s so exhausted that he passes out.

  He buries himself in schoolwork to occupy his head with anything, and, even a month in, he’s not behind in any of his classes. That feels pretty great. Mrs. Floral said yes to exhibiting Giselle’s art. Logan finished his cubist piece. At least some things seem to be working out.

  “I really want company,” Mela tells him on the phone two days later. “I can’t go by myself.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t know anyone.”

  “Neither do I.” Todd has tried really hard to forget Daniel and everything about him. The last thing he needs is to show up to a swim meet. Sure, it’s for Mela’s sake, and she’s going for Jesse, but it’s not as though Daniel will become invisible just because Todd is there.

  Still, ten minutes later, he hears himself say, “Fine. You’re buying me coffee afterward.” And extensive therapy sessions.

  Mrs. Floral is happier since she’s seen Giselle’s work. She’s stopped sighing and doesn’t smell of cigarettes as often, and Daniel hasn’t been around again as far as Todd knows.

  “How many more new artists do we need?” Todd asks, after handing a new patron a sheet with short information about the artists.

  “It’s hard to say. We’ve got limited space, but it’s better to have a queue lined up than always signing at the last second.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” There are more people in school who are incredibly talented, and Giselle knows a whole bunch of them. If he can work up enough courage, maybe he can ask her to help him out. He still finds himself a bit awkward around her.

  “You’re such a good boy, Todd.” Mrs. Floral pats his cheek gently. “I don’t know what I would do without you. I remember when you were skinny and short and so nervous that you were shaking when you asked if you could spend time here. You’re all grown up now.”

  Todd straightens where he stands, trying not to smile before she disappears into the office.