The Girl in the Painting

by Monroe, Max

  Seriously? Why can’t I remember what happened?

  “Good morning,” I croak out through the cobwebs in my throat.

  “How are you feeling?”

  All sorts of manic comments about hysteria and leaving the country come to mind, but I don’t let any of them overflow the surface as I shrug. “I mean, I’ve been better.”

  His smile grows in response. “Well, do you think some coffee might help take the edge off?”

  “God, yes.”

  “All right, then.” He chuckles. “Meet me downstairs?”

  I nod and watch as he turns on his heels and heads for the first floor of his house.

  As soon as he’s out of sight, I shoot out of the bed with a speed I immediately regret. After a quick sway with my hands on my knees, I head into the bathroom, pee, and do a half-assed job of fixing my hair. I mean, what’s the point now? I pretty much ruined the allure of a woman who has her shit together last night when I decided to test my ability to hold my alcohol like a frat boy.

  Fucking hell, I failed.

  I make the best of my situation and brush my teeth with toothpaste and my index finger. Then, I take one last glance in the mirror, groan at my borderline-horrid appearance, pull up my proverbial big-girl panties, and head for the stairs. Luckily, I have the delicious aroma of bacon to guide my way to the kitchen like a lighthouse beacon shining in the night.

  When I get there, Ansel is by the stove, flipping said bacon and scrambling up some eggs.

  Jesus, he cooks too?

  “You made breakfast?”

  “I did.” He grins at me over his shoulder. “Take a seat and have some coffee.” He nods at the already poured steaming mug sitting on the kitchen island. “This will be ready in a minute or two.”

  I do as he says and sit down on the stool directly behind my mug. I’m almost scared to taste it, but when I do, it’s exactly the way I like it.

  “Coffee good?” he asks with a wry grin, and I nod.

  “Perfect,” I whisper. I’m clutching the cup in my hands like it’s the key to the queen’s castle, and the tips of my fingers start to feel weirdly numb.

  It’s just a cup of coffee, Indy, I tell myself. Then why doesn’t it feel like it?

  I blame my weird thoughts on all of the alcohol I shoved into my body last night and focus on the plate full of bacon and eggs that Ansel slides in front of me. Not to mention, the three ibuprofen he discreetly sets down beside my coffee.

  Ah, yes. Pain killers.

  He has literally thought of everything.

  I quickly down the pills, and my stomach growls hungrily at the sight of the delicious food. The eggs are fluffy and light and just what I need to cut through the consequences of the alcohol.

  “Breakfast is served.” He winks, and I giggle.

  “Thank you,” I say and pick up my fork. “This looks delicious.”

  He sits down beside me and digs into his food. He’s almost finished, and I’ve only managed four bites of eggs when I finally decide to address the big, fat elephant playing soccer with my mind.

  “So, uh, what exactly happened last night?”

  He glances at me out of his periphery as he takes a sip of coffee. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…how did I end up here?”

  “Oh.” He nods and sets down his mug. “You were a little too drunk last night to be on your own.”

  “God.” I drop my head to the counter and groan before looking back up to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry about that. If it’s not obvious, I almost never drink alcohol. Pretty sure my tolerance is equivalent to a toddler’s.”

  “No apology necessary.” Ansel chuckles, and a whole new set of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. I thought it’d be easy—that we would naturally segue into the conversation about whether anything physical happened. But we didn’t. And now I have to put myself out there all over again.

  Christ, Indy. You are banned from alcohol for the rest of your life.

  “So…uh…did anything…happen?”

  He searches my eyes for a long moment, and my breath freezes in my lungs.

  Oh God, I start to panic. Something happened.

  I swallow thickly and chew at the inside of my lip. Ansel finally sighs. “Besides you sleeping in my bed and me sleeping on the couch? No, Indy,” he says. “Nothing happened.”

  Okay, good news. I didn’t sleep with him.

  I expect myself to settle, to fall into the embrace of relief and breathe again. I mean, I should be happy nothing happened between us. Thrilled, even.

  But for some reason, I just feel even sicker.

  “You don’t need to feel bad or guilty, okay?” Ansel insists.

  His brown eyes are worried, and I get sucked so deep into them that I forget to answer.

  “Okay?” he asks again.

  “Okay.” I nod to ease his discomfort. “You didn’t have to give me your bed.”

  He shrugs. “It’s the only one in the house. I never got around to putting anything in the other bedrooms.”

  I manage a half smile.

  “Now, let’s just enjoy our breakfast, and when you’re ready to go home, I’ll give Hank a ring.”

  “Okay,” I repeat and lift a piece of bacon to my mouth for a bite.

  “But I should make it clear,” he continues with a secret smirk, “if you start going on and on about how awesome you think my brother is again, I might as well just give Hank a call now.”

  An abrupt laugh escapes my throat, and a bite of bacon shoots out of my mouth and onto the table. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean to do that.” I cover my mouth with my hand about two seconds too late, and it only makes me laugh harder.

  “Well, shit,” Ansel mutters through an amused chuckle. “You don’t have to spit your food out over it. I mean, I guess I can at least listen to what you thought of the concert…”

  I giggle-snort. “Just eat your breakfast and forget that ever happened.”

  “Okay, but before I do that, there’s something I need to do…” He grins and grabs a fresh paper towel from the kitchen counter.

  Two seconds later, that damn paper towel is tucked into my sweater like a bib.

  “There.” The handsome jerk grins. “Perfect.”

  And in an instant, I go from anxious and confused to smiling and laughing my ass off.

  All because of him.

  God, what is this man doing to me?

  Ansel

  “Look who finally decided to show up! And only twenty minutes late!” Bram bellows from inside my mom’s house the second I open the front door. He can’t even see me, but already, he’s laying into me. “Come inside, sweetheart, and grace us with your presence!”

  I laugh even though I’m the butt of the joke.

  In my defense, I didn’t mean to be late, but my mom and Neil’s house is an hour outside of the city, and I had a meeting with my accountant that lasted longer than I expected.

  I take my boots off just inside the door—a rule of my mother’s—and pad across the hardwood floor of the entryway in my socks as I make my way inside the house.

  “Ansel.” My mother’s gentle voice is music to my ears, and I smile when I find her standing in the kitchen, setting a pot roast on a serving platter.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “It’s so good to see you.” A smile lights up her face, and faint laugh lines make their appearance around her mouth. She steps toward me and wraps me up in a tight hug. “We’re just about ready to eat.”

  “Pretty sure you mean, we are ready to eat, but we’ve been waiting on Ansel to get here,” Bram chimes in, and our mom scowls toward him. “Guy gets his sight back, starts to paint again, has one successful show, and forgets all about the little people.”

  “Stop being so ornery, Abraham.”

  “Yeah, Abraham,” I tease. “Stop being such a prick around your mother.”

  “Ansel. Behave.”

  Thirty-four-years old and Della never hesitates to knock me or Bram
into line.

  The thought of it makes me smile. Even when you’re an adult, a grown-ass fucking man, you can still count on your mom to put you in your place.

  She may have a kind, sweet face and the voice of an angel, but if someone pisses her off, she’ll go from zero to rage in five seconds flat.

  She also runs a tight ship, and I have no doubt raising two rowdy, asshole boys only contributed to that.

  My stepdad Neil walks into the kitchen and gives me a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you, son.”

  “You too, Neil.”

  Neil Wallace has been my stepdad since I was ten years old.

  My mom and dad went through a messy fucking divorce when Bram was seven and I was nine, and thankfully, she met Neil about a year later.

  He is the complete opposite of my dad.

  Where Cal Bray is a self-involved, work-focused, money-hungry CEO and mostly absent from our lives, Neil is loving and family-oriented and supportive and would do anything for me, Bram, and my mom.

  The last time I spoke to my dad was about three years ago, and our conversation was short and distant and reaffirmed the status of our relationship—we don’t have one. And before that, it had been over two years since we’d spoken, and his urge to contact me stemmed from the accident.

  Bram, on the other hand, stays in frequent contact with him and occasionally updates me on his status. Last I heard, he’d followed his latest business venture—a profitable cellular company—to London and appeared to be making waves in the European market.

  As far as I’m concerned, Neil is and always will be the father in my life.

  “How’ve you been?” he asks and grabs a stack of dishes from the cabinet. “I’ve been following the buzz on your exhibition, and it sounds like everyone is loving your latest works.”

  “I can’t complain,” I say and take the dishes from his hands. “What about you? Everything going well with you and mom?”

  “Retirement is treating us well, and your mom’s found a new hobby.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  He nods. “Yep. Making lists of things for me to do around the house.”

  I chuckle. “Sounds like she’s keeping you busy.”

  “Yeah.” Neil smiles. Hell, he always smiles when he talks about my mom.

  “All right!” Bram hollers from the dining room. “It’s time to eat!”

  “Jesus, Bram,” my mom chides. “Do you have to be so loud?”

  “I’m a rock star, Mom,” he teases. “We’re supposed to be loud.”

  “Yeah, well, in this house, you’re my son. And right now, you’re too loud. We’re not trying to call the whole fucking neighborhood to dinner.”

  Neil and I walk into the dining room just in time to hear my mom dropping f-bombs. The three of us men grin and steal glances at one another.

  “Don’t even say it,” Della threatens. “Just keep your opinions to yourselves, sit your asses down, and enjoy this delicious meal I’ve cooked for you.”

  I set the plates on the table and do as I’m told, sitting my ass down in one of the dining chairs. Smartly, Bram and Neil do the same.

  Eager for the pot roast, carrots, and mashed potatoes with fresh biscuits, we all dig into the hot meal, and it doesn’t take long for me to remember why I love my mom’s cooking so much.

  Eventually, once we’ve showered Della with enough “this is delicious” compliments, she softens around the edges and is back to her sweet-as-honey self.

  “So, Mr. Rock Star,” Neil pauses and looks at my brother with a cheeky grin. “How was your concert the other night?”

  “Good. It’s a shame you and Mom couldn’t make it.”

  “We wanted to be there, sweetie,” Mom chimes in. “We tried to get back from Barbados in time, but our flight kept getting delayed.”

  Mom and Neil have spent the last two years of retirement being world travelers, scheduling a trip to a new destination every three months or so.

  “It’s okay,” he reassures, and a mischievous smile stretches across his face. “Ansel made it, and he brought someone with him…”

  I toss a glare in my brother’s direction.

  “Oh, really? Like a date?” my mom asks and Bram nods.

  “Yep.”

  “But Ansel doesn’t date…” Immediately, she turns her curiosity to me. “Who did you bring with you?”

  “Don’t get all excited. She’s just a friend.”

  Bram’s smile turns challenging. “Her name is Indy and she’s beautiful, and Ansel is completely smitten.”

  “I’m sorry, but did we somehow end up back in time? Because I swear to God that’s exactly what ten-year-old Bram would’ve said…”

  He just smirks. Such a fucking shit-stirrer.

  “You know,” my mom says with a wistfulness to her voice. “I knew there was something different about you, Ans. But I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. There is nothing different about me.”

  This is exactly why I didn’t want to bring up Indy at dinner.

  For one, I’m not in a relationship with her. And two, my mom gets far too excitable over any relationship prospects for her sons. If she could marry us off and get grandkids out of the deal, she would’ve done it five years ago.

  Sometimes, I wonder if my track record of never dating and being seemingly incapable of falling in love with a woman has fed into this. Sometimes, I also wonder if my DNA—specifically, those genes that came from my father—have fucked up my ability to commit to anyone.

  I’ve never been interested in progressing things past a short fling or one-night stand.

  Until now. With a woman who’s unavailable.

  “Yeah, there is…” My mom pauses, and her knowing gaze searches my face. “There’s a lightness to your eyes, and that signature scowl of yours is practically nonexistent.”

  “Do you want to know what she looks like?” Bram asks, but he doesn’t give anyone time to respond. “She looks exactly like the girl in the painting that people are going so crazy over.”

  My eyes skitter to Bram, and he smirks, mouthing the taunting words, I figured it out.

  Fucking nosy prick, I mouth back.

  “Ansel’s painting? The painting with the pretty, blue-eyed girl?” our mom asks, and my bastard brother keeps this insane conversation going.

  “That’s the one.”

  Della’s gaze shoots to mine. “Is she the girl in your painting?”

  I shake my head. “I met her after I painted it, Mom.”

  I know they say the truth will set you free, but in this case, the truth would only lock me inside an interrogation room with Della.

  “Talk about some coincidence,” Neil contributes, and my mother nods her agreement.

  And, like a fucking miracle, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out as if it is the one and only key to my eternal salvation.

  Incoming Call Nigel

  “Shit, sorry,” I mutter and hold my phone up in the air. “I need to take this.”

  “Ansel,” my mother sighs. “But we haven’t finished eating.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom—” I stand up from my seat “—but it’s important.”

  I’m not sorry. I’m fucking thankful.

  “Bullshit,” Bram mutters through a cough, but I flip him the bird and answer Nigel’s call by the third ring.

  “Hey, Nye, just give me a second,” I greet, immediately making a beeline for the entryway. But before I’m able to shrug on my jacket and step outside to take Nigel’s call, I don’t miss my mom saying, “I really hope I get to meet her.”

  Dammit, Bram.

  “All right,” my mother says, and I look up from my spot on the couch in their sun-room to see her standing in the doorway, her petite body wrapped up in a thick winter jacket, a scarf, gloves, and a hat. “I know you’re avoiding me.”

  “I’m not avoiding you.”

  It takes her all of two seconds to call
me out on my lie.

  “Yes, you are.” She grins, hands me a fresh cup of a coffee, and sits down beside me. “It’s thirty degrees out, and you’re sitting in the sun-room of all places. This is the coldest spot in the whole house.”

  “But the view is perfect.” I smile at her and make a show of looking through the large windows and out toward their backyard. The sun has set and the sky is dark, but the glow of the moon shimmers and shines off the lake I used to swim in as a kid.

  From where Bram and I are in the city, my mom and Neil live about an hour away, in a more suburban part of New Jersey. Every once in a while, the silence and serenity that comes with stepping outside of the hustle and bustle is a much-needed reprieve.

  For a long moment, we just sit side by side and drink from our mugs.

  Occasionally, my mother reaches out to pat my knee or my hand like only a mother can, but mostly, we just savor the quietness and the companionship of each other.

  That is, until her curiosity gets the best of her.

  “So, are you going to tell me about her?”

  An exasperated sigh leaves my lungs. “I think you’re being a little dramatic. There’s nothing to tell.”

  “I don’t think I am.” She reaches out and takes my hand into hers. “Can I meet her?”

  Her question makes me grimace. “It’s not that simple, Mom.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s not mine. She has a boyfriend,” I answer, even though it makes my chest hurt. “And we’re just friends.”

  “From what Bram told me, it doesn’t seem like you’re just friends.”

  I shake my head. My fucking brother. “Bram doesn’t know anything.”

  “Your brother knows a lot more than you think, Ans.”

  “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?” I ask on a laugh, and she has to fight her smile. “I mean, you’re saying Bram and knows a lot in the same sentence, and it just isn’t adding up right now.”

  “Okay, smartass.” She laughs and nudges my arm with her elbow. “Can I just say one thing, and then I’ll drop it?”