A Colorful Life: Drawn in Broken Crayon

by Melissa Storm

  Kashi brought a variety of home remedies and a hearty dose of affection her way. Since there would be no more encore performances until Daly was at least partially recovered, they took to snuggling together beneath the quilt on Kashi's queen-sized bed and telling each other all about their lives before they'd met.

  This too suited Daly just fine. She loved being coddled by the man she was crazy about, and soon fondness melded into love.

  She recognized the change Thursday afternoon, when Kashi was spoon-feeding her piping hot Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup, patiently offering her each mouthful, and not complaining in the slightest when the liquid dripped onto his outstretched palm. His almond eyes held so much compassion, care, and worry; she couldn't help but get lost in them.

  Daly had always assumed real heart-pumping love didn't exist. After all, her relationship with Rick was built on pragmatism more than passion. Even though she knew opening herself up to love meant opening up to pain and heartache, she did so effortlessly with Kashi. She'd fallen hard and fast, never doubting this was what fate—or God, or the universe at large—intended for her.

  It didn't matter that they'd only been in each other's lives a short time, or that they came from two entirely different worlds. His playful, fun-loving antics provided a balance to her more restrained ways. Having Kashi by her side made Daly believe that one day, she too could live freely, just as she'd always wanted.

  And while he hadn't voiced those three little words yet—hey, she hadn't either—Daly sensed he felt the same way. He took such good care of her, and constantly compared her to the family he loved back home.

  "Everyone else is so far away—7,500 miles far. But you're right here." He drew her head to his chest, and together they watched House Hunters International visit the French countryside.

  ***

  They holed-up in Kashi's tiny condo for nearly a week. Daly only left twice to attend class. Meanwhile Kashi worked his daily shift at the pharmacy, immediately returning to her side each evening. Not once did Laine call to check in on her, even though she'd all but disappeared for days on end.

  Still, Daly refused to let her mother's coldness blot out her new boyfriend's warmth.

  Instead, she widened the gap even farther, sneaking home at a time she knew her mother would be out for her weekly volunteer shift at the battered women's shelter. She only needed five minutes to grab her sketch pad, charcoals, and a fresh change of clothes. Kashi's oversized sweats had been fine, but she missed wearing her own things—and, besides, she wanted to look good for him.

  She returned to Kashi's condo after a quick trip to the dollar store to purchase dozens of tea light candles.

  "I'm back!" Daly used her hip to push the door open.

  Only silence greeted her. He was supposed to be at home prepping for their session.

  "Hello? Where's my handsome model?"

  Kashi sighed and peeped out from the bedroom doorway, wearing a blue terrycloth bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do." He leaned into the frame and used one plush rabbit to scratch at his calf.

  Aww, he's nervous. Daly giggled, but quickly discovered that her glee only deepened his insecurity. "You don't need to do anything. Just relax. Here, I'll set up the couch for you. This will all be over before you know it."

  She gave him a reassuring peck on the cheek, and then spread a black satin draping over the loveseat.

  He stayed glued to the doorframe, watching her work.

  "Come over here. Make yourself comfortable." She patted the couch and motioned for him to join her.

  His gaze flitted between her and the floor, but he eventually gave in, dawdling over, then sinking onto the couch, still fully dressed.

  "You know you've got to strip, right?" She removed the countless candles from the grocery bag. She tried not to add to his embarrassment by staring, but it was hard not to look.

  Kashi groaned but obediently untied his robe and let it fall to the floor—then sprang up to retrieve the fallen garment and place it over the arm of the nearby recliner.

  This wasn't exactly how she pictured seeing him naked for the first time, but she loved that the whole situation was so uniquely him. To suppress her urge to laugh, Daly immersed herself in roaming around the room and placing the tea candles in what she thought would create the optimal lighting. She set the last little candle on top of a dining chair and traced the projected path of life with her fingers. Not quite right, but when she moved the chair about half a foot to the left, the scene was perfect.

  "Ready to get started?" She turned to look at Kashi after several minutes of intentionally avoiding him.

  He sat perched in the middle of the couch with his legs crossed. The top one twitched in time to some internal melody only he could hear. His hands were folded loosely on his lap, resting on the pillow she had given him. His dark eyes were flooded with anxiety.

  "Hey, what's wrong? Don't be nervous! It's just me, baby."

  "It's not you." He uncrossed his legs and exhaled, diverting his gaze to the corner of the room. "It's the situation. This is too weird." He fidgeted in his seat, and uncrossed and re-crossed his legs several times before continuing. "I mean, this portrait.... You are going to show others, right?"

  Daly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, that's the plan, since it's going in my scholarship portfolio and all."

  He stifled a cough. "Do I need to be naked, though?"

  "Well, I need to include a nude piece and, naturally, you're my top candidate." She plopped down onto the couch beside him and offered a peck on his cheek.

  "I'm not worried about the graduate committee," he groaned. "My fear is, what if your mother sees this? What if my mother sees this? I'd be so embarrassed!"

  He's kidding, right? He's got to be kidding.

  But Kashi's sullen expression said otherwise.

  "Hey, c'mon! I'm not going to show a naked picture of my boyfriend to my mom. And how will your mom see it? She's in India, and I'm here. I've never even met her."

  He bit his upper lip and glanced up at her through a thick cover of lashes. "I guess. But do you promise not to show it to anyone we personally know?"

  "Kashi, I promise. Really! Not like I'm going to meet your mother for the very first time and say, 'Oh, by the way, your son is an amazing nude model. Want to see?'" She laughed, but Kashi did not join her.

  "I won't show anyone besides the graduate committee, I swear." She brought her hand to her chest and drew an imaginary X. "Cross my heart."

  "Well, since you promised...." He forced a grin and repositioned himself to lie stiffly across the sofa, with the pillow tilted in front of his crotch.

  "Good, but loosen up a bit. Here, let me help you." She rolled him over and massaged his neck and shoulders.

  "Oh, that's good," he moaned.

  "Relax. Everything will be fine." She leaned into his back and placed a wet kiss on his cheek.

  By the time she pulled away, he was appropriately loose and limber. She blew him a kiss and walked over to her canvas, but he wouldn't let her get away. Cupping her thigh with his hand, he drew her back to him.

  "Not so fast." He pulled himself into a sitting position and motioned for her to join him on the sofa.

  "Hey, but we just got you loosened up," she whined.

  The seriousness behind Kashi's eyes shut her up quickly. He reached over and grabbed both her hands. "I want to tell you one thing, before you start drawing and I start modeling in silence." He brushed a few loose strands of her brown hair away from her face. "I don't know the rules, and maybe it's too early for me say this, but I just wanted to tell you, I... I love you."

  Her breath caught, but she managed to whisper, "Really?"

  He nodded, grinning.

  "Oh, well, that's good," she said casually, and paused a beat to tease him. "Seeing as I love you, too."

  ***

  Later that night, Kashi and Daly sat on that same sofa; her feet sprawled across his lap as they feasted on chicken
chow mein and Szechwan tofu. Kashi appeared to be an old pro at using chopsticks, while Daly struggled; Laine had never let her eat Chinese food at home—something about MSG.

  Kashi was always bringing home the most delicious—but oily—flavor combinations. Laine would pitch a fit if she found out. Daly's health was the one thing Laine actually seemed to care about.

  Daly didn't want to think about nagging mothers or lost fathers, though. This evening was about her and Kashi, and their respective dreams for the future.

  "Well," she said, "first I have to nab this scholarship, then I'll go to school for a few more years, but one day...." She eyed Kashi with bubbling excitement. "I see myself in a swanky New York studio with art dealers, collectors, the works. My goal is to have my first exclusive show before I hit thirty. Think I can do it?"

  "Yeah. Of course, you can," Kashi exclaimed. "And since I work for a big chain pharmacy, it's easy for me to move from one location to the next. In other words, you're stuck with me."

  Daly's heart swelled. She'd much rather be stuck with Kashi than her mother. Ugh, back to thinking about her again. What's wrong with me?

  Kashi had no idea about her internal self-abuse. He sure knew how to live in the moment, and she envied him for it.

  "Most probably, I will always be working as a pharmacist, even with a curved spine and a full head of white hair. I'll need to focus really hard to keep my hands from shaking while filling the 'scrips." He shook his hands in imitation of the charming old man he'd one day become.

  Daly giggled furiously. "You love your job that much?" She tried three times, but failed, to pick up the last of the chow mein with her chopsticks.

  "I love healing, knowing all the options. Yes, I do fill the 'scrips assigned by the doctor, but when a patient comes in for a consultation, I can suggest a homeopathic or ayurvedic remedy, something milder with fewer long-term effects. Why prescribe Klonopin for stress when a hot bath and some meditation might work just as well? I like tackling a problem from all angles. Keeps me sharp."

  Daly finally gave up with the chopsticks and held the white paper container to her lips like a cup, forcing the pesky noodles to slide straight into her mouth.

  "I never thought about all that," she said, swallowing. "If I get sick, I take whatever pill you're supposed to take. I don't think about it much more than that. But you're right. I did get over my cold pretty fast thanks to all your home remedies, or maybe thanks to all your special attention."

  "See? My methods work." He puffed up like a rooster.

  "Yeah, I guess they do. So what else do you want to do? Besides being married to your work at the pharmacy until death do you part?"

  He didn't hesitate. "Close your eyes and imagine this—a big estate in the country, lots of land, an enormous house big enough for the whole family to live in comfortably. And a dog—definitely a Labrador, a black one. Oh, and with peacocks free to roam the property and to dance when it rains."

  Daly opened her eyes and beamed at him. "Sounds wonderful. Pretty typical of the American dream, except maybe for the peacocks, but I'd expect no less of you." She gave him a playful shove, but his expression remained serious.

  "Yes, so you are okay with the whole family living together?"

  "Of course, you, me, the hypothetical kids, the Labrador, and peacocks. One big happy family!" She slapped her knee; the thought of including peacocks in the vision of her future family was hilarious.

  "Well, almost.... You are forgetting Mummy-Papa. My parents."

  One look at his hopeful expression made it clear that he wasn't joking. "Your parents?" She frowned. "Why would your parents live with us? Are they sick or something?"

  "No, they are very well. But they must live with us, you see. In India, the eldest son is responsible for looking after his parents. They give so much to the kids when growing up, it only makes sense for us to care for them in their old age."

  "I've never heard that before, but things are pretty different over here. Kids grow up hating their parents, and then at some point, if things go well, they may become friends. Maybe...." She trailed off before attempting a bit of humor. "Still, when the 'rents get old, we toss them in a home."

  Kashi didn't even pretend to find her statement amusing. In fact, his dark eyes seemed almost fierce.

  "Um... where they can be looked after by professionals trained in treating the elderly, of course," She backpedaled.

  "No," Kashi said, his usually serene expression shifting into a grimace. He shifted his eyes from Daly to a spot on the floor. "My parents need me. I am the only son with three sisters. The responsibility falls to me, and I am glad for it. They've given me everything. Papa worked so hard to save every bit of money he made, so I could come to the U.S. for my studies. He had to save for years, but he was happy to do it. And Mummy, she has made me the man I am today. I am everything because of her." He returned his steady gaze to Daly.

  She wanted so badly to look away, to change the topic, but he clearly wasn't going to let that happen. As a compromise, she fixed her eyes on his nose. I love him—I know that—but to have to live with someone's mother my whole life? Is he worth it? As much as she enjoyed their whirlwind romance, this seemed like far too much, too soon.

  He pressed her harder, determined to get an answer. "Without her, I would not be the sweet, cute, loving Kashi you so enjoy today."

  She made one last attempt to redirect the conversation. "Wow, I didn't realize what a mama's boy you are."

  "So what's wrong with that?" The air around them felt charged with static electricity. "I think if someone does not love their mother, that is very sad and disgusting. How can one grow if not for a mother's love?"

  Ouch, that hurt. Daly fell silent and twisted the empty chopsticks in her hands.

  Kashi huffed and shoved a large piece of tofu in his mouth.

  They had to get past this. It was too soon to lose him. "You're right," she conceded, placing her hands on each of his knees and rubbing little circles into them. "I'll keep more of an open mind about your parents living with us one day, okay? But I definitely have to meet them first before officially agreeing!"

  "Absolutely, and you shall." A conspiratorial flash shot through his eyes. "Hey," he shouted, "I still haven't met your mother. I've got to meet her first, don't I? It only makes sense. I mean, she lives just a few minutes from here."

  "Yeah, I guess you should meet her, but...."

  "But nothing. I've got to meet your mother. Pick a date. Right now. It's okay, I'll wait."

  "Okay! Jeez." She gave him a shove that was only partially playful. "You can meet her next week, for Thanksgiving."

  "Okay!" he gently shoved her back. "Then it's decided."

  Daly shook her head. "Fine, fine. But it's just a small get-together. Don't expect anything fancy."

  Chapter 11

  Thanksgiving has a funny way of putting life into perspective.

  Laine peeled the last potato and dropped it into the boiling pot with the others. She rinsed her hands under the faucet and smiled to herself. Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday, because it meant lots of healthy cooking. She always awoke early to get everything done. Daly never appreciated her hard work in the kitchen, but the residents at the battered women's shelter were a different story.

  Each year, she prepared a half-dozen of her famous pies, and joined the women while they shared their stories of triumph over pain. They'd all been through hell, but rather than becoming bitter, they were thankful to have emerged, and stronger at that. No longer defined by their misfortunes, they were survivors, now and forever. That's what Thanksgiving was all about.

  This year, she was stuck. Meghann would be joining her and Daly for dinner, and so would the man Daly had recently started dating. This likely meant a long, chit-chatty meal that would cut into her plans at the shelter. Rather than let anyone down, she chose to deliver her pies in the late morning, along with a note of encouragement and her condolences for not being able to attend. Then she sta
rted in on a bottle of Chardonnay while she focused on preparing the traditional home-cooked turkey dinner for her guests.

  Funny, even her daughter seemed like a guest. Laine had hardly seen her these past few weeks. How could she blame Daly for choosing new love over awkward silence? Laine was not the type to gush and giddily demand every last detail. She more took after Jean Valjean—a well-intentioned parent watching from the distance. Too bad her daughter saw her as the wicked stepmother stereotype from every fairytale she'd ever read.

  Laine knew little about the budding romance, even though Meghann and Daly had gossiped while the three worked to prepare the picnic date menu. She let the girls chat while she focused on getting the food right—her best way to help, anyway.

  Daly would have viewed any questions as intrusive. Was it bad Laine didn't entirely care to learn about her daughter's new beau? She was happy Daly had found someone, but why did she need to know his occupation or favorite color? Not as if her opinions would have any impact on Daly's dating choices.

  Still, she wished she could at least remember his name. The girls had repeated it over and over that day—the last day Laine had any contact with her daughter for weeks—but it was an unusual or otherwise difficult name. Did it start with a C? She just couldn't remember.

  Oh well, I'll just have to make a point of learning his name and a few other choice details over supper. Enough to show Daly I paid attention to all her chatter.

  She had been in love once. Contrary to what Daly thought, Laine was not cold and uncaring. She loved too much, if such a thing was possible. Raised in a stoic, old money family, she hadn't always been that way. In fact, she was so emboldened by her liberal feminist rebellion, marriage once seemed like a remote possibility. She didn't need a man to complete her. Then she met Oliver, and that all went straight out the window.

  He appealed to her intellect, and an area of her anatomy she preferred not to discuss. He was a free thinker like her. While Laine constantly struggled to change the world through protest and education, Oliver believed life was perfect in the here and now. He said thoughts created one's reality, not circumstances. "You can never be an effective instrument for change," he'd said, "until you are first happy with yourself. What are you running from?"