The Art of Us

by KL Hughes

  Alex closes her eyes as the memory bombards her. Exposed piping and ductwork. Sealed concrete flooring. Cheap plywood cabinetry all dressed up in a dark birch veneer. The loft was inside an old factory of some kind that had been converted into rental spaces. The landlord had never made much of an effort to take care of them. They were affordable, though, and that made all the difference. Still, it had taken several days of work and a few new appliances before Alex considered it safe and germ-free enough to eat and sleep in. “It had…character.”

  Kari’s soft, lovely laugh drifts in from the kitchen. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “No.” Alex runs a hand through her wild hair, her fingers snagging on a few tangles, before securing it in a puffy bun to let her neck cool off. “It was perfect for u—” She chokes as her eyes snap open and quickly forces a cough midsentence to cover her slip. “It was perfect for me at the time.”

  “I’m sure it was great.”

  Alex pictures the loft again in her mind, tries to run through each inch like a virtual tour. She used to do it a lot, especially in the months immediately following her move. It’s been a while now, though, and Alex can’t even remember when she stopped doing it. She never got far into any memory of that place before a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl popped up. It only seemed right, even if it was painful. That place was theirs.

  Even now, she barely gets five imagined steps through the door, the kitchen to her right and a long, colorful wall to her left, before the ghostly presence of arms she hasn’t felt in years slinks around her waist. Alex opens her eyes and kills the image. But not the feeling. Her stomach flutters, and her throat goes dry. She rests a hand over her eyes and lets out a quiet breath. “There was graffiti on the wall.”

  “Yikes. That would’ve had to go.”

  “That’s what I thought at first too.” Alex is thankful Kari is in another room, unable to see the smile teasing at Alex’s lips, the way she clenches her thighs together as she says, “It grew on me, though.”

  Alex pressed her lover’s back to the cool concrete wall and pumped quickly in and out of her, loud and wet with every thrust of her fingers. “All the ways I’ve imagined fucking you, and never once did I imagine doing it against a poorly painted image of an alien probing a cookie jar.”

  “First time for everything.” The breathless voice panted against her shoulder. Dark blonde hair rubbed along her jaw.

  “It’s staring at me.”

  Her girlfriend wrapped a leg around her waist. “Look at me, then.”

  Frowning, Alex kept her eyes on the wall, but she never once slowed the hand working between thick, trembling thighs. “It’s staring at me while it probes the cookie jar.”

  “And you’re staring back at him while you probe, uh, my cookie jar. He probably feels just as uncomfortable.”

  “It is a painting. It doesn’t have feelings.”

  A gasp sounded sharply against her ear as her girlfriend thrust down right when Alex thrust up, and her long fingers sank in deeper than ever.

  “Fuck.” Her lover grunted. “Less talking, more probing.”

  Alex laughed against her lips. “I love you.”

  “There isn’t a title card for this piece, Charlee.”

  Charlee turns, and freezes when she sees where Chris is pointing. The giant canvas, encased in glass, hangs in the center of the gallery’s main showroom. Chris glances down at the few remaining title cards in his hands while Charlee gapes at him, unable to make her voice work.

  “I’m sure I grabbed all the cards,” he says, thumbing through them. He’d asked to help set up for the weekend show, so Charlee had given him a few simple tasks. He wasn’t familiar with the layout of the gallery, which changed every time Charlee had a new show coming up. It was one of the reasons she’d bought the space—easy to transform. “It’s marked as number fourteen, but there isn’t a matching card. Did you make one?”

  Before Charlee can say anything, Chris looks up at the large canvas that doesn’t have a name and says, “Damn. This is huge. Is this the one that’s been keeping you out of bed all month?”

  Charlee’s throat is too dry for words, so she just nods.

  “It’s really good.” He steps a little closer to the glass casing. “The windows kind of look like the ones in your loft.” He points out the yellow glow in the painting. “There’s even an annoying streetlight shining in and everything.”

  “Um.”

  “The card’s my bad,” Cam says, climbing down from the ladder she was poised on. “I must’ve dropped it or something when I left the shop. It’s probably on the floor by the printer or still sitting in the tray. I’ll print a new one tonight and bring it in tomorrow before the show.”

  Chris nods. “Okay.” He glances past Cam to Charlee. “I’ll just finish up the rest of them, then, and then I gotta go, babe. I’m meeting the guys for drinks tonight, remember?”

  Charlee spurs herself into action and crosses the room to take the cards. “Actually, Cam and I can handle these last few if you want to go ahead. I know you wanted to shower before you went out anyway.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course.” She leans up to kiss his cheek. “Go ahead. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Let’s make it late morning. You know I always end up drinking a little more than I plan to. I’ll swing by your place around eleven.”

  “Okay.” Charlee nods. “Be safe.”

  “Always am,” he says with a wink, then drops a quick kiss to her lips before waving to Cam and heading out of the gallery.

  Once he’s gone, Charlee’s shoulders sag. She stares down at the name cards in her hands as Cam lets out a long, low whistle and crosses the room to stand beside her. “That was awkward.”

  “Yeah.” The single word stays thick in Charlee’s mouth, like something she needs to swallow.

  They stand together, staring up at the piece for a long time before Charlee finally says, “Do you like it?”

  “I think it’s incredible.” No hesitation, as though Cam has been holding in the words since the moment she first laid eyes on the piece. “The way the lines flow, and the way you’ve worked with the light. I mean, it’s beautiful. Not that that’s surprising. Your work is great, Charlee. It always has been.”

  “Well, maybe not freshman year,” Charlee says, and Cam grins.

  “Yeah, maybe not.” After a moment, she leans over and nudges Charlee’s side with her elbow. “I think I’ve seen way more of her body than I was ever supposed to, though.” She laughs, obviously trying to lighten the mood, and Charlee gives a wet chuckle in response.

  The silence seeps in again, and it’s like the past has suddenly drifted in through the cracks under the doors, invading every inch of the here and now.

  “It’s kind of haunting.”

  Charlee closes her eyes and nods. “You have no idea.”

  She feels Cam’s arm wrap around her. “You always painted her best, though.”

  Charlee sighs and leans into Cam’s embrace. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s ever going to stop feeling like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I lived my entire life in those four years that we were together, and now I’m just killing time.”

  “Until what?”

  “Until I die.” Charlee laughs, an empty sound, and wipes at her eyes. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel like all the good is behind me. I love Chris—I do—but I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this, you know? I know it’s not.”

  “Moving on isn’t supposed to be easy.”

  “That’s the thing, though, Cam.” Charlee shifts to look at her. “It’s been five years. That’s longer than we were even together. I mean, not by much, but still. I shouldn’t still be moving on.”

  Cam grabs the two old beanbag chairs they keep around du
ring setups for breaks. A few beans spill from one of the worn-out things as she drops onto it and motions for Charlee to do the same. She swipes a hand over her forehead, still slightly slick with sweat. “It took you years to even be able to start dating again, so give yourself a break. Baby steps. You’ll get there.”

  “I’ve been with Chris for eight months,” Charlee says. “And I still don’t love him the way I loved her.”

  Cam resituates herself on the beanbag so she is facing Charlee. “Look, you know I hate this emotional crap, but I can tell you’re in a rut right now, so I’m going to get stupid and sappy for a second, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I saw you two together, remember?” Reaching over, Cam pokes her knee, and Charlee can’t bring herself to look at her, so she just stares at her hands as they tangle together in her lap. “I was there for the epic gay fairy tale.”

  “Cam.”

  “Anyway, my point is that I saw you two together, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you never love anyone the way you loved her, the way you still love her. And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you can’t still be happy, but it’s something you might have to accept in order to actually be happy. You know, stop holding on. Stop comparing everyone to her. It’s not fair to you, and it’s definitely not fair to the people you date. And maybe… I don’t know, Charlee. Maybe that kind of love only happens once in a lifetime. So, if all you’re doing is waiting to feel that way again… I mean, I think you might always be waiting.”

  A quiet sigh eases free as Charlee tilts her head back and closes her eyes again. “Maybe you’re right.”

  They fall quiet, and after a while, Charlee nearly falls asleep, curled into her beanbag with Cam’s comforting presence nearby. She feels like she hasn’t slept in days. When Cam says her name, though, Charlee jerks and turns toward her. “What?”

  “You need to sleep.”

  “I know.”

  “Come on.” Cam pats her knee. “Let’s get you home.”

  As they pull themselves onto their feet again, Cam points to the centerpiece. “So, since you apparently never made a title card for this piece, and I know I didn’t, we should probably add that to the to-do list.”

  Charlee rubs at her eyes and yawns. “Yeah.” Her stomach sinks as she stares up at the painting.

  “What do you want to call it? You can’t just call it Alex, right?”

  Charlee flinches at the sound of the name. She lets out a hard huff of air as if those two syllables have somehow knocked the wind out of her. Her friends and family almost never speak it anymore, knowing the kind of pain it dredges up. Hearing it is always like a punch to the gut.

  She covers her eyes with one hand and shakes her head. “No,” she says, then changes to “I don’t know.”

  Behind her hand, she blinks until the stinging in her eyes stops. “I really don’t.”

  Chapter 2

  Charlee bounced on the balls of her feet in front of the small corner building. The Sold sign in the window shined like a beacon in the winter sun, and she kept pointing at it. Each point and nudge made Alex’s smile grow a bit more.

  “I’m so excited I could puke,” Charlee said, leaning into Alex’s chest.

  “Please don’t.” Alex wrapped her arms more firmly around Charlee’s waist, chin resting on her shoulder as they stood on the sidewalk and stared. They trembled, shifting on their feet to keep warm, but Alex couldn’t bring herself to make Charlee move. Her girlfriend was too excited.

  “We’re outside,” Charlee said. “It’d be fine. I’m sure people puke on these sidewalks all the time.”

  “I’m sure the people who don’t vomit on the sidewalks all the time would greatly appreciate it if the people who do would stop.”

  “They might make an exception for a ridiculously excited amateur artist who just bought her first gallery space.”

  Alex smiled against Charlee’s shoulder and kissed the fuzzy material of her coat. “I don’t think they would.”

  “You’re killing my buzz, babe.”

  “I’m very excited, Charlee.”

  “Me too.” Charlee turned just enough in Alex’s arms to look back at her and kiss the underside of her jaw. “I mean, it’s crappy and small and in need of a ton of work before it’s ready, but it’s mine.”

  A large chunk of the money left to Charlee in her father’s will bought the small space, with a little left over for fixing it up and replenishing her art supplies. Alex had been with her every step of the way, from the moment they saw the For Sale sign in the window to the moment Charlee’s mother curled her lip at it because there was rat poop in the corner and one of the windows was cracked. She stood by as Charlee signed her loopy signature atop a dotted line, and she was with her now, holding her as they stared at the sign that they knew meant, even if in only the smallest of ways, that Charlee Parker had arrived.

  “It will be perfect.” Alex tightened her hold. “It will.”

  “Cam’s going to freak.”

  “Cam’s going to groan when she sees all the work that needs to be done.”

  “True, but she’ll freak first.”

  “Perhaps she’ll vomit.”

  “Maybe she will. You never know.” Charlee squeezed Alex’s hand as they swayed together on the sidewalk. “You should join the club. You’re going to be the only one not vomiting out of excitement. I’d hate for you to feel left out.”

  “I’m vomiting in spirit.”

  Laughing, Charlee whirled in her embrace and slung her arms around Alex’s neck. “This’ll work, right?” The words puffed between them, a white ball of fog. “I’m going to be somebody.”

  “You already are.” Alex reached up with a gloved hand to push a few wild strands of hair behind Charlee’s ear. “You’re the best somebody I know. But yes, Charlee, you are going to be very successful.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I really do.”

  Alex’s throat is tight, too tight, as she stands on the sidewalk and stares at the small corner building. The sweet smells of baked goods filter out into the air when the door opens with a jingle and a man walks out with a white paper bag sporting a logo that reads Off the Wheaten Path. Her stomach clenches as she watches through the large glass windows. People line up at the counter inside, ordering their gluten-free baked goods, and for just a moment, Alex thinks she might be sick.

  Closing her eyes, she tries to imagine the paintings on the walls; the laughter of a girl on top of her as they lay on a pallet on the floor, paint-covered and exhausted; the smiles on their faces when the first piece sold and how they never wanted to hang another in its place.

  It all scatters and drifts away like a dandelion in the wind when she opens her eyes again. Gone. It’s all gone.

  She’s gone.

  Alex swallows down the feeling and forces herself to turn from the building. Makes her feet move, carry her off. Away.

  The sudden ring of her phone startles her, and she nearly drops it when she pulls it from her pocket with gloved hands. As she gets a steady hold on the device, she checks the caller ID and rolls her eyes.

  “I’ll be there shortly,” she says when she answers.

  “Well, at least you’re alive. My mind was going to morbid places, like finding you under a car in the middle of the street somewhere or caught in the dawn of a zombie apocalypse that hasn’t reached my side of the city yet. Oh, or mauled by a rogue bear that decided to wander its way into the—”

  “Don’t be dramatic, Vinaya.”

  “You’re fifteen minutes late,” Vinny says. “And you’re never late. I would call that being sensibly concerned, Alex, not dramatic. And don’t call me Vinaya.”

  Alex clears her throat and reaches up to rub at her eyes, blaming the ache in them on the cold despite knowing better. “It’s your name” is all she says before ending the c
all and shoving the phone back into her pocket.

  She gives one last glance over her shoulder. Another person exits the bakery, and it leaves Alex breathless, like a weight has dropped onto her chest. She heaves out a hard breath before tucking her chin down and picking up her pace.

  When she reaches the café, she finds Vinny outside in the cold, leaning against a brick wall with a smoking cigarette pinched between her lips. Clad in a dark denim jacket with a gray fur collar, Vinny is as fit as ever. Long and lean, lanky like Alex. Her dark blonde hair, streaked with blue, falls over her shoulders in loose waves. Skinny jeans that are shredded along the knees tuck down into her heavy, black motorcycle boots. Her Harley sits at the curb less than thirty feet from her, gleaming in the bright winter sun. At the sight of her, Vinny flicks her cigarette to the ground and scoops Alex up in an aggressive hug.

  Alex releases a light laugh, the sound strained by the force of Vinny’s embrace. Her arms are stiff at her sides, trapped by her sister’s. “Since when are you such a fan of physical affection?”

  “Since I haven’t seen you in forever.” Vinny drops Alex abruptly to her feet, catching her by the arm when she stumbles. “But if you want to be rigid and unloving, fine. I won’t cry about it.” She chokes back a fake sob. Alex scoffs at her as they make their way inside the café.

  “So, you finally come to visit me after five years,” Vinny says when they finish ordering and take their seats at a small window table. “And all it took was your company deciding to open a new branch here and sending you to run it. In other words, you had no choice in the matter. I feel so loved.”

  “I’m only one of the people running it, and we saw each other more than once in the last five years,” Alex says, and Vinny pins her with a hard stare. “Besides, we talk on the phone nearly every day. We don’t even have to catch up, because we’re already caught up.”

  “Yeah, but talking on the phone and actually seeing each other are two very different things. And we only saw each other the few times we did because I am the only one of us capable of purchasing a plane ticket.”