Letting You In

by Nora Flite

  “Don't,” she pleaded softly. “Don't tease me like that.”

  Gingerly, I leaned forward, placing a lingering kiss just above her brow. “That wasn't teasing. You really are amazing, Leah.” Does she honestly not know that? Even with as much as I've told her she is by now? Studying her face, the hard corners of her mouth, I let my arms wind around her waist. “You are beautiful, and wonderful, and clearly amazing. But,” I added, catching the wave of brooding disbelief sinking into her, “if you don't want to talk to anyone, you don't have to.”

  Leah was quiet, her hands hanging at her sides. Tugging her to me, the embrace was strong, quick. The flame of paranoia, that I had upset her, was growing inside me. I heard the laptop bag fall to the floor, forgotten. Lifting her hands, she rested them on my forearms, soothing my nerves. “Do you really believe all that?”

  “Completely,” I said, not flinching, not breaking from her stare.

  The way she blushed, so warm I could feel it without touching, I knew she had let herself accept my compliment.

  “Um,” she mumbled, pulling away, fiddling with her hair, “so, uh, we're really all set?”

  Even among her own art, does she not see what she can do? What she's worth? “Actually, there's one last thing, but it's small, hardly a big deal.”

  “What is it?” She asked, seemingly wary of a task that had been forgotten.

  The smile I graced her with eased the burden across her shoulders. “We need to open some wine.”

  ****

  Despite her, apparent, earlier worry on being social with strangers, Leah proved to hold up just fine as the night progressed. I watched her answer questions when people approached her, saw her stand surrounded in a circle while pointing to this or that. It seemed impossible for her not to delight the crowd.

  Sipping my glass of wine, tasting the tart flavor, I wondered if she would realize I'd gotten the exact style of bottle we'd enjoyed on our first date. It's fine if she doesn't, most wine tastes the same anyway. If it ended up being a private treat for myself to enjoy, I would live.

  Turning, I gazed at the nearest painting, eyeing the swirls of color, wondering what she had been thinking of when she had made it. Adjusting to how she zoned in on her work wasn't something I had managed yet, but I wanted to think that, given time, eventually I wouldn't be phased by it.

  Bethany critiqued my skills, ignored me, even. Leah doesn't do either, that should be enough of a difference. Shouldn't it?

  “Hey, Deacon!” Tim said, appearing at my elbow, sharply decked out in black and red, an outfit rivaling anything I could have put together. It wasn't like him to dress so stylishly, the mystery solved seconds later when I spotted Vanessa beside him. She was a vision of grace; glossy dark hair, lips crimson as cherries, and her dress even more so.

  She dressed him up, like when they used to date. Remembering those times, the awkward moments, I braced myself for them to act strangely. “Hey guys, glad you made it!” Did Tim take any of my advice to heart?

  “Good to see you, too,” Vanessa said with a sweet smile, wrapping me in a short, tight hug. It knocked my unease away, but left me more unsure than ever.

  Taking her hands, I gave them a squeeze, peering into her cheerful face. “Uh, how are you doing? Better?”

  “Much better,” she confided, glancing at Tim, then away deliberately. Any question I had of why she was in such a good mood was squashed.

  She stood back, gazing around at the art on the walls, blue eyes sparkling in amazement. “I haven't seen much of her art in so long. I don't remember her being this good, though.”

  Tim bobbed his head, agreeing as he gave an earnest chuckle. “Seriously, this is really amazing stuff. But, Deacon,” he mused, peering at me in confusion. “I was thinking about what you said to me the other day at lunch, that this used to be your gallery?”

  Doing my best to act nonchalant, I waved a have by the side of my head, grinning. “Of course, letting her use it was the least I could do.”

  “But why did you take your stuff down?” Tim squinted at me, his concern authentic. “Couldn't you have left your art up, too, and shared the space?”

  “Not really,” I said, refusing to admit the real issue.

  They didn't pry further, I was grateful for their lack of knowledge about art spaces.

  Vanessa pointed, tugging at Tim's sleeve. “Look, there's Leah, let's go break into the crowd and say hi to her.” He let her lead him on, smiling back at me, giving a tiny wave. I returned it, watching them get pulled into the growing group that was milling about by the far wall.

  Drinking deeply from my glass, the taste tart, lingering, I made myself look over Leah's artwork once more. Tim's question burned in my mind, the guilt from it all putting a cloud of somberness over my mood. His comment had been a fair one, hanging my own canvases in here with Leah's wouldn't, shouldn't, have been a problem.

  I thought about doing that originally. Then, I saw her work, and couldn't handle the idea of having mine next to it. The comparison would have shattered me. I hated how fragile my ego was becoming, hated the concept of being jealous of the woman I cared so much for.

  Forcing myself to study her art, how the curls of color melted, the blooms of dark and light, I took a critical eye. She makes mistakes like anyone else, if I look closely I can see the flaws, the spots she should have highlighted more. She uses an awful lot of black and purple... No, I realized, glancing along the wall, walking slowly as I moved from one piece to the next. No, she did, but here, she used less, and here...

  Like clouds parting, the clarity of understanding rolled over me. How had I not seen it before? So busy feeling depressed over what she was creating, I never let myself look at her paintings, never really saw them.

  Except for the first one, that one, I let myself really see. That one had been the darkest, that one...

  It had been the beginning for her. Like that, the theme of the gallery came to me, a thing Leah had never even put a name on. She'd told me I had a good eye for arranging her work, yet it had been purely an unconscious act to set them up as I had.

  Now, though, I stood in the room, looking at them all, grasping the meaning. The progression from shadow, from bruise colored purples, muddy yellows and rich onyx, to the flowing, bright splotches of green and blue. Leah had been painting her moods, her growth, a fact that had been entirely lost on me.

  Inside, I swelled with joy, glad no one was giving me much mind. I was sure the expression on my face was strange, overwhelmed.

  All along, she was painting what she felt. The more time she spent with me, the brighter, more cheerful the art became. How could I possibly have let myself feel bitter over this, over what she was making, when I was the muse bringing her the change that shifted the moods and colors?

  Smiling, a twist of my lips that didn't stop until my cheeks hurt, I gave a relieved laugh, covering my mouth to drown the sound.

  Bethany and Leah, they're nothing alike after all.

  ****

  Together, Leah and I watched the last of the attendees leave, our faces hurting from the number of smiles, polite comments, and laughs we had both been giving all night. Beside me, I sensed her relief as the last extra set of eyes was gone, her shoulders slumping downwards.

  “Are you alright?” I asked, scooping an arm around her, hugging her to my side. Naturally, her palm came to rest on my chest, sending tingles down to my toes.

  “Yeah, that was more exhausting than I expected, is all. Do you think anyone will buy my art?”

  “Of course,” I assured her, giving her head an affectionate ruffle. “How could they not?”

  Leah allowed a smile to shine, peeking up at me before pulling away. I almost didn't let her go, wanting to resist and keep her snuggled against me. She was insistent, though, and I saw why when she went to grab her laptop bag from where she had set it in the supply closet. “I wanted to email a friend,” she reminded me, sitting on the ground.

  “Which friend? You nev
er told me.” Kneeling beside Leah, my attention followed her as she set up the computer. The screen glowed bright, illuminating us in blueish tint.

  Without looking at me, she opened up her email, tapping away. “You don't know him, he's Owen's roommate.”

  “You're friends with his roommate?” I couldn't hide the agitation in my voice.

  She sent a questioning, unblinking look at me, filling my stomach with shame. “He was one of the first people to encourage me to break up with Owen.” Seeing my mortification, backing down in the face of her hard reality, Leah went back to clicking on the computer. “His name is Colby, and he—oh!”

  “What, what is it?”

  “He actually already sent me an email, I didn't even realize.” Caressing the keyboard, she frowned mildly. “Huh, he sent this earlier today. Let's see...”

  Together, we leaned close, heads almost touching while we read the message. It was innocuous enough, an email asking how she was, basic small talk. There was an off-hand mention about Owen, commenting that he'd seemed very upset lately, had even asked Colby if he knew where Leah had gone off to. He'd of course said he didn't, but admitted seeing Owen so agitated was nerve wracking. He ended it with a note that he hadn't seen Owen since yesterday morning, how he found it sort of worrying. The last paragraph was an innocent, rambling notation about how the weather had been very cold lately, they'd already gotten some snow, and did Leah plan to come back for Christmas at all?

  Christmas, I didn't realize how soon that was coming up.

  Peering at Leah from the corner of my eye, I noticed her biting her lip, her face strangely vulnerable. “Hey,” I said, getting her to look at me, “are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said quickly, pushing her hair behind her ears, acting almost apologetic. “Was it weird for you to read that?”

  “No, of course not,” I laughed. “Why would it be?”

  “I don't know,” she mumbled, lips crinkling into a tight pucker. “Colby feels like a whole other world, a different life for someone else, does that make sense?”

  Unsure what she was trying to say, my fingers reached out, adjusting the neckline of her dress. “I'm guessing it was weird for you that I read it, am I wrong?”

  Turning pink, Leah ducked her head, shutting the computer, killing the electric light source. “Maybe.”

  “Hey. Talk to me, what's wrong?”

  “I don't even know,” she said, exasperated, hands shoving the computer in the bag. “It was just a strange moment. I thought about him dealing with Owen, that he'd get the brunt of the anger now, and I felt... I felt guilty, Deacon.” Looking up at me, her chocolate eyes twinkled, caught up in a wash of deep shame.

  Gently, I took the laptop bag from her, setting it aside. On the hard, cold floor, my arms pulled her against me, guiding her to my lap. She didn't protest, her body was shivering as I swaddled her closely. “You need to stop blaming yourself for what Owen did, or does. He's his own person, if he gets upset because of anything you did, it's his responsibility, not yours.”

  That gave her pause, though her voice was blunt, doubtful. “And if he hurts Colby, what then?”

  “What then? What do you think would happen? Are you going to blame yourself if Owen hurts anyone else, ever again?” Leah was on the verge of glaring at me, so I bent low, kissing her nose, enjoying her surprised gasp. “Do you think you're more responsible for him than he is for himself?”

  “...No,” she admitted quietly.

  “Then stop this,” I chided gently, holding her firmly in my arms, my cheek crushing to hers. “He's an adult, not a child. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she mumbled, her resistance still clear, but less strong.

  Something else is on her mind, but what?

  As if bidden by my unspoken thoughts, Leah peeked up at me, eyebrows bunched together. “He asked me about Christmas, what should I tell him?”

  “Do you want to go home for Christmas?”

  “I—I'm not sure.”

  Honestly, I don't think I want her to go back at all, ever. Thinking about spending anytime apart from her, it sent a surprising jolt of discomfort into my chest, the tightness halting my easy breathing. But it doesn't matter if she goes or stays here, I'm going home for the holidays like usual, aren't I? Just like that, the plan hit me, starting to form without any hint of being able to stop now that it had grown from a seed.

  Stroking my hand across her forehead, thumbing her earlobe softly, absently, I let the idea fall from my mouth before I could hold it back. “Come with me for Christmas.”

  Her body went stiff, like I'd turned her to ice. Roughly, Leah shoved herself out of my arms, half-falling onto the floor as she sat back on her knees. The look of fear, that wide eyed admission of incredulity, made my heart skip. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Come to Kentucky with me,” I explained, feeling awkward, unsure now that I could see her hesitancy.

  “You want me to meet your family? Deacon, that's...”

  Reaching out, I took her hands, but they were limp, sweaty. “Meeting my family, seeing the farm, you'd love it.”

  Shaking her head, she gave a weak, jaded laugh. “But would they love me? They don't know me, this is... this is too fast, isn't it?” I thought she might have a panic attack, her chest was fluttering rapidly. In my palms, her pulse was like gun fire.

  This was a bad idea. She doesn't want to go with me, she doesn't want to make that step. Do I, was it just a strange impulse decision to invite her?

  Leah stood, straightening her dress as if looking for an excuse to remove her hands from mine. “I think I should go back to Vanessa's, it's getting late.”

  It's getting late, does she realize how similar that is to what I told her once after our first date? “Alright. I can take you back, if you like.” Though she had bought a car, I'd still driven her to the gallery.

  She lifted her laptop bag, following me out while I flicked the lights off. In the dark, the gallery became all shadows, the paintings melting from view. Outside, the chill air tickled my neck, bringing a welcome moment of refreshing relief. It also calmed my heart, allowed me to wordlessly help Leah into my car and start the drive back.

  This isn't right, I thought desperately, why would she be so scared? I was sure things were getting more serious, is that the problem?

  Thinking about her reaction, her rejection of my offer, I tried to rationalize it. Working my brain over, I came to a few conclusions, but none of them left me confident in the situation. It wasn't until we pulled in front of Vanessa's place, Leah hugging her laptop close, that I felt sure enough to push forward with one of my worries.

  “Leah,” I began, my voice fragile, wobbling. She sensed it, I could tell, her eyes glimmering in the darkness of the car. “Where do you see this going?”

  “What—what do you mean?”

  “Us,” I explained, shifting to stare straight at her. Her skin was pale, porcelain that could crack any second. “Do you not think enough of our relationship to want to meet my family?”

  Her mouth fell open, lips promising words, but giving none. I had nothing else to add, hands tight on the wheel, squeezing so hard my knuckles drained of blood as I waited for her to speak. I refused to say anything else, this had to be on her.

  Leah reached across the seat, placing a trembling palm on my shoulder. “Deacon, I just need time to think. Okay?”

  My neck was solid steel, still, I forced myself to nod. What other option did I have?

  She said nothing else, though she seemed ready to. In the end, her laptop clutched protectively, Leah slid from my car, vanishing up the walkway. Once, before she rounded the corner, she cast a look back at me that was strangely bleak.

  Alone, I sat there in silence, staring at my fingers yet seeing nothing.

  What's wrong with me? Did I mess up somewhere?

  Clenching my eyes shut, so tight my temples throbbed, my forehead fell against the wheel solidly. The contact hurt, almost welcome when compared to how m
y gut was roiling, sharp and sour. It reminded me of the wine, the seed of doubt growing ever bigger. Yes, I must have misread everything. This wouldn't be the first time.

  Morose, I left that place with my engine rumbling in my head. I'd agreed to give Leah time to think about her answer, but in my heart, I felt sure I knew what it would be.

  ****

  My phone rang, and rang, and rang. Groggy, I fumbled for it in the dark of my room, partially asleep when I grabbed it finally. So tired, I expected it to be Leah when I answered, forgetting in my haze that she didn't have a phone still. “Hello?” I slurred, yawning.

  “Deacon?”

  That sharp panic, it belonged to Vanessa. In a rush, I sat up, coming awake with startling clarity as my intuition warned me something was wrong. “What is it, what's up?”

  “It's... Leah.”

  Oh god, Leah!

  Stumbling, tossing off my blankets, I jumped to my feet, slamming into my desk in the dark room. Ignoring the pain, I pulled open the curtains, illuminating everything in the light of the early morning. I didn't bother trying to hide my worry. “Vanessa, what happened, tell me what's going on.”

  “I don't really know, is the thing. I'm freaking out, I mean—like, five minutes ago or something, someone knocked on my door. It was someone looking for Leah.”

  My skin was cold, clammy, everything sticky with my unease. “Who was it?” I had a sickening feeling I knew.

  “Did she ever tell you about her ex?”

  “I'm coming over right now, stay there with her, Vanessa!”

  “That's why I'm calling,” she groaned, getting more high pitched as she went on. “I had to leave, I can't miss work, I'm heading there right now. But I'm worried, it's weird that he's here, I'm pretty sure Leah didn't ask him to come all the way to California. Can you go there, can you check in on her?”