Authors: Andrea Simonne
***
The next day it’s as if a fire has
been lit beneath me. The haze is gone and everything is crystal clear. I feel
inspired and alive and ready to take on the world. I start downloading all the
photos from my camera, one by one, sifting through them with the biggest smile
on my face.
Pictures of Dublin and an Irish
Christmas.
It’s the pictures of Declan that have
captured my attention the most. Declan with his beautiful smile. I feel
inspired in a way that I haven’t in years, in a way that I don’t think I ever have.
I spend the entire weekend
stretching canvas, mixing paint, manipulating the images in Photoshop. When
Monday morning rolls around I get ready for work and it isn’t until I’m in the
office that I realize what I’m planning to do, that I finally get it.
All the things that Declan has been
trying to tell me for so long, I finally understand.
Greg is shocked when I inform him
that I’m quitting.
“You can’t,” he sputters. “I just
gave you a vacation and a promotion and a raise! Who the hell do you think you
are? You can’t just walk out of here!”
“Watch me,” I smile.
Back at my house I study the bones
of the pieces I’m putting together and I have this sense of rightness. I know I
should be afraid. I just quit my job, and even though Declan told me he’d hire
me, it’s not going to be much money. I’ll be forced to find work as an artist,
and this thought only makes my smile grow wider.
The next couple of weeks are spent
in a blur of activity, barely sleeping or eating. It’s like the outside world
doesn’t exist, I’m so completely focused. Years of creative energy I’ve kept
bottled up inside is pouring out of me.
There have been plenty of phone
calls from Suzy, Lauren, and my parents. I assure them all that I am okay, that
I’m doing what I need to right now. They all seem to sense the change in me and
that I require this time to myself.
The only person who hasn’t called is
Declan. Before I left Ireland he told me that he’s not coming for me again. That
next time I have to go to him. I knew what he meant, that the next move has to
be mine. And I know now that I want to go to him, I do, but I’m still not
ready. I need to finish these paintings. I need to show him what he means to
me. I just hope he hasn’t given up on us.
Finally when I’m ready, I call
Anthony and ask him if his offer to have my own show still stands.
“For you girlfriend, always. I’m
curious to see what you’ve been working on.”
I grin and tell him to come over
and bring a bottle of wine.
***
I’m nervous the night of the show.
Anthony and I threw it together quickly, and I’m worried it won’t go over well.
I’ve invited so many people. I’m putting it all on the line tonight.
The pieces are good though—the best
work I’ve ever done.
Tonight the person who matters the
most to me is Declan. It’s been almost a month since our time in Ireland and I
still haven’t heard anything. When I sent him the invitation for the show I
wrote on it—I miss you, please come—but he never responded. I’m worried that
he’s decided not to wait for me any longer.
I glance down at my white t-shirt
and faded jeans and consider changing my clothes. Anthony was surprised when he
saw what I was wearing, but I decided that I want my work, not me, to be the
center of attention tonight.
“Actually,” he decides, checking
me over, “I love it. You look like you don’t give a damn and that is
so
in right now.”
I smile, shaking my head. “But I
do
give a damn. I just want to be comfortable.”
“Well, we won’t tell anyone that.”
“You’re nuts,” I laugh, “but I
can’t thank you enough for doing this for me.”
“Please,” he grabs my hand, “don’t
you even say another word. I always said you were the one with the real talent
and I was right. My jaw fell open when I saw what you’ve been working on. And
let me tell you, my jaw is generally nailed shut.” He looks around at all my
paintings. “It’s poetry. Pure and simple. It’s a love poem.” He smiles at me
sympathetically and squeezes my hand. I’ve told him all about Declan and how I
haven’t heard from him. “I sure hope he shows up to see it.”
“Me too.”
I spend some time alone before the
show, walking around, gazing at every painting, and I realize that Anthony is
right; each one of them reveals my heart. I can’t believe I’ve laid it out so
clearly. The Kate from months ago wouldn’t have been brave enough, but this new
Kate has finally learned a few things about life and love.
As the gallery doors open and
people start mulling around I hang back, watching their reaction. And I’m relieved
to note that it’s good. Most people are enjoying themselves.
When Lauren and Suzy arrive they
both hug me, though Suzy’s belly is definitely getting in the way these days. She
tells me how she’s been using the ‘Siobhan technique,’ which I told her about
when I came back from Dublin.
“Siobhan is a genius!” Suzy says.
“I only hope I can meet her some day and thank her in person. It really works.
Let me tell you
nobody
gets in the way of a pregnant lady with an
attitude.”
Lauren comes back after grabbing a
glass of wine for herself. “These paintings are amazing Kate! Now I understand
why we haven’t seen you in weeks. I never knew you were such a talented
artist.”
“Thank you.”
“They’re for Declan, aren’t they?”
I nod.
“Any sign of him?”
I sigh. “Not yet, but the evening
is young.”
“He’ll be here. I have a good
feeling about this,” Suzy says. “He’d be a fool to give up on you so easily and
he doesn’t strike me as a fool.”
I look around the room, hoping
she’s right. The show started an hour ago and he still hasn’t arrived. I smile
and wave at a couple of friends, as I walk around the gallery, saying hello to
everyone. There are a surprising number of people here that I don’t know.
Apparently Anthony has done a decent job of getting the word out. I give my
parents a hug when I spot them over by a painting inspired by the Christmas
lights of Dublin.
“Kate, I’m so proud of you,” my
mom says. “I should have encouraged you to stick with your art. I don’t know
what I was thinking all these years. This is so right for you, Sweetheart.”
“Thank you. But I had to come back
to it on my own.”
My dad takes a sip of wine. “Your
friend Anthony just told us the art critic from
Seattle Times
is planning
to stop by tonight.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.” I’m
surprised. Anthony told me that he’d emailed her some jpegs of a few of my
paintings, but we both figured it was a long shot.
When I see Anthony coming out of
his office I go over and ask if it’s true.
“It’s true.” He grins widely. “And
I have to tell you something else too. We’ve already sold two of the pieces and
I have an offer on a third!”
I’m too stunned to speak. “That’s
great.” I finally manage to say.
“This is one of the best first
shows I’ve seen in a long time,” Anthony tells me. “Your stars are certainly in
alignment tonight!”
“Yes, they must be.”
I know I should be thrilled that
things are going so well tonight. It really does feel like my stars are finally
lined up. There’s only one problem. The man who opened my eyes to the stars is
nowhere in sight. I’m trying not to let it get to me, but it isn’t easy.
As the gallery crowd grows larger,
I find a quiet corner to sit and regroup. It’s on the second floor, but I can
still follow what’s happening below.
I sip my glass of wine, trying to
decide what my next step should be. I’ll go see Declan tonight, I decide. If he
doesn’t want me in his life I’d rather know right away than find out later.
As I’m thinking this depressing
thought, I see the
Seattle Times
art critic come through the door below.
She’s a tall woman with spiky red hair and looks to be about in her mid-fifties.
I’ve never met her, but I recognize her from her photo. I stand up and take a
deep breath. I know I need to go speak to her.
And then suddenly I see Declan.
He’s standing off to the side, talking to Anthony. He must have come in
without my even noticing. My breath catches at the sight of him.
For a moment I simply drink him in.
I can’t believe how much I’ve
missed him. He has on the same gray wool coat and blue scarf that he wore when
we strolled around Dublin together. My heart aches at all those wonderful
memories. I want to go to him and throw myself in his arms.
But as I’m standing there
watching, the oddest thing happens. He turns away from Anthony, walks towards
the gallery door and leaves. It happens so fast it’s almost like I imagined it.
I put my hand against the wall, ready to go after him before I realize I’ll
never catch up. I don’t even know which direction he went.
Did he see any of the paintings?
Why would he leave? I get a sinking feeling. He must not want to hurt me on
such an important night. That would be just like Declan. My stomach tightens. He
wouldn’t want to tell me it’s over and ruin my show.
I make my way downstairs, figuring
I’ll grab my phone and call him. Enough is enough. Give me my pain now.
When I get to the bottom, Anthony
motions for me to come over. He’s talking to the art critic and I can’t just
ignore them.
“Kate Alexander—the artist,” he
says introducing me. “Kate, this is Olivia Manning from the
Seattle Times
.”
“Hello,” I say, shaking her hand.
Anthony says he has a few things
to attend to and he’ll let the two of us chat. She asks me a few questions, and
I tell her about myself. I mention my Fine Arts degree from Pratt and that I
had another show in New York years ago, but that I’ve been out of the art scene
for a while. I’m trying to sound upbeat, but in truth I feel depressed and
distracted.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m all right. It’s been kind of
an emotional night for me.”
She nods. “That’s understandable.
Can I ask you something personal? The man in these paintings, clearly he’s
someone important to you. Would you mind if I spoke with him too?”
“We’re—well, I’m not sure what’s happening
between us right now.”
She seems to chew on this. “I’m
sorry to hear that.” And then she does something surprising. She tells me how
moved she is by my work. “I don’t usually tell any of the artists I meet what I
plan to write or how I feel personally, but when Anthony sent me your jpegs, I
have to tell you, I was caught up in them. You’ve done a beautiful job of portraying
joy and intimacy. So much of the art I see these days is oblique or
inaccessible, but these painting you’ve created are uplifting.”
My mouth falls open. “Thank you. What
an incredible compliment.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiles. “This
can be a cynical business, and sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here. Then
once in a while an artist comes along and reminds me of what it feels like to
be inspired.” She motions behind me. “And if I’m not mistaken, the object of
your
inspiration has just arrived.”
“What?” I turn around and there he
is again. Declan. He’s moving through the crowd towards me. Our eyes meet and I
feel a rush.
“Hello Kate,” he says in that
honeyed voice.
I breathe deeply. It feels so good
to have him close to me that I forget everything. All the people, the show, the
art critic. It’s just the two of us. The way it’s supposed to be. “Hi,” I say
softly. And then I remember myself. “Declan, this is Olivia Manning from the
Seattle
Times
.”
“Good to meet you,” he says
putting his hand out and I watch as they shake. My mind is racing as I’m trying
to understand what’s happening here.
Olivia gives me a knowing gaze and
excuses herself, saying she wants to look around a little more.
“I saw you earlier,” I say to him.
“But you left before I had a chance to talk to you.” My voice sounds accusing
though I don’t mean it too.
“I spoke to your friend Anthony
for a few minutes, but I couldn’t stay. It’s...I don’t understand what’s
happening between us. Why haven’t you come to me?” he asks. “It’s been almost a
month. I thought I made it clear when we were in Dublin. I thought you
understood how I felt.”
“I do understand. I’ve been...busy.”
“
Busy
?” He’s incredulous.
“That’s all you have to say after everything that’s happened between us—you’ve
been busy?”
I nod. “You haven’t seen the
paintings have you?”
“No, I only stayed for a few
minutes. I almost didn’t come here at all tonight. I—” Declan stops talking
and glances around uneasily. “It’s weird, but it feels like people are staring at
me.”
I noticed it too, that some people
had figured out who Declan was when they saw us together.
“Come on,” I reach down to take
his hand, “let me show you something.”
I lead him through the crowd of
people to my favorite painting. It’s one of Declan taken during our time at The
Clarence. It’s a portrait of him from right after our chess game.
“It’s me,” he says with surprise.
“You painted this recently?”
“Let me show you the rest.”
And so I take him around the
gallery and show him each painting. He’s in some of them and in others he’s an
implied presence. All the paintings are inspired in one way or another by our
time together in Dublin. He stops at one of himself in bed wearing a sensual
smile, while colorful city lights illuminate him.
“These are all of me,” he says
dumbfounded. “And would it be conceited to point out that they’re also fantastic?”
“I guess you could say I finally
got around to doing that portrait of you. I wanted you to know that because,” I
lick my lips and then I say it, “I love you.”
Declan turns to me then, his eyes
steady on mine as he purposefully steps in closer. “Say that again.”
I take a deep breath. “I love
you.”
He puts his arms around me and I
find myself gazing at his mouth, the smile that drew me in from the start. “Again,”
he breathes.
Our eyes meet as I willingly fall into
the abyss. “I love you.”
“You know what this means, don’t
you?” he murmurs.
“No half-hearted existence. No
half-lived kind of life.”
His gaze grows heated and then his
mouth is on mine, kissing me passionately, heedless to all the people around
us. I slide my arms around his neck and give in to the moment with abandon. At
some point we both sense that we’ve become the center of attention and pull
away from each other. Declan’s arm is still wrapped around me, holding me
close.
“I’m kissing my future wife I’ll
have you know,” Declan says to everyone’s stunned expression. And then there is
a murmur of approval and I hear someone say my name. There’s a few people yelling,
“Congratulations!” and “It’s about time!”
And when I look around I realize
I’m surrounded by family and friends and the timing of this couldn’t have been
more perfect. I see Suzy and Lauren in the crowd and before I know it we’re all
hugging one another. And then my mom and dad are there. My mom gives me a
knowing smile as both her and my father are hugging and shaking Declan’s hand.
“This is the one, Kate,” my dad
says to me with a wink.
The wine is flowing and Anthony
manages to produce a bottle of champagne from somewhere. Olivia raises her
glass to me and there are all sorts of people, some of them I’ve never met,
drinking and offering toasts to our happiness and I feel like I’m in a dream.
At some point I manage to tell Declan
that I quit my job.
“You’ll be marrying a starving
artist. I hope you know what you’re getting into.”
He looks around the gallery. “I
have a feeling you won’t be starving for long. And besides, you’re marrying an
Irishman. You do realize we’ll have to have the wedding in Dublin? We’ll hear
the outcry all the way over here if we don’t.”
“I won’t mind that at all.”
Declan takes my hand. “Tá grá agam
duit, Kate.”
“Is the food still delicious?” I
joke.
He pulls me in close and gives me
a wolfish grin. “You’re delicious and you’re all mine.”
“I’ve always been yours, even when
I didn’t know it.” I put my hand up to his face and in a soft voice I say it
too, “Tá grá agam duit—I love you.”