From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (40 page)

“I couldn’t stop myself any longer.”

“Are you dating Dylan?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?” he asks.

“No.”

“What
do
you want, Jules?”

“You. I want you.” I ask, “Are we still a possibility?”

“I don’t know anymore. Seems like I went into everything so blindly before, so stupid, too fast.”

“You weren’t stupid. I let you down, hurt you when you only deserved to be loved.”

He interrupts, “You lied to me. You broke my trust. I don’t even know if you really loved me.”

His voice is clipped, making me feel desperate to hold onto him if only for a few more minutes.“I did. I still do. I’m so sorry, Austin. I can’t get back what we had, but I can make promises for any future you might give us.”

I hear him shuffle on his end before he says, “I don’t want any more promises. I’m coming home tomorrow, maybe we can talk.”

“Austin?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. That makes you grateful to me and I’m not sure if there’s anything to be grateful for yet.”

I lick my lips, dragging this conversation out, not wanting to hang up, then say, “I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Take care, okay?”

“You too.” He hangs up and I’m left holding the phone to my ear a moment longer, caught up in the fact that he called at all and hoping he calls me again. I have to put my trust in him, something I didn’t do before. I’ve learned my lesson.

It’s another four days before I hear from Austin again. Only one before I hear from Dylan asking me to meet him. I refuse the invite. After figuring out that I’m in love with Austin, I’m not wasting any more time or emotion on Dylan. He had his chance years ago and chose someone else. Now’s the time for me to prove that I choose Austin. I need to treat him the way I should have all along.

When Austin asks me to meet him on a Saturday afternoon at Strawberry Fields in Central Park, I go without question. I can only guess at the underlying message of this location. I don’t see him when I arrive, so I sit down on a hill nearby and watch the tourists taking pictures and leaving memorabilia and flowers on the Imagine design. When I see a man sitting next to me, I know it’s Austin without even looking. He says, “Just for a minute, imagine if you had loved me like I imagined you did. Imagine if your ex had not come back. Imagine if you hadn’t kissed him and we were living together. We’re not though, so what does your life look like now?”

“Imagine a life that feels emptier than it did before, as if that’s even possible. Imagine looking up at night and seeing stars that used to shine because you knew they shined for love. Imagine that love is that powerful.” I turn to him. “I was wrong. Love isn’t powerful. Love is everything.
You’re
everything to me, Austin.”

“Do you love him?”

“No, but I did. I loved him in a way that I used to think we couldn’t live without each other. You know what? I did live. I survived. It may not have been a pretty life with its sharp angles and my sharp edges, but you saw beyond all that. You softened my corners and made me a better version of myself.”

He faces forward, wrapping his arms around his legs and watching all the people wandering around the monument. “It took three years to get you to say yes, and sometimes I wonder if I was blind to the obvious all those years. The night we met… was that the night you and Dylan broke up?”

Shifting, I turn and whisper, “Yes.”

“All the signs were there, but I saw past your walls—”

“You saw who I was, through the pain, over the walls, and gave me the benefit of the doubt. You saw who I wanted to be.”

His hand slides over, his fingers wrapping around mine, and he says, “Maybe…” He pulls his hand away and stands. “Thanks for meeting me. I’m gonna go now.”

“What?” I stand. “Austin, please. Don’t go.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Jules.” He can’t seem to look at me, which feels more like a stab to the heart than an avoidance. “Take care.”

“You’re just walking away?”

“Yes. I am.”

I want to yell, ‘Just like Dylan,’ but I hold my tongue, turn away instead and start walking in the opposite direction. When I reach the sidewalk, I look back. He’s gone. I’ve wounded him deeper than I realized and it makes me question if I’m good enough for him. Referencing our talk about deserving, makes me want Austin to have someone who’s deserving of him. And that might not be me.

Taking the scenic route leads me to the gallery instead of home. I go inside. It’s during business hours, so I don’t need my keys. I walk into my office and see the vase that Dylan gave me. It’s such a great representation of our relationship with the mess of colors fading into the other without boundaries. I pick it up and take it to the back. After finding a box, I pack it up; making sure it’s protected inside. Within minutes, it’s sealed shut, addressed to Dylan’s office, and labeled for FedEx pickup on Monday.

The tightening in my chest loosens, my lungs getting much needed air. When I sit behind my desk I feel freer already. It’s Saturday, and I don’t want to be working. That’s a first in years. I push back and leave, deciding to walk home. There’s a quickness in my step, an excitement that feels new. It may seem odd when I’ve freed myself from one man and lost the other, but maybe I should be alone.

Austin loves me. I know he does. He just can’t be with me now. I think I finally understand why. We have to do the work, get to know each other on a deeper level, before we come together again. I want to know his history and what made him the man he is today. I don’t know any of that. I only know what he’s shown me and vice versa. How we got as far as we did surprises me now. With his constant traveling and me burying myself at the gallery, we seem to have missed a few steps along the way.

I hurry home and climb the stairs by two, then knock on Brandon’s door. When he doesn’t answer, I use my key and let myself in. “Brandon?”

There’s silence, then I’m given a delayed answer, “Jules? I’ll be right out.”

I help myself to a glass of water. Seeing my vitamins on his counter is another reminder of the changes I need to make. I take the two bottles and toss them in the trash, then head to the spare bedroom. Opening the closet door, I grab my robe and the clothes I’ve left over here. When I walk out, I run right into Brandon.

He asks, “What are you doing here?”

Taken aback by his question, I look at him and frown. “I had a revelation and needed to talk to you.”

He glances over his shoulder toward his room, then back. “I have company, Jules.”

My hand covers my mouth. “Oh my God!” When I remove it, I whisper, “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave.”

As I rush to the door, he asks, “What’s the revelation?”

With a big smile, I say, “I need to fix myself. You were right. No one else can do it. I’m gonna stand on my own two feet again. You watch.” Lowering my voice, I add nodding, “And congrats on the afternoon delight. We’ll catch up soon.”

He’s left laughing. The door shuts and I walk to my apartment with an armful of clothes. After dumping them on the chair in my room, I move into the kitchen and pick up the black coffee maker Dylan left behind when he left me. I dump it in the trash then go to the window where the two prisms hang, reflecting rainbows on the nearby wall. I reach up and untie them from the curtain rod. I kiss each one then toss them in the trash with the coffeemaker.

It’s funny how tightly I held onto things that at the end of the day, or technically the end of almost four years, finally hold no power or meaning any longer. I look at the painting hanging on the wall. With purpose, I step up on the couch, and take the painting down. After setting it in the corner of the room, facing out, I turn on Christina Perri’s latest. Seems to fit my mood. I pour myself a glass of pinot noir and return to the living room. Sitting down in front of the painting, I cross my legs and relive all the good times that come to mind with Dylan, then indulge the bad times too, letting them out, releasing them from the chest where I’ve kept the memories locked up for too long. A tear joins my wine just as I take another sip.

Getting up, I move closer, and run my finger along the peaks and valleys of the dried oil. Then with flat palms, I rub over it before sitting back on my knees. That’s when I get the idea and go into the cabinet under the sink in the kitchen and pull out the yellow paint I once bought for that room. I had thoughts of affecting my attitude, hoping the bright color could bring me out of the depression I was trapped in. I never got around to painting the kitchen. I grab a marinating brush from the drawer and go back to the painting. I pop the lid open with a screwdriver and dip the brush in the sunny color. With one bold move, my first stroke is in the middle of the canvas. Seeing the painting in a new light, I’m exhilarated by the freedom and continue painting until it’s completely covered.

Standing back, I drink my wine, then stare ahead. The yellow is not me at all. It’s bright and happy. The solid color forces the eye to find the ridges of the old paint underneath, covering the tear streaks that once defined it and I smile.

I pour another glass of wine then wait for the paint to dry by lying in the middle of the floor, listening to music and staring at the ceiling. The room goes dark as the sun sets and I roll to my stomach to look at the painting again. The moonlight provides enough light to see it, and I smile. I get up from the floor and go to the bedroom, pleased with the changes I made today. After getting ready, I climb under the covers and text Austin:
I love you, Austin Barker. One day I’ll prove I can be the person you deserve.

Just as I turn out the lamp, my phone lights up simultaneously with a return text from him:
Jules Weston, I look forward to that day.

With that text I have hope, knowing he’s willing to give me another chance to prove my love to him.

… And I will.

AFTER SPEAKING TO
my landlord and getting my lease settled, I decide to focus on getting my life back on track. Bending over into Downward Dog, I try to keep my mind zen. I smile when I think of Austin. He does more for my mindset than yoga ever could. Slowly I change positions, following the guru on TV.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m showered and dressed in a tee and baggy shorts. Standing in front of the DeLonghi Coffee Center, I pull the post-it from the machine. The ‘Learn to Use’ note has been mocking me for too long. It’s time to tame this beast. Flipping through the manual, I find the page with the first step and go through all twenty-six steps until I’m holding a perfectly crafted latte. I’ve used the machine before but it was just for plain black coffee. Today I was ready for something new, utilizing all the cool features.

Closing my eyes, I take my first sip. A huge sense of satisfaction comes over me.
Delicious.
I set the cup down and take a pic of my latte, proud of this small accomplishment that feels huge right now.

I take my cup into the living room and set it down on the coffee table. Walking to the bright yellow painting in the corner, I pick it up and climb back onto the couch. I hang it on the wall and step back down to admire it. Yes, this is right. It’s a new start, one I should have had years earlier. And if I can’t have Austin in my life right now, this painting gives me a stronger sense of the old me than I’ve felt in years. I turn on some music and get to the task of unpacking my boxes. Some of the stuff I toss into the trash since it holds no real meaning anyway.

Two hours. That’s all it takes to unload my life and put it back in place. Happy with the results, I decide to go to the grocery store and stock my kitchen, determined to fill this place with the life it once had. This time, my life though.

I spend the next week cooking at home, enjoying the solitude, and rediscovering the person I once was. The gallery has somehow survived despite me only working forty hours this week. Something I didn’t even think was possible. I’ve underestimated the people I’ve hired for too long and I made it up to them by not only trusting them to run it when I’m not around, but also treat them to lunch on Wednesday. Their surprised and happy faces made it all worthwhile.

It seems to be going well. I’m happy, happy on the inside, which is invigorating, but I didn’t see what was coming. I arrived at Jean-Luc unannounced like I always have. I like to surprise him and see how an artist of his talents spends his day.

Jean-Luc slides the large door open and smirks, “You’re just in time.”

“In time for what?”

“Come in,” he says, turning his back to me and walking across the large loft space. He offers me a drink, “Wine or water?”

“Wine. White please.”

After dropping my purse and coat down on the couch, I peruse the newest collection. With my hands behind my back, I slowly walk the space, looking for cohesion. “What’s the theme?”

He hands me a glass and I take a sip as he pours what looks to be something stronger—maybe Scotch. Approaching silently, I feel his hand slide over my back and down my arm, his fingers tapping lightly. Something that used to feel normal when I was numb is different now, altered under implications and insinuations behind the touch. Turning, I shift away.