Page 32 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
NATHAN
“Were we both too scared or were we well prepared for the future and all that it bears? I don’t know, I don’t know, all I know...is that now I’m alone.” - Closure by Hayd.
T HE FIRST THING I RECEIVE WHEN ENTERING MY HOME IN CALIFORNIA IS A HEART-MENDING HUG FROM RENNA.
The living room was a canvas of layered moments.
There was the phantom pain of colliding with the glass table, a drunken folly etched onto my scalp.
There was Renna’s unwavering faith in the luck carried by the incense that permeated the air.
And then there is Renna herself, her form yielding to my embrace, my gaze falling to the crown of her head as a sigh, heavy with feeling, escapes me.
Meanwhile, Opal, oblivious to these internal landscapes, traces her furry path across the gleaming tiles to the sanctuary of the couch.
“It’s not your fault.” I don’t know why she’s telling me that, but it loosens me from the tight grip reality has held me in.
When pulling away, I realize she has cut her hair into a bob, dyeing it a plum gray color, lips injected the tiniest bit.
Six months had flown by, and in that time, she had become a different person without me realizing.
“You’re different.” I mentally pushed aside her statement, focusing instead on twirling her hair and plastering on a sweet but unconvincing smile. “New hair, huh?”
“You’re trying to change the subject. Typical Nathan.” Renna tuts, pulling away from me and turning around as she’s walking towards the kitchen. “I asked the cook to make us something. I think he prepared lasagna—”
“I’m not hungry.” An unsettling lack of appetite has been my companion since the flight began.
Logically, I understand this is the correct step for us, yet an emotional part of me rebels.
I couldn’t help but harbor a secret hope for one of those improbable movie moments: a frantic arrival at the gate, a heartfelt plea to remain, or a spontaneous decision to follow.
My heart ached for either of those impossible scenarios.
“Nate, you’re eating something. I don’t care if I have to make you.” Renna’s scolding precedes the opening of the kitchen doors, which unleash a thick aroma of meat and rich Italian sauce. The cook nods briefly as he plates the food. My exhaustion keeps me rooted to the kitchen table.
I stop as I’m midway through sitting, sparing her a glance from under my lashes.
The memory runs like a film: my first sight of Veronica from my side of the window, just a dishwasher observing her.
That initial image blossomed into a powerful feeling—the belief that she could be the one.
I recall the echoes of intimacy—the kisses we shared, her artistic endeavors, the phantom sound of her passionate sighs.
Cuba, for me, became the place where this love took root, a love I now only hold in these mental replays.
“This...I don’t feel comfortable here, Renna.
I just came back because you asked me to.
” I declared my intention not to eat, yet the rich aroma proved too tempting.
Almost against my will, my fork traces the layers, lifting a portion of lasagna to my lips.
Delicious, undoubtedly, but it lacks the comforting familiarity of home.
“Renna, I need to fix this. I just can’t—I can’t stay here in Los Angeles forever when I know I have it so much happier over there. With the people I met.”
A softness comes into Renna’s eyes as she stills her hands, placing one atop the other and supporting her chin.
Across from me, she sits in quiet contemplation.
“Okay, I believe we need to address the obvious issue.” She shrugs.
“Simon has been trying to contact you for months, and it was his job to protect your career, but I am certain Jane Rae offered him more money...or he just grew tired of waiting for you.”
“That fucker.” I say. Even now, I remember the years I felt miserable, crushed by his judgment and ambitions, yet it was always irrelevant. My loyalty to him was insignificant next to his relentless pursuit of fame. “You really think he was the one to leak where I was?”
“I’m certain. The magazine that dropped the news is one that he works closely with, and after I fired him upon your command, he started working with Jane Rae.” She scoffs. “Or openly, at least. He, one-hundred percent, worked with her before.”
“What can we do?” I question, still eating, but not because I feel an appetite. I do it out of anxiousness, watching Renna lift her eyebrows in concern.
“Jane’s been thriving. It’s difficult to have people on your side when she has already made an episode of her reality TV show about you.
The one where her sister is in. I’ve heard she’s getting a season for herself only because people want to look at her path rebuilding herself as a woman now that you’re gone.
” Renna shakes her head, scoffing, because we both know how superficial Jane is.
She attempts to soothe her heart solely through whiskey, trampling over careers and manipulating friends into harsh diets to elevate her own self-image.
“I don’t want to go heavy on the press coverage. Not sure I want to get in front of a camera and have to prove to everyone that I am not the bad guy.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” Renna says. “...I think the safest option is to disappear from the limelight for a while. Issue a statement expressing your concern for the woman spotted with you in Havana and your intention to take a break from the public eye.” The idea would have danced along my palate in perfect unison some other time in my life, but now, I ache for not being able to have Veronica, or at least the comfort that Havana brought me.
“And then?”
“You wait.” She announces. “Some people will side with you because they know you are talented; others will believe you are the worst scumbag ever until the day they forget about you.” A sigh traps in between her lips, looking at me for the fraction of a second before bringing her hand forward.
She traces the outline of my knuckles with the tip of her finger, grinning at me like a sister would.
“Welcome to Hollywood, Nate. I’m happy you’re back. ”
“I’m only happy to see you, because I promise I didn’t miss this the slightest bit.” My eyes sweep over the kitchen. Unlike Benicio’s small home, which had embraced me and felt like mine for the last few months, this room feels completely foreign. “Where’s Jun?”
“He was picking up Chaeyoung so we could have a proper movie night.” The idea doesn’t sound half bad. While I had built a new life in Havana, I still had some people behind in Los Angeles that I would have to see eventually, as well. “You’re up for that?”
I check my phone for what feels like the umpteenth time on the last day.
Not a message from her. Not even an emoji that I can take as a goodbye.
I push the phone deep into my pocket once again.
Veronica is the only person I could imagine a future with, but if my past is heavier than my will to continue with her, what can I do to convince her?
My resolve remains, but Veronica Del Real’s peace outweighs my desires.
If stepping aside is what she needs, I’ll do it willingly.
The reality is, I recognize her singularity, and the opportunity to have known her intimately is a treasure.
Though she’s not mine, the shared past offers a peculiar kind of solace.
“Sounds amazing.” I pushed my plate away before I could get another bite in. Healing can be a goal, but that doesn’t mean I am relatively close to reaching it.
From the far distance, I hear the melody of someone who needs me more than anything. From her position on my couch, early ignored by Renna because of our delightful and sentimental greeting, Opal sings a melody of hunger and solitude.
“I brought someone with me.” I tell Renna as I stand up from the seat I had been taking, rushing over to the living room with the clicking of her boots following me.
“What do you mean?”
“A little part of Cuba that will remind me why I loved art.” Because Havana also left me with people to draw, memories to invite back to my heart and so much to live.
My digits interlock with Opal’s fur, her vibrant eyes staring back at me once I sit next to her.
“This is Opal. I think I talked to you about her once.”
“She’s so—” Just as a compliment forms slowly on Renna’s lips, evident in her smile, Opal attacks my expensive couch, her paws kneading with stretching intent. “Disastrous. I love it.”
“Like her owner.” I retort, toying with her as her claws begin to trace my knuckles. “She was the one to get me back to painting.”
Leaning against the doorframe that bridges the living room and the rest of the house, Renna purses her lips and her cheeks tense before she asks what feels like the most authentic question she could have at this moment.
“Do you still want to be a painter?”
For the longest time, I felt like a kid guarded in an abandoned home, clinging to spiderwebs to avoid falling and blowing on my icy hands to feel alive.
The ground peels away whenever I try to stand, and the ceiling threatens to collapse with every gust of wind.
But then, I decide the power I need isn’t in leaving the house, but in building it from the inside out.
One day, I will be strong enough to look outside and see if it’s worth it, if art loves me as much as I love it.
But I still have one more change to make to this home I’ve tried to hold together.
“I want to have one more display at a museum. Just one. My goodbye as a painter.” The media tried to tear me down, hoping each moment of sadness would mold me into a grander artist...but it was love, for Havana and for Veronica, that gave me the will to come back.
Just one more time.
“I’ll support you in anything you decide to do right now.” Renna sighs, sending me a tiny smile after. “...Even if that means losing my job along the way. Once you quit, I can’t be your manager.”
“...But you sure as hell can be my friend.”
“I, sadly for you, will never stop being that for you.”
I deliberately reopen an old wound, simply to feel, and if Jane Rae and Simon attempt to make me bleed, I will extract everything from within the flesh they’ve ripped open.
I know I won’t win this war, waged against me, for I’m alone in the house I tried to leave, and this is my predetermined grave.
“How has life been for you, Renna?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” Like a child on Christmas’ Day, she moves over to the couch, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pressing her face to my chest. “I missed you like you ain’t got a clue, Nate.”
Somehow, I missed this, too.
How odd it feels to have two places to call home.