Page 40 of The Heart of a Painter (As I Am 1)

Thomas:Ispecifically asked you to listen less ;)

Me:Okay, deleting all messages now.

Me:JK. How was your flight?

Thomas:Not bad

Thomas:Slept and sketched some ideas I’ll develop into paintings when Ireturn home.

Nothing could prepare me for the onslaught of emotions that rippled through my body as Thomas called Bostonhome, that this trip was just that, atrip. Ityped back,Don’tforget us little people when you, once again, become acelebrity painter.

“Busy much?” My brother Corey threw abrussels sprout in my direction.

Yes, throwing things was afamily trait, even if Corey aimed worse than Idid. It landed on my plate and Ipopped it in my mouth in spite.

“Just my boss.” Ishrugged.

Corey’sprotective scowl reemerged. He got that whenever he didn’tlike the way my mom and Iwere treated, by anyone. “He’smaking you work on aholiday?”

“Corey, it might be an emergency,” Mom interjected.

It depends how you define an emergency, Ialmost corrected her, then peeked at the phone when it vibrated.

Thomas:You may be small, but in no way are you forgettable.

Oh, shoot, yes this was the definition of emergency. Ididn’tthink my life could go on without reading this one.

Thomas with his kindness and subtle hints that grew into not so subtle anymore broke through my net of denial, my evasions and attempts to barricade myself from the idea of falling into another relationship. He settled inside my heart and slowly, with the utmost respect of me and my boundaries, took bigger chunks of it.

“It’snot an emergency.” Ilooked up from the phone. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends?” Corey’sface twisted. “Iremember you said he’san asshole.”

Ever since that time Icomplained to Mom about him, Istopped mentioning him in our conversations. She had enough on her plate than to worry about me not being able to deal with my boss.

“Things change. He’snot so bad after all.” Isaid the understatement of the century with aflat tone, to hide just what an understatement it truly was.

It happened gradually and after over amonth of being his student, Icould sense the fire and anger in him had quieted. Isensed it through his constructive criticism, the attention to details, how he accepted me challenging his opinions with asmile rather than bursts of anger.

Just thinking about the short arm squeezes he gave me when Inailed adifficult shadow on the paper got me like…

Bzzz.

Another message. Iignored Mom telling Corey to lay off me and opened it. Thomas sent me aphoto of himself wearing alarge black Ushanka, the fur hat, with aview of asnowy Russia in the background.

Thomas:Hope this makes you proud. I’musing photo-messaging of my own volition. Aself-y.

Me:Selfie.

Iexperienced aheady feeling of giddiness at his funny attempts at finding his inner child again and warmth over how hot he was. Even with this ridiculous hat.

Thomas:Close enough ;)

Me:Where are you going?

Thomas:Work. On my business trip.

Thomas:FYI it’smade of synthetic fur. In case you were preparing a“save the animals” speech.