I sighed and stared at two of my paintings on the wall. I’d taken up painting when I moved out on my own. If I wasn’t working, I was painting a canvas or a piece of furniture. My home was filled with reds, pinks, blues and yellows—every color of the rainbow really.
Today, I got up off the couch and chose red. I kept canvases and paint in my spare bedroom. I should have laid down paper around my easel, but I couldn’t stop how fast the painting came to me, how fast I wanted it out of me.
A rose this time. With bold and broad strokes, black lines and shadows emerged, and I knew this wouldn’t be a piece of perfection. They never were. I twisted my wrist as I painted some of the petals, then grabbed my spray paint to speckle it and mess it up. All my paintings were this way, never perfect. Never clean.
Hours later, I stood back to admire my work and then left quickly, ready to avoid the space for at least a month or two. It was the one place where I didn't keep my emotions buried deep, and that was a hazardous area to visit for me.
I’d think of my sobriety, and I’d consider if it was all worth it. What would be one more hit to ease a feeling? But one time was all it would take to let everyone down, including myself.
When Lilah called that Monday morning after the party, I hit ignore, hoping to avoid her too.
I stuffed my butt into a black pencil skirt and added a light-green blouse which tied into a bow at the neckline. After a swipe of lip gloss, I stepped into my stilettos, grabbed the coffee thermos I’d made for myself, and hurried out, calling an Uber on the way. The fall breeze whipped over my cheeks, and the sounds of Chicago filled my ears. Cars honking, people shuffling by on their cell phones. The bustle here never stopped.
Lilah called again, and I groaned, pressing ignore again. “You know where Stonewood Tower is?” I asked the Uber driver.
She nodded enthusiastically. “I always imagine you all working up there in like a heavenly office, tossing out ideas and having meals catered,” the girl said.
I smiled softly at her. “They’re always hiring.”
She waved me off. “Ah. I’m working on my master’s. Maybe one day.”
My phone rang again. Now Dante. They weren’t going to stop. “Dante, you letting my sister boss you around now?” I answered, wiggling in my skirt.
I heard her mumble in the background, “See. I knew she’d answer your call.”
“Just pick up when she calls,” he grumbled, sounding like one of my irritated brothers.
“You know, you’re not my boss. I don’t have to answer her calls just because you say so,” I pointed out.
“But I used to be your boss, and that residual training should have you listening every now and then,” he chuckled.
“Oh my God. What do you guys want?”
“Well, I wanted you to answer your phone because I got your niece here causing me enough trouble. She won’t sleep at night. At all, Izzy. I don’t know how babies do it.” I chuckled at the sound of his voice mixed with irritation and awe. “I’m serious, Izzy, I don’t need Lilah worrying all damn day about you for no good reason.”
This is how I knew Dante understood me better than my siblings ever would. He’d grown up near me, worked with me, and become the brother-in-law I needed. He knew I wasn’t going to go off the deep end. “To her, it’s probably a good reason, Dante.”
“I don’t get siblings, okay?” he admitted. “She’s worrying for nothing.”
“To her, I might have OD’d.” I shrugged, trying not to hide the hurt in my voice.
“So then answer. That way she won’t think that,” he replied, like it was that easy.
I sighed because maybe it should have been that easy, maybe I shouldn’t have taken her worry for me offensively. “Give her the phone.”
I heard rustling and a baby cooing as my sister took over. “If it isn’t my elusive sister who needs to come visit very soon.”
“Hardly elusive. I just texted you.”
“Yeah, yesterday to cancel on me. What were you doing all day that prevented you from driving over?”
We were only thirty minutes apart, but I lived in the city while Lilah had moved to a farm back in our hometown not too far from our parents.
“I know it’s not far. I just had a lot to do.”
The voice that sounded exactly like mine pushed back with irritation. “I want you to answer when I call, not be busy, Izzy. You weren’t even working on Sunday. Now I’ve got like five minutes till you have to go.”
I sighed. Why did I tell her everything? Being honest about my schedule ended in her knowing about all my free time.