“Why?”
“Because I’m going to put on your shirt, that’s why. Now turn around,” she ordered. He laughed. It was funny to see such strong orders coming from such a small person. But he did as she asked and turned around.
“Okay, I’m done.”
He turned back around and smiled. This black t shirt came almost to her knees and its short sleeves went past her elbows. “I look ridiculous,” she moaned.
“You looked beautiful,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Let’s paint,” he said quickly, trying to cover it up.
She nodded, and he handed her a pencil. “Use that one,” he said, pointing to a snow white canvas propped on an easel.
She shook her head and gave the pencil back to him. “I don’t want a pencil. Give me the paint.”
“Don’t you want to plan it out first?”
She looked at him. “It’s art. It’s free. I don’t need to plan, right? It should be free.”
It was a different way to look at it. He’d never thought of art like that. Art for him wasn’t a hobby. It was a job. He didn’t think of it as a pastime, no matter how much he loved it. But she might be right. He shrugged. “Sure.”
She smiled and picked up a paint brush. She thrust it in a can of orange paint and let the paintbrush slid across the canvas immediately. Ty watched her with wonder. He always took at least half an hour before he let the paintbrush touch the page.
Two hours later, Ty was staring at his canvas, pleased. He’d painted a pair of delicate, women’s hands, folded into each other. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but they were Valerie’s hands, completely, down to the red nail polish. He wasn’t done yet, but majority of it was. He looked over at Valerie. She was smiling.
He made his way over to her canvas. When he saw it, his jaw dropped. She was amazing. There was no way around it. She’d done an abstract composition, filled with strokes and lines of the colors yellow, orange, red, and black, with hints of white. It was truly fantastic. He stared at it. “You said you couldn’t paint,” he said, almost accusingly.
“I can’t. This is horrible,” she protested, but she smiled, like she knew it wasn’t true. She laughed when he looked at her knowingly. ”Okay, I swear. I had no idea I was any good.” She threw her hands up, an orange paintbrush still in her right hand. It splayed paint all over Ty’s shirt. She covered her hand with her mouth. “Sorry!” she said, but she laughed.
He grinned at her. “Give me a hug, Valerie!” he said, holding his arms wide open, so that when he did hug her, the paint would all rub off on her.
She squealed and shook her head. “No! Ty, no. No, don’t—“
And then he swung her up and into his arms, both of them laughing hysterically. Finally, he let her go. She gave him a devilish grin and swiped her paintbrush across his neck, leaving a bright orange stripe.
“Hey!”
“Payback,” she yelled, skirting away from him. But he caught up with her fast enough and whipped red paint across her cheek. She shrieked. She bent down and dipped both her hands in blue paint, and then laid them flat on his arms.
“You’re not getting away!” he laughed. Thrusting his hands in green paint, he chased her around the room until he caught her. By then, they were covered in paint. He caught her around the waist, and then suddenly, she stopped pulling away from him. He was suddenly very aware of how close they were.
She looked up at him. “Ty—“
He raised his hand and stroked her cheek. It left a green streak on her cheekbone, but none of them said anything. He leaned down then, and covered her lips with his. When she didn’t pull away, when she reached up and twined her arms around his neck, he kissed her harder, wrapping his own arms around the small of her back, pulling her closer. He hadn’t felt this way since Averil. No, he hadn’t felt this even with Averil. His hands slid up and into her hair as the kiss deepened. He walked her back until they were at the table that adjoined the wall. He lifted her up and sat her there, never breaking their kiss. She wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing him harder.
And then, suddenly, he pulled away, remembering who he was kissing. He was kissing Seth’s fiancée. His eyes went wide, and so did hers as she stared back at him. Her hair was filled with green paint from his hands, but it still hit him how beautiful she was. “Seth,” she whispered, but her hands still hadn’t left his face, and her legs were still wrapped tightly around his waist. Their foreheads were almost touching.
“What are we going to do?” he whispered, looking into her violet eyes. Up close, he noticed, they were flecked with blue.
“We have to tell him. I can’t hide this from him. Maybe he’ll forgive me,” she said, fretting.
He looked at her in surprise. “You’re going to stay with him?”
She stopped her worried rant to look at him. “What?” her voice cracked.
“You’re going to stay with him after this?” Ty asked, knowing acid was creeping into his voice.
“I—I’ve known you for three days, Ty. I can’t break up with my fiancée over a man I’ve known for only three days.” she said, looking very vulnerable. It melted his heart, but it also made him more determined.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
She bit her lip and looked up at him with wide eyes. Slowly, she shook her head. He smiled and stroked her face. “Then it’s fine. We’ll be fine. But you have to break it off with him.”
“Ty, I can’t. I—“
It was obvious to him, then, that she wasn’t going to. He pulled away from her roughly. “Fine,” he said, and he walked out, slamming the door. Valerie watched him go, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She honestly had no idea what to do. She didn’t love Seth, but she had agreed to marry him. And she couldn’t face the fact that she might love Ty. It seemed so horrible—engaged to someone and loving someone else. She felt like such a horrible person.
* * * * *
Seth opened his door a little time after it rang and gaped at what he saw. It was Valerie. Her usually poised, graceful body was in a pair of jeans that were way too big for her and a black T shirt that completely dwarfed her. Under other circumstances, it would have been funny. And she was covered in paint. Her shirt and jeans were splattered with it. Her hair was filled with green paint, and her face was streaked with different colors, except for where her tears had made a trail of clear skin. And they were still flowing. “Are you okay?” he asked, rushing up to her.
She nodded and laughed between her tears. “This must look so stupid to you.”
He didn’t know what to say. “I—“
She shook her head. “I’m going to take a long, hot bath.” He watched her go, bemused.
* * * * *
Liberty let out a sharp cry and fell to the floor. Already, blood was seeping from where she had stabbed herself, and soaking up her blue dress. Her vision was swimming, and she could barely make out Count Fae’s smirk. She lifted the knife again, knowing it would be her last movement. She knew that she no longer wanted to live like this. Suddenly, her mind was calm. She didn’t feel pain when the silver blade slipped into her body. The last thing she saw was her own ruby red blood enveloping the ground where the Count stood, soaking his spotless black shoes.
Averil finished reading Haven’s story. There were tears falling down her face. She’d never known Haven was so talented. But she was—so much so that Averil had read most of her story crying. It was so sad. Averil loved it.
She turned the stapled pages over and stared into space. She almost felt like she was there with Liberty, feeling her pain, her despair. Haven truly was talented. “Simon?” she called.
He looked up from his laptop. “Yeah?” He saw the tears that were still streaming down her face. “Are you okay?” he asked concernedly.
She nodded, smiling through her tears. “It’s just—this story—it’s so, so sad. You have to read it. Haven wrote it. She’s so talented.”
Simon took the pages from her and began to read. A
veril watched his face, scrunched with concentration as he read. He looked up at her after the second page. “Jesus Christ. She’s only fourteen? This is amazing. She writes like an adult.”
Averil nodded. “I know.”
“Can I meet her?”
“Of course. She wants to meet you too, actually. She’s never met a writer before. You’ll really like her.”
Averil sat in silence while Simon finished reading. “This is a tragedy,” he said when he was done.
“What?”
“The story. It’s almost as good as a Shakespearean tragedy. You say she could have a future as a ballet dancer—I think she has a future as a writer.”
“Remember when we were young? When we thought we could do anything? I had no idea how hard it is to end up doing what you want,” Averil sighed.
Simon sat down next to her. “You’re not happy?”
She shook her head, but she was still smiling wistfully. “I’m happy,” she said, snuggling into him. He wrapped an arm around her. “I just miss the days when anything was possible, you know? I was going to be a prima ballerina. I was going to travel the world. I was going to live on Park Avenue.”
“Park Avenue?” Simon asked, bemused.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I don’t really want to live on Park Avenue. It’s just, my life has turned out so normal. When I was young, I thought it would be amazing. I am happy, I just find it sad that my life pales in contrast to the way I imagined it would be.”
“ Life is a disappointment, huh?” Simon asked.
Averil sighed. “Not all of it. You’re not,” she said, giving him a small smile. He stroked her hair.
“I think life has its ups and downs, we all get through it. I know you can do it,” he said.
She leaned up so that her forehead touched his. “You’re amazing, you know that?” He smiled and leaned down to kiss her. She let her hands curl into his hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him back. His arms wrapped tightly around the small of her back.
* * * * *
Brooklyn raced around her childhood home like a tornado, trying to prepare for tomorrow’s Christmas gala. Cecily watched her daughter, while cradling her granddaughter in her lap. “Brooklyn, calm down. Do some yoga. You’re too stressed out.”
Brooklyn shook her head and glared at her mother while walking so fast on her three inch heels that Cecily thought she would set a world record. Cecily could barely remember how she, herself, had been able to race around so fast on those stick thin heels. “Mom, why are you so relaxed? How are you so zen?”
“Yoga,” Cecily said knowingly.
Brooklyn gave her mother a piercing look. “I mean, how can you be so zen at a time like this? The gala is tomorrow! Put Ella down and come help me.”
“I’d rather not,” Cecily said infuriatingly.
“Do you not remember when this was important to you?” Brooklyn moaned.
“But I’ve changed for the better. It’s just a gala, Brooklyn. It’s not that big a deal.”
Brooklyn looked at her phone. “Oh, the caterers cancelled! Dammit. How am I going to find another on such short notice? MOTHER!”
“Are you sure you’re not throwing yourself into this to avoid thinking about you and Carter?” Cecily said.
Brooklyn narrowed her eyes at her mother, feeling angry that she was probably right. “Who cares? Does it matter? No, what matters is the party!”
Cecily slid Ella off her lap and put both hands on each of her daughter’s shoulders. “Calm down, Brooklyn. I’ll get a caterer. You need a break.”
Brooklyn shook her head. “No. You’ll get Greek food or something. Or worse, Mediterranean. This needs to be perfect and elegant. I need to do this.”
Cecily smiled at her daughter. “I’ll go back to my old self, and get a caterer she would like. The person who is almost exactly like you.”
Brooklyn sighed and leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. Cecily hugged her daughter, feeling wonderful that her daughter needed her. Brooklyn let out a small laugh. “The old you wouldn’t let me hug her, you know.”
* * * * *
Averil led Simon into the studio. He looked very out of place in here, his tall lanky frame hung with grey clothing in this frilled up studio. He pushed up his glasses, a sign that he was uncomfortable. “Haven should be here soon,” she assured him.
He nodded, and sat down on a chair whose seat was covered in a lacy cloth. Averil almost laughed. Just then, the door swung open, letting in a gust of the icy New York air. Standing there, her face pink from cold, was Haven, looking awfully nervous.
Her eyes took in Simon. He smiled at her awkwardly. Simon had never been very social. Averil decided that introductions were definitely in order. “Okay, Haven, this is my husband Simon. I asked you to come in early, because he’s an author and I gave him your story and he wants to go over it with you. He thinks you’re really amazing.”
Averil watched Haven flush with pleasure. “Thank you,” she said, trying to be modest.
And then Simon spoke up. “Your character, Liberty, she really has a life of her own. You’ve made your characters so layered. I love it.”
Averil watched them start to talk, a small smile on her face. Simon was a natural teacher, and Haven seemed to love him. She seemed delighted by every one of his suggestions. And he really seemed to enjoy helping her. Somehow, watching them, she realized how great her life was. She was teaching. She was making a difference in children’s lives. Averil was still ambitious, of course, but for now, she felt pretty content. Helping kids build a future—that was a career itself. And she realized she sort of liked it. She’d been so caught up in chasing the glamorous life, she hadn’t realized how happy she was. She didn’t want to spend all her time chasing a dream, while the good life passed by. Of course, she still wanted to be a professional dancer. She’d always want that. But she realized now that she had time. And she’d keep working towards her goal, but she’d enjoy the ride as well.
* * * * *
Brooklyn woke up the next day at six o clock in the morning. She walked out of her old bedroom, wrapping herself in a purple silk robe. She stared down at the house from the banister. Today evening, Carter would be here, for the gala. Brooklyn was nearly in tears—she was so confused. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t love Carter, she had admitted it now, but it was so scary to break it off. It was something she could never undo. Being with Carter was safe—it was easy.
She needed to calm down. Suddenly, she knew there was only one person she could talk to. She pulled out her phone and called Romeo.
“Romeo?”
It was a while before he answered.
“Brooklyn? It’s six in the morning. It’s a weekend. Call me in three hours.”
“No, Romeo. I need to talk to you. Please.”
He paused. “Okay. Do you want to come over?”
“Kat is there. I need to talk to you alone. Can we go somewhere?”
She could hear him getting out of bed in the background. “Dean & Deluca’s?”
“Sure. Be there in ten?”
“Yeah.” And then he hung up. She went back into her room and slid off her robe and silk nightgown. She stepped into her closet and pulled on a red skirt and a snow white coat.
After running her hair quickly through a flat iron and pulling on her heeled shoes, she was out the door, hailing a taxi. Even at six o clock in the morning, it was an effort to pull one over.
Ten minutes later, she was seated in their regular table, clutching a large cup of coffee. It was so warm in her cold hands, and she could feel it sliding down her throat, warming her up and awakening her.
“Brooklyn?” Romeo appeared and sat opposite her. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry I called you. I was panicking. It’s just—I-I don’t know what to do. It’s Carter.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, that was really muddled—“
“No, I get it. You don’t really love him, do you?”
“How
did you know?” she asked, startled. How did Romeo always know how she was feeling?
He smiled crookedly. “Come on, Brooklyn. I’m your brother. I’ve always been able to read you.”
She avoided looked at him. “You’re right. But the prospect of breaking it off with him, it’s so scary. How could I do that to Ella? And I’m scared. What if he really was the one and I don’t see it? And then I leave him, and I never find anyone else?”
Romeo looked at her. “He’s not the one. I think you know who that is. Come on, Brooklyn.”
She glared at him. “Seth is engaged. I can’t do anything about it. What’s the point of tearing up my marriage over a man who is engaged to someone else?”
Romeo shook his head. “You’re not ending your marriage because of Seth. You’re ending it because of you. You don’t love him. So you need to get out.”
When Brooklyn looked up at him, he saw that there were tears in her green eyes. “What if no one ever loves me again?” she whispered.
“Oh, Brooklyn,” he sighed. “Of course someone will .You’re a catch. In high school, everyone was in love with you. Trust me.”
Brooklyn let out a choked laugh. “I know it’s stupid.”
He shook his head. “It‘s not stupid. It’s human. It’s really up to you, but you know what I think. In any case, I’ll support you, no matter what. Kat too.”
She nodded her head, staring into her coffee—watching the brown lines swirl as she moved the stirring straw.
* * * * *
Seth woke up that morning, feeling haunted. He looked at Valerie, sleeping peacefully beside him, but he didn’t really see her. He saw another girl—one with brown hair that was streaked with blonde. A girl with thick dramatic eyeliner, red lips, and millions of eccentric outfits. He saw Emma Blake. He was always haunted by her on Christmas Eve. The day he had last seen her. The day he had kissed her. The day before she died.
He’d long since accepted that her death wasn’t his fault, but he had never been able to shake the feeling that he was at least partly responsible, even if it was unknowingly. It was so scary— how she could be alive one day and not the next.
He spent that day—until six o’clock in the evening—in a haze, thinking about Emma Blake’s last days. At six, he pulled on a tuxedo and slicked his hair back for the gala. He stared at himself in the mirror, mentally remembering how he had dressed for it every year before. In Cecily’s house, the walls were spanned with pictures of close friends from each year at the gala. It was like a map of his growth, Seth thought. Back from the age when he was twelve, when his coat was too long for him, and he was proud to be allowed in the party, to when he was a teenager and he was staring at Brooklyn the entire time, to when he was an adult, hand in hand with Valerie. The most haunting one was when he was twenty, and his arm was wrapped around Emma Blake’s waist.