Page 35 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
“Remember when you taught me fate? Said it’d be all worth the wait.”- Strawberry and Cigarettes by Troye Sivan.
IT WASN’T UNTIL THETHIRD DAY THAT WE BEGAN TO SEE A WAY OUT OF THE MOTEL.Each day, charging my phone felt increasingly useless after the initial twenty-four hours, but I desperately called every contact I had, clinging to the hope that someone would pick up. Even as my phone reported the persistent lack of connection, I would clinch it, whispering a prayer for their safety to the God I no longer felt close to.
Meanwhile, I have had a person to talk about whenever anxiety strikes my body like the thunder that hasn’t stopped dividing the sky. Nathan always opened the door of his room for me to enter whenever midnight became too much for me to bear, tugging me with a hand around my forearm and the other caging my waist. Sometimes, he’d listen intently to the stories I’d have to tell. With the uncertainty of my family’s well-being weighing on me, I now desperately wish I hadn’t let my jealousy of Adam’s connection with my mother turn into blame towards him. And if only Alessia hadn’t come all the way to Havana with me, perhaps she’d be alright. These burdens would feel so light with just his lips pressed against my forehead.
The clock reads eight in the morning in my room as I prepare to call. Even though our nights have been spent together, and we shared a room in the beginning, I can’t bring myself to repeat that level of closeness. I was very close to just giving up and asking him to completely indulge me. The caress of his lips, the harshness of his breaths, how his body responded to me; abdomen contracting, muscles hardening...I want to take my time, but it is almost impossible when Nathan just reacts like that. Never pushing, never pulling, just waiting for me to make a move.
For the first time in seventy-two hours, I finally hear the phone ringing. I’m up on my feet, walking from one end of the room to the other, which is a fairly brief trip considering how small this motel is, wishing for Adam to pick up my call. The universe must have been listening to my internal thoughts each night, filled with guilt and regret, the need to meet my family and friends again, because I hear the breath that Adam lets out the moment the lines connect.
“Please, tell me you’re okay.”
Adam has never sounded so desperate, and that is enough to bring tears to my eyes. A hiccup escapes my lips, bottom lip quivering at the moment that I hear his slightly higher-pitched voice, filled with worry. “Oh God, Adam, I’m fine. I am staying at a motel in Santa Maria. I—fuck...” The commotion causes me to forget the name, stammering to get words out until Adam interrupts me.
“We were so worried. Mom asked us to stay at her place since her house is bigger than ours, and we’ve been here ever since it started raining. Olivia had told me she had a premonition, but we didn’t think the storm would prolong this badly.” Adam explains. Just hearing my brother’s tone and knowing that everyone is alright is enough to drop a weight that had been scalding my shoulders. “Are you alone? How are you eating over there? We spent two whole days without electricity and only now I can get in contact with you.”
Adam doesn’t precisely know as much about Nathan as Zeke or Alessia, but lying to him isn’t necessarily something I am thinking about at this moment. “I came to the beach with a friend. You remember that dishwasher employee Mom had for a few days in Aseré? Well, him. Nathan and I were together when the storm hit. And yes, we have eaten. Luckily, there were some supplies and people have been taking turns making food for everybody.”
“Yes, I remember.” Adam says, exhaling.
“How’s Dad? How is Mom doing? Do you know anything about Zeke or Alessia?”
“Mom has been going around the house since five in the morning. We’ve been preparing meals for the people in the neighborhood, but she’s also insane about opening the restaurant because she says she doesn’t want to keep it closed for so long.” Always eager for the economy and keeping the business alive, it doesn’t surprise me that this is the way Mom is thinking. “Dad’s been more chilled-out than anything. Your friends have passed by here.”
“Did they really?”
“Yes,” Adam prompts. “Alessia came here after the first day, asking how we all were and if we knew anything about you. I guess she must have told Zeke, because he also came by. We insisted on going to find you, but the streets were closed and there’s no way out yet.”
I spare a look outside of the window. The skies have cleared a bit, but one could still see rain pouring from the dark gray clouds. “We’ve heard we’ll be allowed to leave tomorrow. I’ll call them to let them know I’m okay.”
From the far distance, I hear my father’s voice. “Who’s that?” He asks.
“Veronica.” My brother says, and it’s only a matter of time before I hear Dad’s cheerful voice from the distance.
“Mija, my God! I am so happy that you’re okay.” The phone rattles a bit, perhaps by the moment Dad tries to get a hold of the device, before I hear his voice loud and clear after. “Before I ask you anything, just know that I love you and have missed you so much. I was so worried that you wouldn’t come back home.”
As my dad’s voice, heavy with distraction and emotion, reaches my ears, tears begin to fall. “I’ll be back; you have my word. I’ve been safe and sound, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
Minutes pass by with me talking to Adam and Dad. I hear the faint rustle behind the voice, Mom’s hushed inquiries about my well-being, but she keeps her distance from the phone. It’s as if she simply expects me to be alright. Maybe it’s selfish of me to crave her worry for once, to finally feel that motherly concern I’ve missed. But connecting with my family pushes that fleeting desire away. My care for her throughout this ordeal is the only commitment I can make to the universe.
Calls to my family largely consumed my morning, and then to Alessia. There’s a reason she was at Zeke’s, one I’m deliberately not exploring given everything going on, but it meant one less call I had to make in this difficult time. Hours pass by before I am ready to leave, stomach growling and body aching from walking around by the time I decide to head out to grab some lunch with Nathan.
Though, the weight of my knuckles on his door is not enough to get him out. Perhaps he’s not there. With the freedom of having my phone working again, I go down the set of stairs and hope that he is in the small restaurant the motel has on its side. The connection between the lobby and said place is just a mere door, which I push with an open hand.
What welcomes me is more surprising than anything. Around the room, small groups of people are sharing modest meals that nonetheless feel substantial, a testament to the effort put into them and their ability to foster unity within the motel. My attention, however, is drawn elsewhere. Near the center, Nathan is holding a young girl, around six or seven, who is playfully threading a pink bow, identical to the one she wears, through his hair, sliding it away from his face.
I had seen the kid around, and considering that there are too many people in a place that is otherwise very unpacked, we have shared as a society more than we would have outside these walls. I don’t know her name, and I can’t recall her family. I move closer to Nathan to touch his shoulder, and when he turns to face me, the sight is enough to fix a smile on my face for the rest of the afternoon.
A few stubborn strands standing upright break the neatness of his brown hair, and his strong eyebrows lift sharply in surprise, only to relax as his eyes land on me. “Hi,sunshine.” He has never called me that, and somehow, I feel warmth spreading through my body at the way his lips curve when he says so. In any other circumstance, I’d kiss him without hesitation. It’s just the sheer number of people around us preventing it. “I’m on babysitting duty.”
“Babysitting duty?” I question, sending a look around the room. “Uh, whose baby is this?”
In a lofty, babbled tone, the little girl spits out in Spanish: “Don’t talk to Uncle Nate in English. I can’t understand!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Nathan quickly changes the language, looking around the restaurant before jutting a finger towards a woman by the tables on the right. Similar to the girl in his hold, she has short strands of dark blonde hair, tanned skin and bright hazel eyes. “Ah...she’s a single mother, and her kid was...I don’t know the word for that; hold on.” Biting on my bottom lip, I fight a chuckle as Nathan tries to communicate. “Hyper? There, hyper. So, I wanted to help her out. We were drawing on napkins for a bit, and then she wanted me to hold her.”
In the small haven of her palm, Nathan rests while her tiny fingers explore the necklace encircling his neck as I converse with her. “Hi! My name is Veronica, I am Nathan’s...” I stop for a second, not even sparing him a look before clearing my throat. “Friend. What’s your name?”
“Mariana.” She says, hooking a finger into Nathan’s necklace. “Uncle Nate, is she your girlfriend?”
