Page 50 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
Perhaps Nathan will return to California and finally understand that his world is there, amidst a sea of people whose fame makes Havana’s seem insignificant. However, the thought of not seeing him alone swirls my stomach and makes me want to hurl.
Here I was thinking he was the one, and now he’s in a whole another country.
I will be another comma in his story. Not the ending.
?CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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.
THE FIRST THING I RECEIVEWHEN 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.
