Page 51 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
“Jane’s been thriving. It’s difficult to have people on your side when she has already made an episode of her reality TV show about you. The one where her sister is in. I’ve heard she’s getting a season for herself only because people want to look at her path rebuilding herself as a woman now that you’re gone.” Renna shakes her head, scoffing, because we both know how superficial Jane is. She attempts to soothe her heart solely through whiskey, trampling over careers and manipulating friends into harsh diets to elevate her own self-image.
“I don’t want to go heavy on the press coverage. Not sure I want to get in front of a camera and have to prove to everyone that I am not the bad guy.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” Renna says. “...I think the safest option is to disappear from the limelight for a while. Issue a statement expressing your concern for the woman spotted with you in Havana and your intention to take a break from the public eye.” The idea would have danced along my palate in perfect unison some other time in my life, but now, I ache for not being able to have Veronica, or at least the comfort that Havana brought me.
“And then?”
“You wait.” She announces. “Some people will side with you because they know you are talented; others will believe you are the worst scumbag ever until the day they forget about you.” A sigh traps in between her lips, looking at me for the fraction of a second before bringing her hand forward. She traces the outline of my knuckles with the tip of her finger, grinning at me like a sister would. “Welcome to Hollywood, Nate. I’m happy you’re back.”
“I’m only happy to see you, because I promise I didn’t miss this the slightest bit.” My eyes sweep over the kitchen. Unlike Benicio’s small home, which had embraced me and felt like mine for the last few months, this room feels completely foreign. “Where’s Jun?”
“He was picking up Chaeyoung so we could have a proper movie night.” The idea doesn’t sound half bad. While I had built a new life in Havana, I still had some people behind in Los Angeles that I would have to see eventually, as well. “You’re up for that?”
I check my phone for what feels like the umpteenth time on the last day. Not a message from her. Not even an emoji that I can take as a goodbye. I push the phone deep into my pocket once again. Veronica is the only person I could imagine a future with, but if my past is heavier than my will to continue with her, what can I do to convince her?
My resolve remains, but Veronica Del Real’s peace outweighs my desires. If stepping aside is what she needs, I’ll do it willingly. The reality is, I recognize her singularity, and the opportunity to have known her intimately is a treasure. Though she’s not mine, the shared past offers a peculiar kind of solace.
“Sounds amazing.” I pushed my plate away before I could get another bite in. Healing can be a goal, but that doesn’t mean I am relatively close to reaching it.
From the far distance, I hear the melody of someone who needs me more than anything. From her position on my couch, early ignored by Renna because of our delightful and sentimental greeting, Opal sings a melody of hunger and solitude.
“I brought someone with me.” I tell Renna as I stand up from the seat I had been taking, rushing over to the living room with the clicking of her boots following me.
“What do you mean?”
“A little part of Cuba that will remind me why I loved art.” Because Havana also left me with people to draw, memories to invite back to my heart and so much to live. My digits interlock with Opal’s fur, her vibrant eyes staring back at me once I sit next to her. “This is Opal. I think I talked to you about her once.”
“She’s so—” Just as a compliment forms slowly on Renna’s lips, evident in her smile, Opal attacks my expensive couch, her paws kneading with stretching intent. “Disastrous. I love it.”
“Like her owner.” I retort, toying with her as her claws begin to trace my knuckles. “She was the one to get me back to painting.”
Leaning against the doorframe that bridges the living room and the rest of the house, Renna purses her lips and her cheeks tense before she asks what feels like the most authentic question she could have at this moment.
“Do you still want to be a painter?”
For the longest time, I felt like a kid guarded in an abandoned home, clinging to spiderwebs to avoid falling and blowing on my icy hands to feel alive. The ground peels away whenever I try to stand, and the ceiling threatens to collapse with every gust of wind. But then, I decide the power I need isn’t in leaving the house, but in building it from the inside out. One day, I will be strong enough to look outside and see if it’s worth it, if art loves me as much as I love it. But I still have one more change to make to this home I’ve tried to hold together.
“I want to have one more display at a museum. Just one. My goodbye as a painter.” The media tried to tear me down, hoping each moment of sadness would mold me into a grander artist...but it was love, for Havana and for Veronica, that gave me the will to come back.
Just one more time.
“I’ll support you in anything you decide to do right now.” Renna sighs, sending me a tiny smile after. “...Even if that means losing my job along the way. Once you quit, I can’t be your manager.”
“...But you sure as hell can be my friend.”
“I, sadly for you, will never stop being that for you.”
I deliberately reopen an old wound, simply to feel, and if Jane Rae and Simon attempt to make me bleed, I will extract everything from within the flesh they’ve ripped open.
I know I won’t win this war, waged against me, for I’m alone in the house I tried to leave, and this is my predetermined grave.
“How has life been for you, Renna?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” Like a child on Christmas’ Day, she moves over to the couch, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pressing her face to my chest. “I missed you like you ain’t got a clue, Nate.”
Somehow, I missed this, too.
How odd it feels to have two places to call home.
