Page 7 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
While Adam had his own degree in education, he gravitates more towards Aseré than I do. Maybe that’s why mom is so enchanted by him. As much as I love my brother, I also know that whatever he does goes under the radar in the picky eyes of my mother. They never see what he does wrong, only what he does well, while it’s the complete opposite for me.
“Where’s Olivia?” Alessia asks for Adam’s wife as we go past the old neon sign that reads the restaurant’s name, pushing the door open. That’s another thing; at just the mere age of thirty-four, Adam had gotten a wife and also worked full time at the restaurant. I helped around here and there, but I was never fully here because I had my job.
“She was feeling sick, that’s all.” Adam adds. We look nothing alike, anyone would realize. He takes after my mom’s looks, with his squared jaw and bent, profiled nose. His lips are slim, gummy smiles pairing after his every word, with eyes that twinkle at every situation.
“Don’t you dare tell mom!” I tell him, pressing a hand to his back. “I swear she’s been feeding Olivia every kind of aphrodisiac. Did you know asparagus is an aphrodisiac? She gave her an entire plate of those and then gave her strawberry juice.”
“Mom’s helping me get laid. What a blessing.” Adam jokes around, interlocking his own hands in front of his face and making me slap him on his shoulder. “But no. We’re okay. She’s on the pill, it’s just...you know, the whole eating asparagus and strawberries together thing.”
“I sure hope that’s the case.” I tell him, inspecting the long strands of his brown hair and his gummy smile. “You’re a kid yourself. You’d have your child smoking tobacco with you in no time.”
“A good father-and-son activity—”
“Mijo!”
Upon opening the doors of Aseré, the first thing that one can see is the first rounded table with customers, alongside a table with a lonesome yellow lamp that drapes a curtain of glow onto the family pictures. Photos of Adam and me together, pictures of us as a family, polaroids of my parents’ wedding, and much more. A single lime green wall, contrasting with the mostly brown brick walls, leads to the kitchen corridor. Children roam around the tables, the sound of the latest salsa tune dancing in the background in motion to the fan on the ceiling.
Though the scent of spices lingers in the air, my mom never trusts a hair-tie. This time around, on her anniversary, I doubt it will be any different. Her dyed black hair falls in voluminous curls on each side of her face, features alike of my brother, with prominent cheekbones in dense pink blush and eyes down-cast, shining in the same hazel shade as Adam’s. Although wrinkles mark her face, anyone in Havana will confirm my mother’s status as one of the most beloved single women of her time. Then, she married a man from her church, a construction worker, just forty years ago.
“You’re here late. Everyone was asking me about you!” Mom says, taking my brother by his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He could be seven years older than me and yet, he’s still granted the most affection. When she looks at me, mom takes a grand look at the curves on my stomach, pursing her lips. “Veronica, when you’re wearing such a tight dress, hide what no one wants to see.”
I nod at her words, displaying a fake smile. That’s the thing; I love my mom as much as a daughter can, but our relationship has never been the best. It started when I was younger and I had insisted on going to art school instead, after plenty of years of working on my realism technique. I never got in, no matter how hard I tried, so I missed an entire year of education, going to engineering instead. She was proud then, but if life had gone my way, I doubt she’d even talk to me.
“Hi, mom.” I go over to her, wrapping her slim frame in a hug before pulling away. She’s about my height, so that’s the only thing she can’t compare herself to with me. “The place’s pretty packed, isn’t it?”
“Oh, the entire town went crazy when they heard what we were serving. We have to celebrate with everybody!” Always extroverted, quite like Adam, she speaks in a lofty tone. Though, one look spared towards the main counter by the center of the restaurant lets me know who I took after. My dad, with his gray hair and dense glasses, reads off the newspaper and nods along to the sound of the music. Relaxed and seated back. “The only thing is that we have a new employee, and he’s taking too damn long washing those dishes.”
Zeke and I fist-bump without my mom knowing when he whispers: “We’re not doing dishes today.”
“Oh, is that so?” I question, trailing after her when she walks through the tables. “Maybe you’re judging him. Could be that we have too many clients—”
“Oh, Veronica, I know when somebody’s bad at their job, come on.” She cuts me off before I could continue speaking and I exhale. Right, because everything I say according to her is just utterly wrong. “I want you all to meet a few of our friends back when we were just beginning our marriage. They came from other provinces and—”
“Have you seen Lorenzo?” I cut her off, earning a smile from my mother. The only thing she has been proud of about me is what I have with Lorenzo. It wasn’t like I directly told her, but the whispers of the town got to her and I never quite could deny it. Not when anyone would notice the hearts in my eyes upon seeing him.
“He went out to have a cig. For the love of God, if only Valentina knew how badly her son smokes.” She does the sign of the Holy Cross before shaking her head. “He should be outside. Went out by the backdoor.”
“Alright, thanks mom.”
The vastness that comes from the oceans of invitees in my mom’s event surrounds me, though I go through that old backdoor that almost no one uses, stinking of moistness and petrichor. Before the crisp air of the night could bite at my shoulders, I toss a look towards the small window that pointed towards the group of people working at the restaurant. We’re already short-staffed with just two cooks handling everything—usually my mom helps, creating amazing dishes, but it’s her special night—however, we’ve gained another employee.
A dishwasher, now.
This employee has a feature that I see first. Over everything, actually. His thick eyebrows and the small, delicate smile lines that frame his gorgeous, almond-shaped brown eyes are the first thing I notice. The soft yellow kitchen lights make his dark brown hair look silky as they push it into a comma shape away from his face. He’s tall, hunching over the dishwasher, wiping on a plate with fury and yet not strong enough. When he looks up, I realize his bottom lip is way fuller than his upper one, and that his smile enchants just about everyone that could step in his way.
He shows all teeth, eyes twinkling and yes, I was right; he has smile lines. I wave a hand in the air and he returns the gesture before I leave the stranger to his own devices.
Finally, I become one with the night. The sky doesn’t shine as brightly as I imagined for the night in which I got proposed to. I run my hands on top of the fabric of my dress, toying with the turtleneck that plasters against my sweaty skin. I don’t see anyone around here, a few cars parked in lines, utter silence engulfing me like the jacket mom wanted to drape over my body.
I kick a few rocks, roaming around the cars, hoping to see Lorenzo’s. That old truck that he had kept intact while I was gone. The red paint that was once so bright dulls against my eyes when I recognize his automobile. However, the moment a smile draws itself across my features, it’s erased by the artist of my life. The typical sounds of sex replace the silence when I’m this close to Lorenzo, who is not alone.
Or, rather, the gurgling and gagging of a woman as Lorenzo tosses his head back. His plump lips part to let out a hiss, tugging at the messy strands of dirty-blonde hair of the woman that is pulled up to meet his mouth. The open eyes and the running mascara should not be a hindsight of what I think, but it is. That the man that I had painted as perfection is just in my line of sight; receiving a blowjob from a sex worker, judging by the way he releases her mouth and tells her something as he runs a dollar against her bottom lip.
Though wanted, why would I scream? I’m the stupid one that thought whatever I had with Lorenzo would go anywhere. I was just another woman that fell for the charms of a man that was so much different from what he showed me. Pain settles in my chest when I remember all the sceneries I had pictured. From Lorenzo grabbing my hand and tugging me across the room to give me a morning kiss. His passing notes of love confessions through a kiss shared at the altar. Lorenzo loving me. Lorenzo finally choosing me.
Lost lovers that met at the end.
As if awakened by the night, I move over to the closed window. I could almost shatter the glass by how hard I hit it with my fist, making the sex worker widen her eyes and pull away, rubbing at her mouth and sparing a glance at Lorenzo, who is clearly speechless and yet, still holding onto her hair.
