Page 77 of Until We're More
“Did you know that up until the twenties, a common shade of brown was made from the flesh of Egyptian mummies?” Chelsea blurted out, and everyone went from do-something statues to staring at her. “Yeah, basically it ended once they ran out of mummies to grind into paint, so anytime you check out a super-old painting, just know that you might also be looking at goo-ified mummy flesh.”
Mouths hung agape, there was a lot of blinking, and a smile stretched across my face as I wrapped my arms around Chelsea’s waist and drew her back to my chest.
“Yeah, so…just thought I’d share. Cool, huh?”
Everyone nodded, and then Mom said, “Well, Larry and I are going to circulate. Finn, Liam, we’re taking Shane and Brooklyn out for dinner to celebrate afterward. We’d love if you’d join us. Chelsea, you’re welcome, too.”
Hard not to notice she’d left one person in the group out of the invitation. Not that I expected her and Dad to hug and make up, but she could’ve asked us to dinner without him staring on. “I’ll let you know,” I said.
She and Larry walked away, and Dad simply stood there, stoic as usual. The casual observer probably wouldn’t notice the slight narrowing of his eyes, the same narrowing that happened if his fighter got hit in the cage.
Chelsea placed her hand on his arm and flashed him a big smile. “Hey, want to show me your favorite of Brooklyn’s paintings? I’m having everyone show me. And if you want to know more fun facts about paint, you should hear how they used to make royal purple back when Cleopatra was obsessed with it—spoiler alert: It involved urine…”
They headed toward the other side of the room, and gratitude flooded my chest.
I was a total hypocrite, telling her not to get sucked into family drama and then throwing her in the middle of mine. Naturally she felt like she had to fix the tension, too.
Brooklyn moved closer to me, and we watched as Dad led Chelsea to a painting. Halfway through whatever they were discussing, he glanced back at Mom, as if he couldn’t help himself.
“Do you see the way he looks at her?” Brooklyn asked, her voice low and carrying a hint of sadness. “So much regret that, even knowing what I do, I…I don’t know.”
“Yeah.” I felt the same way, a twinge tugging at my chest.
She nudged her pointy elbow into my side. “You don’t want to live with regrets, do you?”
“I’m starting to regret coming to your art show,” I teased, and she frowned.
“No need to revert to low blows. All’s I’m saying is, have you asked Chelsea about maybe staying? You can’t just assume she knows that you want her to. You need to say it, so you don’t end up years down the road with a whole heap of regrets not keeping you warm at night.”
“Just leave it alone, B. You can’t always paint over everything and make it better. I am who I am. Dad is who he is.” If anything, seeing that past, how toxic things were between my parents, made me rethink everything.
“He’s changing,” she said.
“His career is in a different place than mine.” Somehow I’d let myself forget that this past week. Let myself get distracted just like I’d told myself again and again that I couldn’t do if I didn’t want to lose my upcoming fight.
The biggest fight of my life was less than two months away. I had so much riding on it, yet my thoughts drifted to Chelsea more and more, my sparring sessions and the punches I threw weaker than they should be because I’d lost even an ounce of concentration.
Instead of being present at the gym, I was thinking about heading home, and I’d been halfway through thoughts about how to beat my opponent more than once to find myself sidetracked by how little time Chelsea and I had left and what I could do to stretch it out. Yet I was still failing at being there for her as much as I should. Basically, I was doing a half-ass job at everything.
My sister opened her mouth, undoubtedly to argue more, but then someone tapped her on her shoulder and asked about a painting, and I took the chance to slip away.
I walked over to join Chelsea and my dad. When I put my hand on her back and she turned to me, everything inside me completely unraveled. How could I want two things so badly at the same time? Her and to win my fight and for me to find a way to have it all. Maybe that was more than two. “I’m going to steal my dad away for a second. Will you be okay?”
“I’ll find a way to keep myself occupied. Maybe I’ll stop passersby and tell them some random paint facts. When you need to find me, just look for the people fleeing the scene.”
I chuckled, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Did you want to update me on Tautolo?” Dad asked as we walked toward the more deserted side of the gallery. “I was hoping we’d hear if he got on the card or not by now.”
“No, this isn’t about work. I…” I scratched at my eyebrow. “I know we’re not the talk about our feelings types.”
Dad made a sour face, which was the same twisted thing my insides were doing at the mention of feelings.
“I know, I know,” I said, holding up a hand. “Just… Are you okay? Mom could’ve been nicer.”
“Don’t you go blaming your mother,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m the bad guy in that situation. I held on to her when I should’ve let her go. I was selfish, trying to have the best of both worlds, and she got caught in the crossfire. I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I deserve everything she dishes out and more.” He clapped me on the back. “Don’t worry. I can take it.”
“You still love her?” Not sure why it came out, because I hadn’t planned on asking, but it was in the air between us now.
