Page 22 of Artfully Wild
“You should ask him on a date.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea, Charlotte,” agrees Sophie. Avery joins in, nodding her head at the suggestion.
“I should?” I don’t remember the last time I have asked anyone out on a date. It’s probably been over three years, honestly.
They all nod in response and start making suggestions on what to say and how to say it. Sophie gets them to quiet down and looks at me, raising her eyebrows as if waiting to see if it’s something I even want to do.
“So…” I start. “What, I just send him a text and ask if he wants to go out?”
They all groan.
“No, Sky. You ask in person!”
“Or at the very least, call him.”
“Fine.” I set the pan down and place my palms on the counter and lean in. All business. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to go all in. “Tell me what to do.”
More squeals fill the kitchen and I try to hide my wince at the sudden increase in sound. I can feel my body start to focus too much on how overwhelming it is while the girls talk over each other. They continue to ask questions I don’t really hear as I try to get my body under control.
Deep breaths. Relax the muscles.
Sophie comes around the island and gently nudges my elbow, signaling for me to allow her to finish the task. She’s always been good at recognizing when things start getting to be too much for me. Along with my sensitivity to certain fabrics, there are times noise becomes too much, which is something I never fully understood and still don’t. I can go to Frank’s on a Tuesday night and listen to loud music and dance and yell over all the noise, and my body can handle it. But it can’t handle a loft full of three loud voices all yelling things at once.
My brain is a strange place to be. It’s my own little rabbit hole that I stumbled down one day and never quite found the right path to take. Each one I tried seems to lead to weirder and stranger things. Some are more wonderful than the last. Others, I’d rather forget.
Once the hot cocoa is finished, we settle ourselves back on the couch to watchThe Princess Diaries, one of Charlotte and Avery’s favorite movies. I admit, I’ve only seen it a handful of times, but as long as it’s not a holiday themed movie, I am flexible.
Taking a sip from my mug, I stare at the screen, ignoring the dip of the cushion as Charlotte shifts next to me on the couch close enough for our thighs to touch.
Mirroring me, she timidly sips on her cocoa before gesturing to Mia and her mother throwing darts at paint filled balloons.
“Y’know,” Charlotte speaks up, drawing out the word. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Do what exactly?” I ask.
She gestures to the TV again as Mia finally hits one of the balloons with her dart, bright yellow paint spilling down the canvas mixing with reds, oranges and blues.
“That. Ever since I saw this movie as a kid, I thought the coolest thing you could do was fill balloons up with paint and shoot darts at them to make a weird art piece. It just seemed,” she pauses briefly, taking a deep inhale like she’s remembering something. She exhales, releasing the memory, “fun.”
A gleam enters her eyes as she finishes and turns her bright, hazel eyes toward me. I may have just met Charlotte a few months ago, but there is very little I feel like I don’t know about her. I know she isn’t afraid to be who she is; she isn’t afraid to beloud and confident. She doesn’t really worry about what others around might think about her language or bright clothes. Walking with her head held high, she just…is. Something I wish I could learn from her, if I’m honest.
But one thing I have learned about Charlotte, is when she gets that gleam in her eye it means she has an idea that she isn’t going to let go of until it comes to fruition. That expression means she is determined and she’s taking us all with her.
“Oh, I know that look,” says Avery as she and Sophie come around the sofa to sit on the coffee table. Their knees bump together as they lean on their elbows as if they’re waiting for one of us to tell some kind of epic bedtime story. “What’s the idea?”
“One of the best ones I’ve had yet, Ave.”
“And that would be?” Sophie asks.
“We set up outside and we shoot darts at paint-filled balloons to commemorate this girls’ night in.”
I honestly expected anything but that. Something more…daring? More of a hare-brained scheme that sounds so outlandish it’s something only Cordie and Fran would dare try. Sneak into Frank’s and paint his bar pink or cover it with glitter that it would take ages to get rid of. This seems too tame.
“What’s the catch?”
“Well.” Charlotte doesn’t even hesitate to expose herself. “We need supplies.”
“Okay, and?”
