Page 62 of Omega Artist
With that, I pat myself on the back for following Eileen's advice.
This trip was a success... I mean, if you ignore that Tig bailed on the class as soon as the instructor allowed it. So, he basicallywatched me make a fool of myself contorting into questionable poses while trying to dodge poop from the wandering goats. I even had my picture taken with the infamous goat, aka Pixy, and his hot owner on the second evening, because annoying Tig was too tempting.
Before breakfast on the final day, I pop one eye open in the wee hours of the morning and realize that Tig’s been awake, watching me sleep for God knows how long. My hand automatically flies to the hem of my tee-shirt to make sure it’s securely fastened.
“Stalker, much?” I scoot closer to him.
His thumb caresses my cheek, and he kisses my temple. What a sweet gesture. What a gentle gesture. What an intimate gesture. I sigh, taking it in, and my hand ventures under the covers to take advantage of his morning wood. In a swift move, he catches my hand and makes atsknoise to stop me. He closes his eyes for a moment, and I'm so astonished that he denied me that I remain quiet. At first, I think that he fell back to sleep. When he opens them again, a myriad of emotions flashes in his brown eyes. Pain. Hurt. Longing.
“Tig, what's wrong?”
“You terrify me, Aliénor.”
“What?” My mouth is suddenly so parched that it comes out as a strangled cry.
He redirects my hand, resting it over his fast-beating heart, and sighs so forcefully that it tears my heart in two. What the hell is going on? He can't be breaking up with me, right?
A cold sweat breaks out, and I worry the corner of my bottom lip.
“My name is Theodore Ian Gregory de Luca. Soraya gave me the nickname Tig when we were kids.” Oh, no wonder I found it odd; it’s a nickname. My mind runs wild, trying to figure out what’s the point of his confession until... “That’s what my wife always called me. Her name was Delia.” A silent tear rolls down his cheek. I had no idea that he'd once been married. His face is ruddy as he stares at me. His body is motionless as he faces me. His thumb is soft as he caresses me.
“She died.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Boys Don’t Cry
Tig
After catchingme up on her pregnancy, I’m finally able to share some highlights from my yoga retreat with Soraya. All the while, reruns of General Hospital, a show that Graham’s obsessed with—don’t ask!—are playing in the background. Apparently, she’s gotten into the habit of watching it when she misses him.
“I hadn’t had that much fun in a long time.” I chuckle, remembering tidbits from my trip with the French girl who’s taken up a lot of space in my life lately. From the cocky Aussie soccer player who flirted with my girl, to my reluctance to do yoga, and let’s not forget the numerous goat-pooping incidents. “No, no, no, wait. Actually, I had a lot of fun when Alie and I went to see that stand-up comedian and also when we went back to the karaoke joint.” My eyes look away. The karaoke led to her spending the night and us fucking like rabbits—and not stopping since.
I’ve been on a roll since arriving here, hyper from the bottomless espressos that she’s provided, along with homemade strawberry shortcake. At last, I lead to what I’ve been struggling to reveal since returning from my trip with Alie: my most intimate admission. “I told Alie…” I trail off, unable to carry on. I’m pretty sure that my best friend doesn’t need subtitles, so I continue before she gets a chance to interrupt me. “The cake’s delicious, by the way. You’re no Ethel, but that new cooking class really shows.” I’m approaching a sugar rush since I’m not used to eating so many sweets.
She watches me intently. “What? You mean I used to suck at baking?” Her questions are followed by her stuffing her mouth with two giant spoonsful of the delicious cake. She kept her voice low because Lorenzo is sound asleep in his room, but unnecessary worry that I haven’t heard in a while crept in… must be the hormones messing with her mood.
Graham is at the gym, his usual Sunday routine, to blow off some steam after a stressful week at work. Unfortunately, it’s one of those rare weekends where Chloe is at her mother’s, so I won’t get to see her until her birthday party next month. My young friend’s been so busy with school and extracurricular activities that we’ve barely had a chance to text. I do understand that, with her growing up, I’m not her top priority, but I miss her.
“Don’t twist my words.” I grab the cup, half-full with lukewarm coffee, and cross her expansive living room to reheat it in the microwave. “I said what I meant: your cooking class paid off. It was a good investment.” I shouldn’t have so much coffee in the middle of the afternoon, though; I know that I won’t be able to sleep later.
She shrugs, her smile long gone. “Anyway…” Her fingers twirl around a lock of hair that is shorter than usual, but that she’s continued to dye according to her mood. Blue is the trend. “Don’t think you fooled me, you know.”
“Huh?” I put my mug down and my shoeless feet up on the glass coffee table.
“I see what you’re doing, you know. I love you, but I don’t care about the stand-up comedians or the karaoke or any soccer player. What Idocare about is what you buried in the middle of a sea of mundane information.” Uncomfortable, I run my fingers through my wavy hair and avert her gaze. My cheeks burn. “Tig, look at me.” Her hand reaches for mine and I comply. She squeezes it a little. “I don’t recall you telling anyone about Delia. It’s a huge step… Nah, it’s a major step.”
I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling exposed. I stare at my empty cup, then at the cake, debating whether to take another piece to keep my mouth full. I let out a heavy sigh. The silence between us isn’t awkward. What is, though, is hearing myself admit, “The weight on my shoulders is mostly gone.” I have no reason to be embarrassed, especially with her. “It feels... good.”
“Oh, Tig,” my friend faces me and pulls me into a hug.
Soraya releases her hold on me, and her eyes capture mine from her place beside me on the couch. “I’m really happy for you. It’s about time you found someone that you care for.”
“You’re right. I do care for her.” I started it, so I might as well be honest. “The thing is that she terrifies me… and I told her so.”
“That’s funny.”
I stiffen at her words. “Oh, is it?” My tone is unintentionally bitter.
