Page 2 of Note to Self
My father stares down at his plate. Has he had enough of her spitefulness? I couldn’t blame him. When he does look up, he shakes his head. “You’ve upset your mother. I think you’d better leave, Trent.”
“Why do you do this? Why do you turn it around to you? Who I date, who I sleep with, has nothing to do with you. Sotake your self-centred bitterness and shove it. I’ve had enough.” Regardless of how furious I am with her, my voice is low and controlled. I need some time away from her, from both of them. “Thank you for making this so easy for me.”
The part that isn’t easy is Marc and his reaction to my news.
“What do you mean, you’re leaving? What about your job? You’re not the type to leave a perfectly good job. What about me? After everything I’ve done for you.” Marc looks around the pub, checking to see if anyone he knows has heard us. And that’s the point. I’m fed up with him being ashamed to be with me.
“I’m going to Devon, not emigrating. I need time to think, to work out what I want to do. And I’m going to see Merrick, Josh’s husband. It’s been too long.” I reach over to touch his hand, but he whips it away. “I’ve told you time and time again that I’m done hiding. You’ve done nothing to encourage me. You like me to be your dirty little secret, but I don’t deserve that. I’m a good person. I don’t want this anymore. There’s no shame in being gay or bi, and I’m not hiding who I am anymore. I don’t expect you to understand. This is my journey.”
“Go then, Trent. Go run away to god knows where, go skipping around in rainbow T-shirts. You’ve done me a favour, saved me from dumping you. You’ve been fun. Your tight arse has been a welcome hole, but nothing more. I haven’t wanted you to come out to be with me, because I still wouldn’t want to be seen with you. You're not in my league. You’re cute and pretty but too suburban for anything serious.”
“That’s good to know, and FYI, maybe you should look up where the prostate gland is because in the last three years, you’ve never found mine.” I stand and, with my head held high, walk away and don’t look back.
Note to self—no more bastards, even if they’re disguised as hot men.
As I amble up the main street past all the busy cafes, restaurants, and chic boutiques, I understand why Merrick made this place his home. I’m taking a huge risk by simply walking into his life after being absent for so long. I’m not brave enough to knock on his front door, but I can step into his new venture and have a look around.
It was a surprise to learn he’s opened a gallery. I doubt there’s much call for his skills as a museum curator around here, but he has to do something with his time, I suppose. Obviously, I googled him. There isn’t much about Merrick’s private life, nothing I didn’t know already, but his gallery is gaining a lot of attention.
It has taken me a couple of months to make my way here. I wanted to end the school year, unwilling to leave the kids with their exams coming up. Will I be going back in September? I’ve got six weeks to come to a decision. Either I’m going to go back to my safe job or take a giant leap into an exciting new adventure. Seeing Merrick is the first step to owning my life again.
I turn the corner to reach the gallery. “Oomph!” I bounce back, and just before my arse hits the floor, strong hands wrap around my biceps.
“Shit! Oh god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”
I open my eyes. Before me stands a man who makes Marc look like one of Cinderella’s ugly sisters. “No, it’s my fault. I had my head somewhere else. Good save, though. Thanks.”
“Rugby captain.” He flashes me a Colgate smile and slowly lets go of my arms.
Of course he is. I hold back my eye roll, but only because he’s so gorgeous.
“I’m Merlin.” He holds out his hand.
His hand is warm and large and rough from hard work. “Trent.” And because I have no brain-to-mouth control, I blurt out, “I’m here for the summer.”
He grins and releases my hand. “Then I’m sure I’ll see you around, Trent.”
And with a wink, he’s gone.
It takes me a couple of seconds to get my heartbeat back to normal. Nope, not going there. When I near the gallery, my nerves rise in my throat, and butterflies swirl in my stomach, wings flapping as one. The wide glass windows of Merrick’s gallery feature a display of blown glass birds, a kaleidoscope of colours making them look like birds of paradise. The sun reflects off them, sending prisms of light over the wall to the side. They are incredible. If this is the standard of work Merrick is showcasing, there’s no way he won’t be successful. What would he make of my artwork?
I walk in, straight to the birds. A pretty woman with long blonde hair that cascades in waves over her shoulders comes over to me.
“They’re quite something, aren’t they? The artist is very talented. She paints beautifully too.”
Her bright blue eyes, framed by thick dark eyelashes, sparkle. After an appreciative perusal, she changes into a professional mode and tells me about the artist and the process of making each bird.
“Are they for sale?” I point at the three smaller birds, each one unique with swirls of different hues of blue from midnight blue to the palest aquamarine of a tropical sea. So delicate and eye-catching. I need to buy them.
“They are, but not available until the exhibition closes. You can put your name down and collect them afterwards.” She smiles at me again, a great smile, well practised but not at all fake. “I’m Melanie, the manager. I haven’t seen you here before. Are you on holiday?”
“Sort of. I’m here to catch up with a friend I haven’t seen in a few years.”
Her eyes flare with ill-concealed interest. “Now, who can that be? I’m Calston Cove born and bred, and I’d remember seeing you here before. Who are you planning to see? Maybe I can help you find them.”
“Thanks, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.” I move away, wanting to see more of Merrick’s treasures. “I’m going to have a look around.”
I walk farther into the large white room, which displays more glass exhibits, as well as colourful pottery and some stunning charcoal sketches. My fingers itch to draw, to paint again. After a while, voices reach me, and the loud, happy sound of a child fills the silent room.
