Page 119 of Finding New Dreams

“Be safe and have fun. Love you too.”

I ended the call as I reached Ozzy. He blinked up at me, cradling his wet mojito glass to his furry chest. I must’ve looked a little crazed, because his eyes were wide and his mouth was shut. For once.

“This will be the biggest showcase of my career,” I announced. “And I have another painting to add to the lineup. Are you ready?”

He nodded, a greedy smile lifting his mustache and his phone already in his hand.

This would either be the best decision of my career, or I’d be going down in a blaze of glory.

Either way, I was finally choosing to be the man I wanted to be from this day forward.

29

ROSE

My parents loved lawn ornaments.

It was one of the first things I’d learned about them when I’d shown up as a nervous teenager at their cottage-like home in D.C.

Even now, walking past the mailbox I’d painted for them when I was fifteen and seeing the dozens of garden gnomes, pinwheels, birdhouses, and colorful orbs brought a smile to my face.

A squeal drew my attention to the front steps as my mom came running down. Her flowered apron hung askew over her paisley dress. A bright yellow bandana pulled her silver hair back from her smiling eyes.

“You’re here! Oh, you’re here!”

I dropped my bag just in time for her to wrap me in a tight embrace that smelled of cinnamon and sunflowers.

“Oh, baby, you look absolutely gorgeous! A little tired, but don’t you worry about a thing. Come see Daddy.”

I smiled, her bubbly energy soothing me like warm tea. “How’s his knee? He used his crutches, right?"

After throwing my bag over her shoulder, she tugged me along. “Of course, honey. I made him. Told him he wouldn’t get any more strawberry pie if he ‘forgot’ his crutches one more time.” She rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Men! But he listened.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not deaf. Just love that pie too much.” My dad thumped out the front door, a twinkle in his eyes. He gathered his crutches in one hand and reached for me. “Missed you, Bug.”

I burrowed into his hug. “Missed you too, Dad.”

“Well, come on, come on.” My mom flapped her apron at us, shooing us into the house. “I made meatless spaghetti with some garlic bread, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“And?” my dad asked hopefully.

Mom playfully threw up her hands. “Strawberry pie too.”

He kissed her cheek, muttering something in her ear that made her blush.

“Super hungry!” I announced in an overly bright voice to cover the dark sadness that rolled through my chest at their closeness.

We clattered into the sunshine-yellow kitchen where the smell of roasted garlic and tomato made my stomach roar.

After several minutes of eating and catching up, Mom finally patted my hand. “Do you want to talk about your heartbreak now, or over strawberry pie on the patio?”

“There’s not much to say—”

“Now, Bug,” my dad interrupted in his gruff voice. “Don’t you go downplaying anything. We want the whole story.”

My mom nodded vehemently, several curls escaping her kerchief. “Yes. I told your dad that something was going on. Your texts and video chats had, uh…what’s it called, dear?”

“Subtext.”

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