19-4530).
He frowned, but replied, “Right. Okay.”
“Hey, Viv, I need your help with this order,” Cassidy called.
“I’ll practice.” He pulled his chair closer to the table and hunkered down as Vivian joined Cassidy at the front of the shop. Was this the expression he wore during a losing game?
Or a winning one?
Hours went by under a crush of odd and complicated customers, and Vivian assumed Leif had left while she was busy.
Nope, check again, chica
.
There were only thirty minutes until the close of the store and time to start straightening up for the weekend morning rush. Yep, she worked on Friday nights. Especially when she washealthy. It made her feel less awkward about having no social life. She blamed work to her family. She didn’t know who, if anyone, believed her.
“You’re still here?” She stopped in her tracks, seeing Leif bent over another piece of paper.
“I can’t get it right.”
Vivian moved closer, closing tubes and screwing on lids. She straightened up out of habit with quick and graceful movements. She stood over his table and saw the series of pages, clearly an evolution of attempts as he worked on a green line, topped it with a brown circle, and then began to add yellow petals. To her, his current page looked like a fairly perfect single sunflower. But if he was going for a dog, or a dolphin, he had a ways to go—she’d learned to be careful until she knew the artist’s intent. Too many people burst into tears after hours of not transferring their vision to the page.
“It’s a—?” She left the question dangling.
“Oh hell, it’s supposed to be a flower. Is it that bad you can’t tell?” Leif sank his head into his hands. Yellow paint speckled his forehead and a streak of green wove through his hair like a leprechaun highlight.
She rushed to reassure him. “No, no! It’s good. It’s great. It’s just I wasn’t sure what you meant to paint. I mean, you should see some of the bowls of fruit people paint in our classes that end up looking like a pile of vomit, or the nude drawings that look more like spiderwebs or robots than people. I mean, it’s good—really good.” Vivian knew she was rambling, but he looked so sad her heart hurt. Rejections of any kind hurt, even the unintentional ones. “This is your first time. And you’re new to art, right?”
“Painting? Yeah. It’s obvious?” Leif nodded as though she’d delivered a life-imprisonment sentence. As if he knew his happiness depended on something that would never work.
Vivian sat down. She reached out and touched her fingertips to his shoulder. Just the tips, but it took every ounce of mustered courage she had. She caught a whiff of spicy cologne and wanted to lean closer, but she didn’t. “Only cuz you’re so unsure of yourself. Really. It takes practice. You didn’t score a touchup the first time you held a ball, right?”
Leif glanced up. “A what?”
Vivian blanched. “Sorry. Whatever you score in football.” She licked her lips and shrank back against the chair before standing. She’d used up all her courage.
Leif started laughing. “A touchdown.” He laughed harder. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
Stop laughing, she thinks you’re laughing at her
. I wanted to smack him.
“Um, I need to close up.” Vivian tossed the empty water bottles into the recycling without making any eye contact.
“Oh, sorry.” He jumped to his feet, almost pushing the chair over. Vivian saw him flinch as if his leg didn’t want to hold his weight, but she didn’t point it out. He hid it quickly and she assumed he didn’t want her to notice.
He doesn’t
. “I’ll be out of here in no time. I guess I’ll just toss these away?” he asked, looking for a garbage can to throw away his dry and half-dry paintings.
“I’ll do it,” Vivian answered briskly.
“No, no, I’ll clean up my stuff.” Leif didn’t understand why she’d gone all frosty on him.
She paused. “It’s okay.”
Good
He frowned, but replied, “Right. Okay.”
“Hey, Viv, I need your help with this order,” Cassidy called.
“I’ll practice.” He pulled his chair closer to the table and hunkered down as Vivian joined Cassidy at the front of the shop. Was this the expression he wore during a losing game?
Or a winning one?
Hours went by under a crush of odd and complicated customers, and Vivian assumed Leif had left while she was busy.
Nope, check again, chica
.
There were only thirty minutes until the close of the store and time to start straightening up for the weekend morning rush. Yep, she worked on Friday nights. Especially when she washealthy. It made her feel less awkward about having no social life. She blamed work to her family. She didn’t know who, if anyone, believed her.
“You’re still here?” She stopped in her tracks, seeing Leif bent over another piece of paper.
“I can’t get it right.”
Vivian moved closer, closing tubes and screwing on lids. She straightened up out of habit with quick and graceful movements. She stood over his table and saw the series of pages, clearly an evolution of attempts as he worked on a green line, topped it with a brown circle, and then began to add yellow petals. To her, his current page looked like a fairly perfect single sunflower. But if he was going for a dog, or a dolphin, he had a ways to go—she’d learned to be careful until she knew the artist’s intent. Too many people burst into tears after hours of not transferring their vision to the page.
“It’s a—?” She left the question dangling.
“Oh hell, it’s supposed to be a flower. Is it that bad you can’t tell?” Leif sank his head into his hands. Yellow paint speckled his forehead and a streak of green wove through his hair like a leprechaun highlight.
She rushed to reassure him. “No, no! It’s good. It’s great. It’s just I wasn’t sure what you meant to paint. I mean, you should see some of the bowls of fruit people paint in our classes that end up looking like a pile of vomit, or the nude drawings that look more like spiderwebs or robots than people. I mean, it’s good—really good.” Vivian knew she was rambling, but he looked so sad her heart hurt. Rejections of any kind hurt, even the unintentional ones. “This is your first time. And you’re new to art, right?”
“Painting? Yeah. It’s obvious?” Leif nodded as though she’d delivered a life-imprisonment sentence. As if he knew his happiness depended on something that would never work.
Vivian sat down. She reached out and touched her fingertips to his shoulder. Just the tips, but it took every ounce of mustered courage she had. She caught a whiff of spicy cologne and wanted to lean closer, but she didn’t. “Only cuz you’re so unsure of yourself. Really. It takes practice. You didn’t score a touchup the first time you held a ball, right?”
Leif glanced up. “A what?”
Vivian blanched. “Sorry. Whatever you score in football.” She licked her lips and shrank back against the chair before standing. She’d used up all her courage.
Leif started laughing. “A touchdown.” He laughed harder. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
Stop laughing, she thinks you’re laughing at her
. I wanted to smack him.
“Um, I need to close up.” Vivian tossed the empty water bottles into the recycling without making any eye contact.
“Oh, sorry.” He jumped to his feet, almost pushing the chair over. Vivian saw him flinch as if his leg didn’t want to hold his weight, but she didn’t point it out. He hid it quickly and she assumed he didn’t want her to notice.
He doesn’t
. “I’ll be out of here in no time. I guess I’ll just toss these away?” he asked, looking for a garbage can to throw away his dry and half-dry paintings.
“I’ll do it,” Vivian answered briskly.
“No, no, I’ll clean up my stuff.” Leif didn’t understand why she’d gone all frosty on him.
She paused. “It’s okay.”
Good
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