Like Real People Do

Charcoal Grey Pencil

The one with the confession.

//

It had been a long time since I'd been this relaxed. Not that I didn't enjoy my job, but usually after I'd gotten the twins to sleep, I was too exhausted to make the most of my time to myself. So I'd lie on the couch and watch television until Jaxon came home.

But tonight, I was inspired. Which was strange, considering I was waiting for Jaxon to return from his date with Natalia. I'd felt a twinge of heartache when I'd waved goodbye to him alongside the twins from the hotel room doorway four hours ago, but now I just felt free. Perhaps him going on this date was the universe's way of telling of telling me that things between us just weren't destined to work out. And maybe I'd finally come to accept that fact.

So I sketched, sitting with my back to the arm of the couch and my knees bent with my sketchpad resting on my legs, lips pressed together in concentration. When I was young, I'd draw places I wanted to go and buildings I wanted to see and houses I wanted to live in, but today I was drawing hands. Strong hands. Hands that moved gracefully through the air. Hands that were tattooed. Hands with fingers which were calloused from being pressed against the strings of a bass guitar.

It was a kind of closure, I supposed. I drew them from memory, remembering their gentleness as they wiped away Finn's tears after he'd had a nightmare or their certainty as they braided Audra's hair. Eyes narrowed in concentration, I focused on the smooth curves of the knuckles and the long lines of the fingers, wanting so much to capture their beauty and warmth and tenderness on paper.

Maybe this could be my keepsake, I thought with a bittersweet sigh. Maybe, when the day came that I had to move on and leave the twins behind, leave Jaxon behind, this is all I would take with me. The memories of crinkled smiles and soulful glances and this drawing. So that I would never forget. As if that was possible anyway.

I startled when the door opened, the charcoal pencil pausing on the sketchpad as Jaxon entered the room, immediately kicking off his shoes before closing the door behind him.

"Hey," I smiled widely, "How was it?"

He'd been nervous before he left to pick Natalia up from her hotel. Which was understandable. I'd be nervous even if it wasn't my first date in two years.

But he was strangely calm right now. Stretching his lips into a soft smile, he shrugged off his canvas jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch as he approached where I was sitting. "Hey. You're sketching."

"Yeah, I was in the mood," I grinned, lowering my knees so that I could sit cross legged and giving him space to plop down on the other end of the couch.

I opened my mouth to ask why he hadn't answered my question about the date, but he spoke again before I got the chance. "Can I see?"

I hesitated. He'd asked once before to see my sketchbook, but I'd refused because we hardly knew each other then. But that was months ago. Before I'd respected him. Before I'd started falling for him. And now...well, I still maintained that sharing my sketches was like revealing pieces of my soul, but somehow, I didn't mind Jaxon seeing it. Maybe this was part of closure as well; that I was finally secure enough to show him the most private parts of me.

Setting the pencil on the coffee table, I passed him my sketchbook, praying he didn't recognize the hands as his own. I hadn't yet added the tattoos, thinking they could be a finishing touch, so right now, the hands looked pretty generic. Only I knew who they really belonged to.

He stared at it for what felt like an eternity, his eyes moving slowly to absorb every line and arc and inch of shading until he finally he lifted his gaze to meet mine, the corners of his lips lifting upwards. "Wow, you're really good. Did you study art?"