Like an animal preparing to flee for its life.
Tommy sat at the table, his newly cut head of hair bent low as he tailored a shirt he’d found in her assortment of castoff clothing. His seemingly bottomless competence would ordinarily have thrilled her, yet she knew what it signified: he was preparing to leave. He was running away from her. Again.
She tore her gaze away and concentrated on the dry plates spread on the woven throw rug around her. If Tommy could pretend nothing was amiss, then so could she. Strumming her fingers on her knees, she strove—once again—to summon the bravery to develop the images. It was undeniable that Tommy’s arrival had infused her work with newfound vigor. Though she knew the concepts depicted on the plates had potential, the stakes felt inordinately high. What if she failed to capture the magic she’d felt? Or worse, what if she erroneously deemed them satisfactory only to have them belittled at the exhibition? The possibility was paralyzing.
“Why do you stare at them like they’ll bite?”
She let out a long sigh. “Because if they’re terrible, I’ll have to withdraw from the Seattle Photography Exhibition at the end of January.”
He leaned back in his chair. “This is the first I’m hearing about an exhibition.”
“It’s not so much a secret as something I’ve avoided thinking about the last few days. Every time I do, my skin starts itching and I want to hit something.”
“Ah. That explains the nail biting.”
“I suppose.” She debated letting the awkwardness take over once more, but she desperately needed to talk about the exhibition. Tommy had been understanding of her art so far, and he was no stranger to risks. Besides, anything was better than sitting around in silence. “It’s a national showcase, and the attendance could be close to a thousand. Ever since my first flop, I’ve doubted whether my work belongs there at all.”
He pursed his lips in thought. “You said the first photographs didn’t resonate because you imitated what others have done before you. Is the same true of the photographs you’ve taken of me?”
“They’re vastly different,” she admitted. “They’re more emotional, more romantic. It’s not only about the man, but also about the atmospheric elements. Subdued lighting, a softer focus. Combined, they reflect an idea. They tell a story.”
“I’m no expert, but it sounds to me like you know what you’re doing.”
“Perhaps.” She stared down at the plates. The lingering hesitation refused to abate.
The chair creaked and then Tommy was lowering to the floor beside her. He laid a hand on her knee. “I know what my third wish is.”
“Oh, really? Do tell.”
“My wish is for you to have confidence in yourself.”
She groaned. “For goodness’ sake. What a waste of a wish.”
“I disagree. It’s clear recent events have shaken your self-worth, but that’s because you’ve been hiding who you really are. That never works.”
She wrinkled her nose at his annoying, but accurate, observation. “I tried so hard to please my fiancé,” she admitted. “I said all the right things, did all the right things. It was suffocating.”
“When you were brave enough to show your true self, he realized he wasn’t man enough for you. That’s his fault, not yours.”
“And I’ve been doing the same thing with my art,” she said slowly.
Her thoughts swirled, tempest-like, inside her. She had been limiting herself. Her longstanding fear of never being understood, of being deemed too much, had undermined her efforts once more. How long would she have continued to punish herself if Tommy hadn’t shown up?
“I owe it to myself to develop the photographs and attend the exhibition with my head held high.”
“Show the world who you really are and the right people will notice.”
The truth was empowering, but it was also tinged with bitterness. Tommy might have shined the light on her façade, but what about his?
“You’re correct,” she said slowly. “But you’re also a hypocrite.”
His expression hardened. “Excuse me?”
“You tell me to take risks and open up to the world, but what about you? You hide your identity, for God’s sake. You sit behind a bookshop desk where no one has a chance to get to know the real you. Even here, with me, you shut down as soon as you come close to revealing something of any importance!”
“That’s not true. I’ve told you what my goals are.”
“You shared some details,” she agreed. “But every time you’re on the cusp of admitting too much, you silence yourself. You don’t trust me to handle your emotions, whatever they may be.”
