I don’t need the chuckle from the peanut gallery behind me, so I shoot Warner a look that I hope he receives loud and clear aszip it, mister.
His mom asks, “Do we know?—”
Warner steps into the fray, detaching my hands from his mom, and says, “Mother, you don’t have a drink.”
“I—” That’s all she manages as her eyes stay glued to mine. “Who is that wo?—”
“I need to refill my drink, too,” he adds, swooping in by wrapping his arm around hers and pulling her toward the bar. “Let’s get drinks.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “Feel free to look at the art. That’s why we’re here tonight.”
His mother knocks on his cast. “Did you break your arm?”
“A car hit me. I’ll tell you all about it at the bar.” That’s the last I can hear before they blend into the crowd that’s formed near the bar. I don’t blame the people. I’d need booze too if I was always stuck going to these stuffy events. I was excited to get dressed up, but when I look around, no one seems to be having any fun. I take my glass of champagne and meander through the statues. I don’t stop. Marble and bronze statues aren’t typically the art I’m drawn to.
I wander through different exhibits, finding one of their grandest in the Egyptian wing. Continuing, I spend time looking at ancient weapons and jewelry, and paintings from France from the 1800s. I finish another glass of champagne before entering a wing and find another server happy to replace my empty glass with a brand-new one.
More time has passed than I thought I’d be spending with Warner. I don’t mind, but I sort of miss the jerk. I finally reach the American wing of the museum. I’ve seen the painting online and on TV a million times and could describe it by heart. But he talked about it so much that I feel compelled to see it in person. I enter through two open double doors and stop. As I stare ahead, I was expecting a large painting. I wasn’t expecting this. It’s huge, covering most of the wall space at the far end of the room.
Awe overcomes me as I walk toward it, leaving me speechless.
“It’s impressive, no?”
I glance over at Warner. He’s standing next to me, his gaze on the painting in front of us. “I didn’t expect it to be that big. Or . . .” I start, words still eluding me as the art takes precedence over thought. We stand in silence, both staring at the famous painting. “I’ve been here so many times over the years. I can’t believe I’ve never seen it before.”
“It’s a big museum.” He says, “It’s not the original. But it’s an incredible replica. The first was destroyed in a war.”
“It’s not like I haven’t seen this on TV, online, or even in the movies. It’s a general in a boat for goodness’ sakes. I shouldn’t be this emotional.”
“There comes a sense of astonishment from the hours it must have taken. We feel like we know it because it’s familiar, but it hits different seeing it in real life.”
I nod, nothing of value to add to his observation. Henailed it. I face him, looking around the room to see if I spot his mom. “Where’s your mother?”
“Drinking champagne with the lead curator for the glass art that’s being introduced tonight. She made a donation to close the gap to make the exhibit possible.”
“Quite the philanthropist family.”
He sips his drink and leans over. “You’re part of that family, remember?”
“I don’t think I could forget even if I tried.”
Chuckling, he turns to me. “I almost kissed you when I found you in here. You really do have a graceful neck.”
Disappointment shouldn’t enter my mind, much less my chest, but there it is, weighing me down with the possibility of what could have been. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because the last time, I got sucker punched by your bony elbow.”
That makes me laugh, easing the heaviness that was creeping in. “You made a wise decision, I suppose. This time.”
He looks at the painting once more before looking around as if he’s searching for the nearest exit. “As romantic as this painting is,” he says with a smirk on his face. “How about we get out of here?”
“The room or the museum?”
“Both.” When a server passes with a tray of empty glasses, Warner finishes his drink and adds his glass to the others. “Ready?”
I add my glass to the tray and take Warner’s offered hand. “Ready.”
Judging by how he weaves us through the halls and straight toward the main lobby entrance, I think he’s been here a few times. “Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go? We’re all dressed up and can?—”
