Because of all the people in the world, I respect her the most. And if she wants me to be kind to Gavin, I will, at least when she’s around.
She has been working to give Auggie and me the best possible lives she could since before we were born. After both of our fathers abandoned her in pregnancy, she spent our childhood working two jobs, and getting a law degree. She commuted to Wilhelmina two days a week for school while Luci took care of us at home.
It may have taken her four times longer than normal, but she did it. And we were there, cheering for her as she walked across the stage at graduation.
She showed us how fierce her determination is and how much she could accomplish when she set her mind to something.
But that’s why it’s so hard to admit to her that I’m listless right now, with no clear path in front of me for what will make me happy. I don’t even know what I want to work toward.
After living and breathing art for my entire life, becoming an art teacher was exactly what I thought I wanted my future to look like. I loved introducing children to their creative sides and watching them flourish.
But somewhere along the way, my own passion and creativity suffocated amid the school setting's bureaucracy and regulations.
So when they announced they were letting me go and downsizing their art programming, I felt …nothing.
I wasn’t surprised or hurt or devastated.
Instead, I was justempty.
It feels as though I’m staring at a blank canvas, and I can’t figure out what to put on it. There are too many options and not enough at the same time.
I haven’t even picked up a paintbrush in weeks, so the thought of trying to paint out my whole future is overwhelming.
For the last two weeks, I’ve tried to come up with some new job ideas, but so far, the list of options is ludicrous at best.
1. Target makeup consultant who helps match people with their most savage lip color.
2. Taylor Swift’s bodyguard.
3. Taylor’s fan-holder when she’s getting overheated.
4. The woman who picks up Taylor’s dirty clothes when she doesn’t feel like putting them in the hamper.
5. Photographer who specializes in boudoir photos to send to an ex who jilted them.
That one is extremely niche, and I’m still trying to figure out how the pictures can spontaneously delete within five seconds of the ex receiving them. Also, I don’t know anything about photography, and that seems important.
Then the most recent addition is one of my personal favorites.
6. Holder of sleeping babies.
The list needs some help, so I’m going to continue brainstorming.
The air shifts beside me as Gavin returns to the kitchen with a smallNinja Turtlesbandage around his finger. Without looking my way, he grabs the knife he was using and brings it to the sink to wash it.
Leaning against the counter, I watch as he shoves up the sleeves of his black Henley, revealing forearms corded with muscles and covered in tattoos. He’s always had them, but it looks like he’s added a few more recently. I shamelessly stare at him, mesmerized by his movements, and if he can feel me watching him, he doesn’t reveal it.
Our ten-year age difference is starting to show in the light dusting of gray hair around his ears, but he’s aged like fine wine, and it only makes him more attractive to me.
His broad shoulders could hold a lucky woman slung over them, and his sharp jaw hosts a five o’clock shadow this evening. His dark-brown hair is artfully waved on top, and I’m mesmerized by those perfectly shaped lips that have no business being on a man.
When he turns back to chopping potatoes, I have a new view to be enamored with. His back and shoulder muscles shift under the shirt that seems to barely contain his strength.
Fuck. He’s magnificent.
I want to climb onto his back and feel those solid muscles beneath my hands. Between my thighs.
A throat clears beside me, and I blink toward my mom. Heat blooms in my cheeks as I realize she caught me ogling Gavin. Thankfuckshe can’t read minds.
