“Just promise you haven’t given up on your other illustrations,” Nayland adds. “I’m going to insist that you show us your latest city before we leave town.”
The conversation drifts on when Ezekiel falls into a long story about the first ceramics festival he attended, which Nayland punctuates with jokes that I sense he’s told a million times before, but that we all still laugh at. I catch a glimpse of Alexander, glowing and happy, already dressed for the library later with his tie on.
I know it feels just as good for him to spend time with his dads as it does for me, but when he meets my eye, there’s something shy in his expression. It keeps happening, too, as the morning rolls on.
I glance at Alexander; he glances at me.
We smile, look away, and then smile to each other again.
My hand aches, I want to touch him so bad, but with his dads here, all I can do is push my foot against his under the table and enjoy it when he pushes his foot back against mine.
Not only am I in love with Alexander, I’m starting to think I always have been. When I try to imagine myself in my fifties, he’s right there with me, just like his abba and his pop are there for each other. No one else could replace Alexander in my life, and lingering over the breakfast table with his dads, I need to believe that no one else could replace me in his, either.
Alexander stands. “I guess it’s time for me to get to the library.”
“Oh shit,” I say and bolt up. “I’m going to be late for work.”
I rush upstairs to change. The only clean shirt I find is gray with ink splatters on the front, and I need to comb my hair and beard properly, but I don’t have time. Instead, I grab my stuff, give Alexander and his dads all a big hug, and fly out the door.
When I get to the shop, I’m surprised to see Caesar waiting back in his room. After spending the morning with Ezekiel and Nayland, his steady, cool expression feels especially rough and unwelcoming. I walk in, and he drags his eyes up and down my body, making me aware again of the stains on my shirt and how haphazard I must look.
I feel chilled. “I’m sorry that I’m late,” I offer.
He grunts. “Show me your drawings.”
Slowly, it dawns on me. Caesar is supposed to look at my designs today. He told me last week, announcing it brusquely before he walked out the door on Friday.
I’ve been working my ass off. I have three entire sketchbooks I could show him, but they’re all sitting on my desk at home right now.
Fuck! I really want to show him my work.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I don’t have anything with me.”
Caesar takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. The black T-shirt he’s wearing is worn and thin, and he’s got fat silver rings on his heavily tattooed hands. The man narrows his eyes as he assesses me, and I tense.
I wince and prepare myself to hear the worst of it. I’m useless. I’m irresponsible. I’m not serious enough to succeed as an artist. All the doubts that I harbor secretly, Caesar can see them, plain as day.
He’s going to yell at me, and I’m going to hate it.
In some ways, though, what I get is worse. The old artist shakes his head slowly. His lips purse into a disappointed frown, and then he stands. “Bathroom needs cleaning,” he says and walks out the door.
I sit there, humiliated. Stone has metal on up front, and I can hear Billie talking to someone in her room. The back door slams, and it’s only then that I realize Caesar has left the shop.
I let him down, and he walked out.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
I’m sweaty. With Caesar gone, it suddenly feels wrong to be in his room, so I carefully turn the lights out and step back into the hallway. I’m so embarrassed about what just happened. It’s only a few weeks into the apprenticeship, and I’m already fucking it up in just the ways I tend to fuck things up.
When I get back up front, Stone looks to me with a smile. “What’s up? You and Caesar working together today?”
I hesitate. Stone’s my friend, but still, I feel ashamed. Stone was so serious when he explained to me how huge of an opportunity this apprenticeship is, but here I am, screwing it up.
I scratch my beard. “I think we’re going to work some other day,” I say vaguely. “I was just going to clean the bathroom.”
Stone tilts his head slightly to the side, then shrugs. “Okay.”
For the rest of the day, I keep my head down and try like hell to focus on my work. I triple-check every appointment I write down, refill everyone’s supplies on the hour, and generally avoid eye contact.
