KAI: Room service just got here. BRB.
IZ: Okay
I get my food, tip the hotel staff that delivered it, and return to the bed. After taking a giant bite of the steamed salmon and rice that is nowhere near as good as the steak with the guys would’ve been, I pick up my phone again.
KAI: So whatcha doing these days?
IZ: Hanging with my mom, exploring the city. Oh and I met an amazing couple that own a restaurant, I’m hanging out with them tomorrow.
I can hear the excitement in her words, even over text. And suddenly I’m filled with the need to see her. Without thinking too hard about it, I push the button to connect to a video call. Her smiling face fills the screen immediately, and I swear I feel the tension leave my body.
“You gonna learn some new recipes to cook for me?” I tease, settling back against the bed and scooping up a bite of my dinner.
“Maybe, got any requests?”
“You know I’ll eat whatever you make me. Hell, I suffered through that disaster you called a soufflé back in college, didn’t I?” I can’t resist poking fun at her, and the disgruntled look she gives me has me chuckling.
“You try making a goddamn chocolate soufflé in a college dorm kitchen,” she huffs, and fuck, she’s so damn cute.
My fingers itch to pick up a pencil and draw her. The lighting wherever she is casts soft shadows over her face but every line is as familiar to me as it was years ago.
I’ve never drawn another person. Animals, objects, nature, sure. I have books filled with sketches. But people? Nope. No one but her.
Hell, no one even knows I draw for stress relief except Isabelle. I’ve kept it a secret ever since I first picked up a pencil back in high school. Back then, I was an idiot teenager who worried I’d get teased for the hobby. Over time, it became my thing. My way to escape and turn off my brain, connect to something else.
Isabelle only knows because she found a sketchbook of mine when we first started hanging out. She encouraged it and agreedto keep it a secret. What she doesn’t know is that my favourite thing to draw has always been her.
“I should let you go, I’m guessing you need to finish eating and get some sleep.”
I blink out of the vision in my head of what I want to draw, and find her looking at me through the phone, an indescribable expression on her face. She looks sad, but also, hopeful somehow.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’ll be home in a few days. Maybe we could hang out again?”
Her nod is instantaneous. “Yes. I’d like that.”
“Okay. Cool. I’ll talk to you soon, I guess.”
“I’d like that, too.”
Our conversation has become stilted, and I’m not used to that with Isabelle. Not when everything was always so easy before. But this isn’t college. And I can’t just expect everything to go back to the way it was. Still, as we stare at each other, I have to admit that something has sparked between us. Some forgotten ember from the past that maybe wasn’t as extinguished as I thought it was. But that’s something I don’t feel ready to look at too closely just yet. “Goodnight, Iz.”
“’Night, Kai.”
We hang up, and I force myself to finish my now-cold dinner. My previously ravenous appetite has disappeared. All I want to do is go to my suitcase and open the inner pocket, pull out the small sketchbook I always have with me, and draw.
When the last bite of salmon is gone, I move the dishes to just outside my door and quickly get ready for bed. I do need to sleep.
But I need to sketch Isabelle more.
By the time I finally stop, my eyelids are heavy, my fingers are black with charcoal, and I’ve got three more drawings.
One is the Isabelle I remember. The one I normally draw. Eight years younger, wearing my college hoodie, dancing in the small communal kitchen of our dorm.
The second is Isabelle the way I imagined her in Italy over the years. Standing in a vineyard, head upturned to the sun, a peaceful smile on her face.
And the third is Isabelle from tonight. The newer, softer roundness in her cheeks and curves. The faint lines beside her eyes that tell me she’s in the sun a lot and she laughs a lot. And that expression. That sorrow mixed with hope, and deep down, if I’m honest with myself, I feel, too.
Having her back in my life feels as natural as breathing. As easy as a perfect 96-mile fastball.
