Freeform (16 page)

“That's a pretty sweet story,” June coos as I snuggle further into her touch.

It's strange that her sensual touches are smothering out the resentment just as easily as her sexual ones.

“Gotta say, Tuck, I have a hard time believing someone who engaged in such a sweet love affair would have an easy time picking the pieces of their broken heart back up.”

Her sympathy towards my mother shuts my eyes.

Yet she's remarrying Honey I'm Shrink The Kids.

“I don't think your mom will ever stop loving your father, Tucker. I just think now....maybe....she's finally found a way to live with his death rather than avoid it. To allow herself some peace and a chance at a different type of love. I didn't know your father, but I get the feeling he wouldn't want her to die alone and miserable any more than he would want you to feel abandoned and unwanted.”

Do you.....as an innocent listener, think she's right? You think maybe...I can't see her need for anything besides him because of how angry I am about the way she dealt with his unexpected death? Do you think...maybe...she's angry at me for running away? Taking the only piece of my father she was still tied to away from her abruptly?

June's fingertips roll around my brown locks at the same time she sweetly commands, “Tell me anything you want about him. His favorite music. His favorite sports team. The way he hated Brussels sprouts. Anything you want, Tucker Frost, and I'll listen.”

The offer lifts a weight off of my shoulders.

I've been with numerous women over the years. They've told me their stories. Their hopes and dreams. Their fears. Their doubts and regrets. Pasts they've overcome. They painted pictures that I then recreated into artwork. I've told and retold their stories with strokes, dull colors, or unusual objects. In all that time, not once has anyone ever
asked
to hear mine. I wouldn't have told them regardless, but it would've been nice to have simply been offered the opportunity. Guess you can have June add this to her long list of things that make her impossible to forget.

June

“I know, mom,” I sigh as I switch lanes. “It's just been a really busy few weeks.”

It has! No, work hasn't been keeping me that occupied. Scheduling some of Brandi's future appointments and hunting for baby shower gifts for three women at the office isn't really time consuming. Tucker on the other hand? Let's just say if I'm not working he wants me under him. Or on top of him. Or any variation he can create. And only when I'm too worn out to lift my head, he slips away to work on his latest design. Three days ago it was sculpture. Not sure of what exactly, but it felt like two people going at it.

“I am
not
complaining,” my mother tries to correct from her end of the phone. “I'm just hoping it's more than just
work
that's keeping you busy, Juney. I want you to live a life. Have fun. Get drunk once in a while. You've always been so worried with making sure others have what they need. I just want to know you have what you need.”

My mind flashes to Tucker cooking me dinner last night.

He does. He cooks. Tells tales. Finally, he's including himself in them. Yesterday he told me about a family vacation they took to the mountains and how last year he went back to the same mountains, but stayed with a random family he met.  If all that isn't enough he whisks me away for art filled adventures. We woke up early a couple nights ago and threw paint filled balloons at the fence. For the first time in my life I'm getting to see and do things I never thought I would. He told me about this city in Texas where some street artist recreated some of Van Gogh's classic painting on old buildings around the city and then he offered to take me some day. Best part is, it didn't feel like an empty promise. It felt...real....It felt like a promise made by the man who plans on spending the rest of his life with you.

“Promise me, you'll start to live your life and focus on yourself, Juney.”

The line beeps and Brandi's name flashes on the screen to let me know she's on the other line. “Promise, but I gotta go now. It's work.”

She lets out a defeated sigh, “Alright, Juney. Call me tomorrow?”

“You got it.” I click over and warmly state, “This is June.”

“June!” Brandi's cheerful greeting informs me she's already began drinking.

Which is fine by me. An inebriated Brandi is a generous woman. Last year, we went to one of those charity events to support children with retinal diseases such as LCA, and they hosted a silent auction. She bid on a pair of red Christian Louboutin heels. When she won, she gave them to me and insisted I learn to walk in them since I have a killer ass that needs more attention brought to it. Drunken flattery, but I'll take it. At that point I was just amazed she even remembered we wore the same shoe size. And no. I haven't worn the shoes. You know me. I barely make it in flip-flops. Five inch heels and I'd need surgery for a broken leg.

“Are you two on your way?”

“I am just around the corner from the condo. I'm sure Tucker will be ready to go.”

That's a lie. Getting him to put on any clothes not covered in paint is an exhausting task. He prefers to be naked, which I have no problem with as long as it's just the two of us. I don't really want women flocking to him harder than they already do.

“
If
he's still there,” her voice cautions. “Look June, I love you. You know that. You're the best assistant I've ever had-”

“Thank you-”

“But Tucker is a runner. It's what he does. It's the whole reason I even threw you in his path. The more eyes to keep tabs on him the better. And I'm sure the two of you sleeping together makes you think he'll give you some sort of warning before he skips town, but he won't. One day he'll just...be gone. We've only got one week to go before the reception so stay on top of him like bubbles on champagne.”

The metaphor scrunches my face.
  

“We want him there.”

“No need to worry, Brandi. I'll make sure he's there.”

“I hope so. Firing you
and
disappointing my sister would be a terrible way to end the summer.”

No kidding...

“I'm pulling up now. We'll see you all shortly.”

Hitting the end button, I pull up to the curb beside Tucker who is sprawled out with various pastel chalks completely surrendered to the 3D creation on the sidewalk. I kill the engine and simply take a moment to admire the man I've fallen head over heels for.

I don't even feel the need to tell him. Something inside of me tells me he already knows. Just like I know, he loves me.

His bottom lip slips between his teeth as he reddens the cherry on the melted ice cream sundae. The sight of him covered in chalk, blissfully lost in his greatest passion, and completely unaware the rest of the world exists tugs even harder at my heart.

Maybe she's wrong. Maybe...maybe he's changed or changing. Maybe he won't pull a Houdini. I won't slip into such a delusion to believe he'd put down roots here, but I believe he'd at least have the decency to kiss me goodbye. God, I don't want that kiss.

I slip out of the car doing my best to put those thoughts to rest. Playfully I state, “Well now I want ice cream.”

Tucker's face pops up and his grin expands. “I can give you a different kind of whip cream if you want.”

Don't encourage him! Hide that snicker!

The dirty comment rolls my eyes. “Why aren't you dressed? We're supposed to be at the benefit in twenty minutes.”

“Uh-huh,” he brushes it off and stands up straight.

“Tucker-”

“You think that banana is big enough?”

“You know I think your banana is huge.”

My joke lifts his eyebrows, heat now entering his eyes. “Maybe we should go inside and double check to make sure that's still true.”

I wave a finger at him. “No. No-huh. You're going to go inside to shower quickly and
change,
Tucker Frost.”

Like a child being yanked inside earlier than all his friends he groans, but leans down to collect his materials. Once he's cleaned them up we head for the front door and he causally mentions, “Guess since we're in such a hurry you'll just have to wait to see the surprise I made you.”

I shut the door behind me. “Wait, what surprise?”

He slides the bucket across the art supply filled formal dining room table and continues walking. “Nope. Not telling.”

Excitement rushes my body to be by his side, but my inability to move briskly in heels tumbles me into the wall.

Instantly, he swings around and extends his stained hands for possible assistance. “Are you okay, June Bug?”

“Better if you'd show me the surprise now.”

“Nope.” He cocks a grin. “But if you wanna join me in the shower to possibly sway my decision, I will leave the door unlocked...”

Tucker flashes me another mischievous smile and backs up towards the bedroom.

The moment he's inside, I use my eyes to frantically look around for some sort of clue while my body moves carefully around the messy floor.

Swear he's allergic to cleaning. Most of the time that's how I try to make myself useful around this place. It's not like I can make anything with him, though he tried to help me sketch an apple and quickly realized I wasn't exaggerating about no artistic abilities.

“Don't bother looking,” his voice startles me and I bump my elbow against one of the bar stools. “You won't find it.”

With a small pout, I fold my arms across my chest.

What do you think it is? Obviously it's something he made, which whatever it is will be welcomed in my apartment just like the little blue jay he made when he came to the art class I host for kids. It actually sits on my nightstand. I've barely seen it or my bed since Tucker wrapped me up in his artistic spell, but that's alright. After Brandi's drunken warning, I have an uncomfortable feeling that's going to change very soon despite my own foolish hopes.

Tucker

I toss the toothpick into the waste basket beside us. “In my opinion the best bacon wrapped stuffed Jalapenos can only be found in Texas.”

June snickers from behind a glass of champagne. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, when I was there I went to a little local diner called The Box. Ate there most of the time I was in the city. Even ate my first fried Twinkie there.” She giggles and wraps her arm around mine. “Not as delicious as I thought it was going to be.”

The two of us continue to make our way around the very lively event.

Under most circumstances I wouldn't come to these parties that are nothing more than pathetic excuses for people with too much money to look for tax loopholes, but this one I actually stand behind. I made sure to write a donation check seconds after arriving. You could say helping keep art programs in schools is a weakness. I think everyone deserves the chance to experience the arts. And I don't just mean the various forms I enjoy, but theater, dance, music, and literature all are equally valuable in sculpting the human spirit.

“You know my father hated taking art class in high school,” I casually say as the two of us continue to move around the room, admiring the paintings up for purchase from new artists on the rise. “He only did it because he needed the credit.”

“He could've taken dance or music.”

“Tone deaf with two left feet.” My comment causes us both to lightly laugh. “His words.” There's a small pause in which we stop in front of a painting of a vase. Mindlessly I mumble, “He would've loved you...”

Where....where did that come from? How does she do that? How does she just drop my guard so I feel comfortable enough to say anything?

She tugs me closer. “Pretty sure that would've been mutual.”

I softly smile.

“Hey, how come you didn't take his last name?”

“He wasn't completely sure what it was.” My eyes drift to hers. “He was an orphan. Mother died from the flu a couple weeks after he was born. He was put up for adoption, adopted, last name legally changed, only to be put back up for adoption around the age of three.”

Fucked up, huh? Adopt a kid and then put him back for adoption? What kind of person does that?

She gasps sharply. “Why?” 

“He never really knew why and after that he bounced around in foster care until he graduated. Never stayed with a family for longer than 18 months. So...when the time came to marry my mother, he asked how she felt about him taking her name since it meant so much more than his did, since he was joining
her
family.”

June sweetly says, “Sounds like he would've done anything to keep her happy.”

I nod, my smile growing. “He did. To keep us all happy, really.”

Another small silence passes as we move onto the next framed piece of artwork, which happens to be by Norm. It's an abstract rendering of what I swear is his face.

Narcissistic asshole.

“I think you should talk to her again,” June quietly comments.

My head snaps to face. “Excuse me?”

She keeps her attention straight ahead. I assume to not lose her courage. “I think....any man who loved his family as much as you say he did would be devastated to know they weren't speaking. You may be all of him she really has left but on the contrary, she's all of him you have left as well. She knew the man in the father and you knew the father in the man. It seems like that should keep you connected. Not divide you.”

“But-”

“And I know you're angry, Tuck. I don't blame you for a small amount of resentment for her choice of how to grieve, but she's your mother.” Her face finally turns towards mine. “She loves you and deserves to know you still love her underneath all that unresolved adolescent angst. If you won't do it for your own sanity, do it for your father. Make him proud of the man you've become, not only for traveling the world and capturing beautiful stories of the unknown, but for being able to do right by his family. Your family.”

The advice aggravates me.

I don't fucking care if she has a point. I....she....my mother....Ugh. I don't want to talk about this right now. Damn sure not with what's waiting for her at home.

“Not to tonight,” I whisper.

June surrenders with a nod and moments later we're joined by a tipsy Aunt Brandi and very drunken Uncle Brett.

“Hey you two!” Aunt Brandi speaks first. “Very glad you made it.”

“Wouldn't have missed it,” I counter. “Giving back to the arts is kinda my thing.”

“True.” She then bobs her head back and forth. “But then again you rarely stay still long enough for your own shadow to catch up.”

On a chortle, I agree, “Also true.”

“At least it
was
true.” Uncle Brett winks.

Before June. Funny how the right person makes it so there's no need to escape.

Aunt Brandi turns her attention to June. “You look beautiful this evening! That dress would be even better with a higher heel! Oh! Those Louibotons I gave you last year would've been perfect.”

They're like shoe artwork, not only in design but in the beauty of seeing them in the air. Of course I've come across a pair or two in my time.

Uncle Brett tugs at his tie and growls, “I hate these things. The bow ties. The dry wine. The food. Where's the real food?” Uncle Brett grumbles. “The kind without the toothpicks. The kind that you gotta use toothpicks to get the shit out of your teeth.”

“Don't say the word shit,” Brandi fusses patting him on the arm. “You know my parents prefer modest language at events like this.”

“Oh your parents can be upset over my language choices, but feel each other up in the coat closet?”

I stifle my laugh and so does June.

Everyone in my family is adventurous, though picturing my grandparents going at it in the coat closet isn't doing my own sex drive any good.

“Brett!”

“Brandi.”

“Have you two bid on anything?” June changes the subject. “Seen anything maybe you wanna add to the lobby of the hotel? Or the lobby of the office?”

“Oooo,” Aunt Brandi coos looping her arms around my uncles’. “That's a really brilliant idea!”

I smile in agreement. “June's full of those.”

My girlfriend gives me a timid smile.

“We should look around,” Aunt Brandi begs. “Please...”

“Just avoid the artist known as Norm Woodland.”

Her eyebrows furrow in question.

“He's an asshole.”

Uncle Brett chuckles yet Aunt Brandi swipes a hand at me. “You know your grandparents hate foul language in places like this.”

“Honey, your parents are doing foul
things
in places like this.”

“Brett!”

“Why don't we?” He asks reaching for a glass of champagne on a tray passing by. “This stiff crowd could definitely use a little livening up. I'm sure your screams would do them some good.”

“Brett!”

My head falls back on a hearty laugh while June flies a hand over her mouth to catch her shock.

“Come on, Honey,” he says gaining a smirk. “Let's leave the love birds alone. Pretty sure I saw a portrait of woman with her nipple exposed over by that dark corner. That would be good for the hotel...” He ushers my aunt away and gives the two of us a wink behind her back.

June squeaks, “Wow.”

“Are you wowing where they're headed or wowing what my grandparents are up to?”

When I turn to look at her she simply repeats, “Wow....”

I lightly laugh once more and spot my mother out of the corner of my eye nestled close to David. For a moment I study them both. He looks at her with respect and kindness. She gives him equally sweet glances. They appear to be genuinely happy and the sight along with June's speech reverberate unpleasantly throughout my system.

With the smile vanished, I sigh, “You wanna go? I've made an appearance and dropped off my donation already. Why don't we go back home and I can show you your surprise?”

June's eyes widen with excitement. “Yes!”

I take her half empty champagne glass and leave it on a table close by. Afterward the two of us make a hasty break to grab our coats, her purse, and head back the condo. Before we walk in the door I instruct for June to cover her eyes.

“You know I have trouble walking
when
I can see, why would you make me do this with my eyes closed?”

Her complaint makes me chuckle as I steer us into the guest bedroom that's over run with paint supplies.

Like any place I spend my time, the entire area becomes my studio with the exception of the kitchen. I prefer to keep my culinary art clean and toxic free.

Inside the room, I help lower June onto the bed, and command, “Open your eyes.”

June's hands drop. The annoyed expression on her face makes me grin. “It's behind the sheet.”

“Right.”

“Then why did I have to walk through the house with my eyes closed.”

“It was more fun that way.”

She twitches a glare while I smirk. “You ready?”

A nod of enthusiasm is given.

In one swift motion I yank off the white cloth to expose the gift.

June sharply gasps at the painting. I watch her examine the finished design, eyes roaming over every little detail as she does her best to drink it all in. Once she's had enough time to admire it on her own, I drop down on the bed beside her and sigh, “I've tried to paint this city a million times. I've sketched it dozens, but every time I take it off the pad and put it on paper, it was apparent something important was missing. The essence of the city. It's heartbeat.” I turn my attention the masterpiece. “You were what was missing, June Bug. You're the nerve center that makes so much possible for so many people. Me included. You may think you're lost to the shadows when the truth is you're dead center and without you we would all fail.”

Together we sit in silence and stare at the city skyline that's been painted inside a curvy, feminine outline who is lying horizontally. The background is the same color as June's mocha skin. I also did my best to match the full yet softness of her body structure hoping to enhance my point about what makes this city more beautiful than any other place in the world.

She looks remarkable even in a painting.

Finally, June sighs, “I don't know what to say....”

“A speechless, June Bug? That's a new one,” I tease.

Rather than giggle or poke back, she simply turns to me and says, “Thank you.”

Her gratitude is instantly proceeded by her lips firmly touching mine. Unable to resist the urge, I part them, tasting her natural sweetness mixed with the champagne from earlier. Leisurely our tongues roll together as our bodies begin to melt into one. Our typical frantic nature has seemed to be replaced by a slow, smooth one that is making us equally as breathless. The two of us take turns peeling each other's clothes off and littering the exposed skin with light kisses.

My mouth falls to June's neck and her legs effortlessly wrap around my body from underneath me. On a hot whimper she pleads, “More, Tucker....I need more of you.”