Page 113 of Trusting You

He straightens. “It’s your work on display. It’s your art. I want to see it. And I’m no longer waiting for an invite.”

“Shoot, I should’ve told you to come by sooner.”

The thought of Locke seeing my paintings, seeing all I have to give to this world, makes my insides curl. His opinion matters, and while he likes one of my paintings, what’s he going to say about the others? I put faces in things, in objects. He might consider it weird and compliment the first painting he saw because he felt he had to.

It’s annoying, how I constantly feel like an imposter. Like I don’t deserve praise for my work. As if I’m better off crunching numbers for a major corporation to impress a family that makes it clear I’m a mistake, rather than using a paintbrush to bring emotions to life within everyday things.

And to think, I’d just been crafted into a goddess under Locke’s strokes. Someone else held the paintbrush in his hands, for the first time in my life.

“It’s been weird with us these past few days,” he says. Lily’s cries are growing louder, so he finishes with, “Later, let’s have dinner or something. You and me, after Lily goes to sleep. We can talk about…”

“Us?”

“Yeah.” His lips lift slightly. “Us.”

“Okay.” I nod as if there could be an us.

“And maybe…after.” Locke rubs at his scruff.

“Yes?”

“You can come to one of my meetings,” he finishes in a rush. His hand’s still on his mouth, and he’s perplexingly bashful, afraid to look me in the eye. “The NA thing.”

“I’d love that, Locke.”

“Really?” He brightens. “Awesome. I’ll meet you out there in a sec. I want to text East, see if he’s all right after the fuckery that was last night.”

“He’s more than all right. He’s famous.”

Locke’s smile slips. “Exactly what I’m worried about.”

“Call Ben, too. Astor seemed worried about him last night.”

Locke frowns, wants to say more, it seems, but Lily’s insistent, so I scoot out of there, out of the after and the duty to discuss it.

Lily’s peering between the crib’s bars and bounces up and down upon seeing me. She’s shaky, her butt doing most of the heavy lifting with balance, but soon she’ll be wandering these halls same as Locke and me, and that’s crazy to think about.

I reach for her, lifting and then pressing her soft, wiggly body close to mine, smelling her baby-ness and wondering how much longer I’d have with her until she’s a baby no more.

“Morning, sunshine,” I say into her hair, those tiny, satin curls of hers tickling my nose.

“Guh,” she says, then rolls her r’s with a follow-up. “Burrrrrrrrrr.”

“Yes, exactly,” I say, turning to the changing station. “I think I’m starting to like your daddy, too.”

I look down at Lily, arms and legs akimbo as she refuses to sit still for a diaper change. Two times, I’ve had to spin her around on her back before she crawls off the changing table’s cliff.

I change Lily, but my mind is off, back in the room with Locke and the consequences of sleeping in that bed.

Basking in the pleasure of Locke, that’s easy.

But dealing with the reality of caring about Lily’s father…that’s a responsibility better left to a girl who doesn’t give a fuck about love.