Isn't That What Love Is? (Chapter Three)

"Hello?" I mumbled, very much groggy and tired. It was the middle of the night. Who would be calling at this time? I laid in bed, the phone attached to my ear with eyes closed.

"Uh, um... Ava?" A girl on the other line breathed over the phone. If I didn't know any better, I would say that she had been up all night, upset about something. "I'm so sorry to bother you at this time, I... I just needed a favor. It's Loraline."

I bolted up, now suddenly awake. "Uh...no, no, it's fine. What did you need?" I yawned, the New York skyline asleep before me. This was new. Loraline never called me, ever. Let alone in the middle of the night.

"I'm a mess right now, one of my bridesmaids backed out on me." She sighed. I didn't like where this was going. "I was wondering if you would do the honor of taking her place?"

I didn't hate Loraline, but I certainly didn't like her enough to be a bridesmaid at her wedding.

"Oh. Wow."

"Yeah, I know, it's big." She said in a rush, her voice just as tired as mine. "But... but you're my only hope." Great. Now I was her last resort.

"Loraline, I would, but..." I paused, trying to figure out what to say. "Your bridesmaid should be someone who is close to you... I don't want to intrude and be a replacement-"

"Who said I didn't consider us being good friends? Please, Ava. If I were there with you right now, I would be on my knees begging you."

Silence occurred as I thought about it. I could just imagine it, long, boring dress rehearsals, embarrassing dance lessons, a dinner rehearsal in which I will be forced to deal with people I don't know and don't usually hang with (probably rich colleagues who I had nothing in common with), and also have to deal with some dumb theme she'll probably come up with. But most of all... having Cam near me throughout the whole process. I could just see me stealing glances, my heart on asthma again. I would have to face the two of them together, dancing, touching, laughing, maybe even groping at each other. Would I have the energy to do this for some 26 year old business woman who I got along with only because she was slightly better than most people in my family? Nope. I'm not game. But I couldn't help biting on my fingers, dread sinking me down into the pits of being a pushover.

"Ava," She breathed deeply. "Please."
Silence. She waited. I held my breath.
"Yes." I shut my eyes tightly, getting myself into a difficult position. Hunching and coiling up into a ball on my bed, aware of the fact that I had just signed up for trouble.

She inhaled and exhaled, relaxing into a much softer voice. "Thank you, Ava. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much weight you've lifted off my shoulders." She laughed gently.

"No... no problem." I said, running a hand over my face.
"Okay... well, I'll let you go now. Again, I am so sorry for waking you up. I just couldn't let this wait any longer." She said, her voice apologetic.
"It's alright, Loraline." I picked my head up, the sheets rustling around me as I laid my eyes on the moon.
"Alright," she said finally. "I'll e-mail you the schedule. Goodbye, Ava."
"Right. Bye." I slammed the phone down the receiver, falling back to bed and putting a pillow over my face in hopes of coming back to dreamland. But dreamland would not let me back in. Irritated, I yanked the pillow off my face and threw the covers aside before getting out of bed. I walked over to the fridge, the wooden floors creaking. I'd have to get those fixed too. After the sink. Never mind, I haven't the money. I'm just lucky that I didn't inherit a hangover from last night. I'll be thankful for that.

I opened the fridge, scanning the items in there, or the items that weren't even there to begin with. I grabbed the carton of orange juice, unscrewing the top and taking one, big gulp. I closed the fridge, nearly being blinded by the lights from outside. Shading my sleepy eyes, I sat on the counter, watching the shadows dance on my walls and ceiling. I looked to the right hand corner of the room, where all my paintings leaned against each other. I laid my head on my knee, not being able to move for a good minute. Finally, I got off the counter, but when my feet touched the floor, I felt water seep in between my toes.

"Fuck." I groaned, looking at my sink as if it leaked the black plague. "Yeah, I'm working on the money to get your ass fixed, so can you not leak for five seconds?"

I walked off, stomping on my rug to get rid of the moisture and approached my paintings. I took a deep breath and bent down in front of them, sighing. I lifted the white sheet that blanketed them altogether.

"Why doesn't anybody like you, huh?" I ran my fingers over my first painting. The one with a naked pregnant woman, lying on a field of wild mustard as she looked down at her belly, wrapping her arms around it. I took all the paintings and spread them out against my wall so I could see all of them at once. I took a step back after arranging them and sat down on my couch, facing all of them directly. I lifted my legs up onto the couch, hugging my knees as I observed them. The light from the moon and the night sky coming from the window gave the paintings a haunting but beautiful glow. I laid my eyes on them one by one, my heart cracking even more. It's ready to half in two any minute now. I put my life, years of tension between my parents and I, my sweat and tears, and everything else I could give in to these paintings. Maybe 'everything else I could give' wasn't enough. How had Cam done it? He was such a talented painter. But that's not him anymore, he had walked away from that.

This wasn't like old days from before, where I could lie in his arms while our bodies stayed afloat on the lake for hours, asking him what it was that made a painting...a painting. 'You have to give it feeling, make every aspect of it come to life.' I could almost hear this same whisper in my ear as he used to say it. But had I not given it just that? I turned my attention on the painting to the far right, my very first one. The one I had painted just after my 16th birthday, the one I tried to paint the hardest because I had to remember each piece of the picture inside my head. I had to remember the lines of his face, the indentation of his every dimple, each freckle on his skin, the frame of his body, the shade of gray in his eyes. It didn't turn out as perfect as the picture inside of my head but it had potential. If you take a look at it and compare it to my latest painting, you'd see the years of improvement, years of concentration, years of being alone, swamped in my passion. Cam had been 18 in the painting, so young, so foolish and reckless. The painting was unbeknownst to him. He had left even before I began working on it.

I yawned, looking up at the sky from my window. My studio was known for its windows, they were huge and took up most of the wall towards the street. I got up, deciding to pull out a fresh canvas from my closet. I placed it on the easel in my bedroom and stood back, staring at it and wondering why the hell I decided to do this at one in the morning. Mindlessly, I picked up a paintbrush and took some yellow water color, mixing it with acrylic and oil. After producing the color I wanted, I decided to do the first layer yellow, so I could easily mix and layer colors on top. I swiped at the canvas, the white space beginning to hide underneath a blanket of yellow paint. Without an idea in my head, I continued on, the moonlight being my only guidance as the brush in my hand kept going. The night droned on slow, but for me, it was like watching the leaves slowly fall in October. Peaceful. That's one of the reasons why this feeling was better than getting along with my family. Painting welcomed me when they didn't. My heart swells with a thousand euphoric jolts with each piece I finish. Nothing could ever replace it.
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"She wants us to wear peach dresses." I stared at my laptop screen in disgust. "I can just imagine frills and lace on it. Not my thing."
"What brand?" Nadine asked, staring at the painting I had just finished a few nights ago.
"Vera Wang." I answered, scrolling down Loraline's plan and schedule on my e-mail.
"You," she started, turning around to face me. "Cannot go wrong with that."
"I don't know, I like simplicity."
"Rich bitches don't ever go the easy route." She snorted. "Neither do they ever do things simple."

See, this was where the problem between Loraline and I entered the picture. I preferred to do things classy, elegant, and clean (I meant events, no way was my life just that, classy, elegant, OR clean). Loraline, on the other hand, loved to do things big, bodacious, and in my opinion, hideous. But who knows? A top wedding planner might even just save the day. The celebrity wedding planner was bound to be thrown in there somewhere. Actually, thrown in front and center would be more like it. But see, all this wouldn't have to matter so much if I wasn't a part of it. But I was. So the posh bridal shower, the million dollar dinner rehearsal before the actual billion dollar wedding, the dramatic dances, all the precise, must be perfect ceremony rehearsals, the Chippendale dancer infested bachelorette party, and the itchy dress rehearsals, I had to be hauled along for all of them. All while maintaining a hot pink, girly attitude. The free martini's just might be able to save me, however.

"You know what, no offense to you or your artistic capabilities or anything." Nadine looked up and down my painting, observing it like the critic she wasn't. "But this might be the reason why your paintings are going unnoticed. Why... in the world," she turned the painting around so I could see, a look of confusion overtaking her face. "Would you paint... A NECK?!"

"Hello!" I looked at her, shocked. Offended. Whichever one. "Do you not see the artistic lines and shadows present in the painting itself?! Do you not see the loneliness and beauty-"

"No, I do not, for your information. Ava, paint something with life! Meaning!"

I sprang off my couch, walking briskly to where she was standing. I tore the painting off her hands, feeling I suddenly had to come up with something to back not only myself up, but my poor painting as well.

"I'm... I'm not done with it yet. It's not finished." I pushed wisps of hair out of my face, my tone tighter than usual.

"Hey, I'm just saying," Nadine lifted up her palms, shrugging as she sat down on the couch. "Your work could be hung up all over the world. If, you finally paint a reason behind these gorgeous babies." She pointed a finger at the corner where all my paintings stood.

"I'm..." I ran out of things to say. "I'm working on it."

"Here." She reached into her bag, pulling out a book with a painting of a tree covered in snow on the front. "This will be your lifesaver."

I took it, reading the title. "7 Steps to A Successful Painting By Brian Simons. Thanks, but I'll manage." I tossed the book onto the table, a bit insulted. I had too much pride, really. Sometimes it came in handy, sometimes it just made me into more of a blind bitch, trying to salvage whatever I had left of my dignity.

"Okay, but I was just trying to help." Nadine placed her feet on top of my coffee table, closing her eyes as she leaned back onto the pillows. "But don't come to me when your next portfolio gets rejected."

"It won't," I said a little too quickly. I placed the painting back on the wall carefully, inspecting it. "So I guess he proposed to her months before they even announced it. So she ordered the bridesmaids dresses like four months ago and since I'm a new bridesmaid, I have to go in for a fitting. They're going to try to alter her ex-bridesmaid's dress."

"When is this happening?" Nadine asked, her eyes still closed.
"Today." I sighed. "I know what you're thinking-"
"This won't clash with our plans, right?" She asked, her voice suspicious.
"Yes, but -"

She bolted up out of the couch, her eyes wide open. "What happened to seeing that new Broadway musical tonight?! I scored these front row seats, Ava! For free!"

"Calm down -"
"No, I will not calm down! Seriously! Do you know how psyched I was when I got these? Now who am I taking -"

"Nadine! Just calm down!" She stopped running her mouth as I attempted to explain. "Look, you know how much I'd rather spend the evening with you rather than Loraline and her blonde bimbo girlfriends who are more than okay and in no way self-conscious to show off their bodies! But what am I gonna do? Blow her off? I'm the only reason why they're doing this again. I can't miss it. Take Harper with you."

Harper was our other friend. Our other, very much gay, man friend whom we met at a salon in Brooklyn when Nadine and her purple hair disaster occurred. Since then, he became an addition to our girl's night out's, night in's, man ratings at Central Park, panty-hose shopping at Victoria's Secret, and all the other things you can think of doing with a gay best friend.

She sighed, plopping back down on the couch. "He has a date with a guy who drives a jag, but I can get him to cancel. Harper told me he's getting bored with him anyway."

"Well good, it works then." I responded, laughing at this. Typical Harper. Nadine stood up, placing her bag around her shoulder.

"Well I guess I better go, Harper's place is, like, half an hour from here." She walked towards me and gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek. "Good luck with your new friends today, Ava." She winked before opening the door."

"Ugh, not even." I almost gagged as I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"Okay, well good luck with trying to fit into a size 0, which is what they probably all are." She closed the door behind her.

I fell onto the couch, covering my face with my hands. "I DON'T WANNA GO!" I groaned loudly, desperately wishing that this day would be good to me.

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I hated being inside the Klienfield Bridal Shop in Manhattan four years ago while my sister tried on Monique Lhuillier wedding dresses. Now we were inside the Vera Wang Bridal Shop in the upper east side of New York and this was no different. I was re-living it again. The horror. The only thing that made these a nightmare for me were the people I always got stuck with. Rich, posh, stuck-up, and "classy women in their late 20s, gushing about their "fat" 98 lb. bodies. While all the while I sat there, in a corner, nodding and sipping on champagne. They would always try to squeeze compliments out of me but I always kept my glass full so the talking part wouldn't be possible for me. The best I could give was a thumbs up and a thumbs down when they weren't looking.

So I sat there, dreading the fact that I had gotten squeezed in between Loraline's two best friends, Taylor and Stefanie. Taylor, who had long, blond curls and a tall, lanky frame was Loraline's best friend from when she went to college at Harvard. Stefanie, who had shoulder length, brown hair and a curvy figure was Loraline's business partner at the firm she worked in. Loraline's cousin Jana sat opposite from us and her stylist Meg stood in front of us in her dress. The peach, just-as-I-had-imagined-it lacey and frilly dress. Which, I have to say, was better looking in person but hey, I guess I was quick to judge.

"Oh Meg, you look gorgeous!" Taylor screeched, putting her champagne down on the glass table before us.
"Ugh, I swear, peach is not my color. Loraline, I told you the creme colored dress with swarovski crystals on the neckline would be just lovely-"
"It's my wedding," Loraline calmly said in a sing-songy voice, hiding the fact that she was, indeed, irritated. Meg fell silent, looking back at herself in the mirror.

"At least her ass doesn't look huge in it like mine did." Stefanie muttered into my ear. The wedding carved royal sofa that we were sitting on suddenly seemed a bit smaller. Where had the personal space gone?

"Thank God the dress fit you. I'm just glad I don't have to wait a few weeks to have it altered, the stress of this wedding is enough." Loraline turned to me while all the other girls stared at Meg, sharing their own opinions among one other. "As soon as Meg gets out of her dress, you're next, Ava."

Before I could show the dread on my face, she turned back around. "And thank you... again."

"It's your wedding. Of course I would do it." I smiled, surprisingly meaning it. I got up nervously as Meg walked back into the changing room. I followed after her, an African-American woman waited inside with measuring tape draped over her shoulders.
"I'm her stylist, and I know for a fact the other dress would have been a better look." Meg babbled on now as the lady helped her out of the dress. "Don't you agree?"
She turned around to look at me so fast that I jumped a little, totally thrown off guard. "Uh, well, -"

"Never mind, don't answer that." She said, grabbing her clothes and disappearing behind a curtain next to the rack where all the bridesmaids dresses hung. When she was gone, the lady rolled her eyes and shook her head, grabbing my dress off the rack. She unbuttoned the back, which was filled with nothing but tiny, fabric wrapped buttons trailing all the way down to the waistline. I stepped into the dress, which hugged my body instantly. The neckline was dramatic, my breasts pushed together and skin revealing just above my stomach. It didn't look so bad on the other girls because they barely had boobs, this dress was made for someone who had a tall model's body. Which was very far from my body type.

"You're the first girl who can pull this dress off." The lady said as she smoothed out the bottom of the dress so no creases were visible.
"This dress is made for someone who is painfully skinny." I said, shaking my head as I looked at myself in the mirror. "Like all the other girls out there. Except maybe Stefanie, but even then, her waist is as narrow as a twig."
"Nonsense, for that Kim Kardashian body of yours, it adds life to the dress." She winked at me, placing her hands on top of my shoulders.

I smiled and chuckled at her, "you didn't make these dresses did you? Because I know for a fact that these dresses were made after stick skinny bodies."
"Oh no, I just work here. I see enough of those kind of girls every day and let me tell you something, they ain't rockin' it." Her Whoopi Goldberg hair swayed from side to side as she lifted up a finger. "Now go show them what a real woman looks like."

I smiled and thanked her, walking out of the changing room. I swear, one fat joke from those twigs and my fist will be ready to do some damage. Well, in my head it will be.

I stepped out, instantly standing on top of the platform in front of the three panel dressing mirror. I turned scarlet as silence broke out behind me, I looked back at all of them through the mirror, their faces motionless.

"I know what you all are thinking-" I sighed, smoothing out the dress, wishing my hips would disappear. Just then, I saw Cam through the mirror, standing next to Loraline in the corner of the room. Startled, I turned around, not knowing what to do with myself.

"Ava..." Loraline smiled at me suddenly as she put her hands on her hips. "You look beautiful in that dress. You really do."
"Thanks..." I said bashfully, playing with the bangles on my wrist. I looked at Cam, whose eyes never left me at all.
"God, can I just have your ass? It's so defined-" Jana started, looking at me as if I were a Goddess. Meg nudged her elbow. "What?"
"Women who are Doctors do not talk like that, Jana. Geez." Meg shook her head in dismay, downing the last drops of her champagne.

"The stylist is jealous, girls." Jana smirked at everyone as they giggled behind their perfectly manicured fingers.
"Please, I can go to you anytime for a silicone ass, Dr. Jana." Meg rolled her eyes, her light brown bob swaying with her.
"Uh, Meg," Jana stared at her, her dark, perfectly shaped eyebrows crinkled. "I'm a Doctor, not a miracle worker." The girls burst into a round of laughter as Jana gave her the hand.

I couldn't help but laugh along. I guess these people weren't so bad, not like my sister and her friends during her fitting. But it's always been a given, my sister always thought she was better than me and that I disgraced the family. She was bound to pick friends that had the same mindset as her, what are the odds? You can imagine just how many girls I was slaughtering in my head that day. Thank God I wasn't doing that today.

"I look like an elephant in this dress, I know." I said, turning back around to look at myself.
"One thing's for sure, at least you pull it off better than Melanie ever did." Taylor said as she nodded.
"Forget Melanie," Loraline cut in. "Nobody mention her name, please."

I was really beginning to wonder what this Melanie had done to piss off Loraline. Was it a betrayal? Did she steal from her? I would never know.

"I didn't know you replaced her, Ava." Cam said finally, looking me in the eyes intently.
"You know each other?" Loraline asked, looking at me and back at Cam.
"Yeah, we used to-"
"You introduced us at my parents' house last month, remember?" I cut him off, not sure why I did so. He looked confused, but only for a few seconds before smiling and looking down. I wanted to punch him on his arm like old times whenever he laughed at me.
"Oh yeah, I remember." Loraline nodded, walking over to the glass table.

The way things were happening at the moment became awkward for me and just like that, I suddenly felt as if I did not belong there. Everyone in the room would be hopping on their range rovers or BMW's after this, driving off into their wealthy homes while I, on the other hand, had my metro card ready for the subway and a run down studio waiting for me. I looked at Cam, who was now facing Loraline as they stood there, discussing something. I felt like the only person in the room, the girls now caught in an intense discussion about which Doctor was the best for a nose job.

I felt naked in my dress, a bit exposed even if nobody paid attention. Cam suddenly glanced at me before turning back to face Loraline. I stood there, the realization coming to me that all the things I used to relate with Cam about, I couldn't anymore. We no longer had anything in common. We were worlds apart. We lived two, separate lives. And although the possibilities were endless for the both of us back then, all those possibilities were impossible now. I smiled sadly, stepping off the platform. I looked back into the mirror once again, looking at the both of them. They looked as if they had just stepped out of an Yves Saint Laurent ad. They belonged.

"Listen, guys. Cam stopped by to pick me up for the auction tonight. I'm going to have to leave early-"
"What auction?" Jana asked.
"The one for The Cameron McGreggor Foundation." Loraline picked up her purse, slipping her sunglasses on. "You guys know this."
"DUH, Jana." Meg emphasized, her neck bobbing from side to side as she got in Jana's face.

"Ugh, shut up, Meg. I forgot." Jana threw her middle finger in her face before whipping her long, raven black, bone straight hair at Meg's face. I forgot how Loraline's stylist got along with her cousin. Like oil and water, they just didn't mix. One thing's for sure, they weren't exactly the blonde bimbos I had been expecting, like my sister's bridesmaids.

Then I realized, just by standing there and being around them, successful women can be happy women as well. If I knew the feeling, would I have been just like them? And would it have been so bad? I could drone on about how I am following my dreams and have all the hope in the world, but if I'm not happy, then what was the point of sacrificing so much?

"All proceeds will go straight to cancer victims." Loraline said, looking at Cam as if he was Buddha. "Right, Cam?"

"Yeah." He quickly smiled and then stuffed his hands in his pockets, turning away from us. I smiled, knowing this old move. He didn't feel comfortable being praised about something, which he almost always was. So he hasn't changed, he's still modest. Good for him.

Did I hear that right? He even set up his own foundation to unite and encourage cancer patients? Not only did he turn into Mr. Donald Trump, he turned into a Saint as well. He did well for himself. So much success in one relationship that I literally felt like shit compared to them. But it's for a good cause, you can't hate foundations. If anything, it made me even more depressed. I was following my dreams but I got squat out of it. He didn't follow his, but he got the world out of it. I walked off and into the changing room, feeling slightly under the weather.

"Did they like it?" The same lady got up out of her chair, ready to undo the dress.

I shrugged, looking up into my own reflection, my eyes a bit glassy. "I don't know if they tell the truth, so I wouldn't know."

"You don't need their opinions anyway." She smiled and patted me on the shoulder, unbuttoning the dress. I liked her.

After putting my clothes back on, I walked out of the changing room, finding that Cam and Loraline had left. I looked at the girls, who were still chatting endlessly, but this time, about a man who almost died on the table while Jana was operating on him.

"Girls," I cut in, all their eyes on me now. "I'm sorry for interrupting, but I believe I was the last one, so I'll be on my way now." I grabbed my coat as they bombarded me with goodbye's. As soon as I walked out of the shop, I inhaled in the New York breeze, the night sky deprived of stars due to the city lights that always out shined them.

As soon as I got on the subway, I sat down on the seat furthest from everyone else, right by the window. Soon, the seats were filled, forcing certain passengers to use the poles for balance. The doors sealed shut, a young couple holding hands becoming the last ones to make it inside. As soon as they saw that it was packed, they took hold of the pole next to me. I smiled, pulling my coat closer around my neck before looking back at them, the girl now resting her head on his shoulder.

It's funny what a person who you haven't thought about in ages can do to you once they enter your life the second time. Everything you see, everything you hear, everything you feel can connect you back to a certain place or time in which you shared a memory with that person. It happens often, this whole remembering thing, against your own wishes. So I watched as the boy planted a kiss on her forehead, the view from outside blurring and blending together in mundane colors, as if the world outside was one, giant whirlpool. Just then, I remembered the first time I took Cam to a subway, he couldn't believe how much graffiti there was everywhere.

Back in his hometown in Australia, all the subways were clean, not a single drop of paint anywhere it should not have been. But he had liked it in a weird way, his artistic side telling him he couldn't blame people for wanting to show their creative, if not impulsive side. He ignored the ones with pictures or sayings that were complete bullshit. Instead, he tried backing them up, suggesting that may be, that person who had sprayed it on the wall was having a tough day and had to take their anger out on something. But Cam had always been like that, always trying to find the good in people, even in the worst circumstances. It never ceased to amaze me.

He had held me just the same, and we held onto that pole just as tightly, trying not to bump into other people. Everything still looks the same, the people still rushing just as fast to get on, the graffiti still there on the seats and windows, just as the seasons still turned into winter, fall, summer, and spring. But all the people you meet while the world kept turning, they change, they come, they go, and sometimes they stay if you're lucky. Current moments turn into five minutes ago, five minutes ago turn into a day, and soon, that day turns into yesterday. Then suddenly, yesterday was 10 years ago. If Cam and I had known that this is where we would be in the next 10 years, would we have promised to fight and still create plans for ourselves to be together in the future? But I'm being silly, did he wonder too?

And so I watched as the boy lifted her chin up, looking into her eyes and smiling before planting a soft kiss on her lips. Then I wondered whether the two of them made plans themselves or went about the moment, not caring about tomorrow or 10 years from now. It was then that I wished that Cam and I lived only for that moment. Maybe then I would not have been sitting here, thinking something had been stolen from us. Maybe it was a foolish way to think. But everyday, I tell myself things will get better as I answer calls at a desk while I come home to myself and nothing but boxed wine. Cam met another girl and fell in love, they both made business deals and received thousands of dollars from it. So again, is it really a foolish way to think?
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I sat behind my desk, eying a bunch of tourists coming in from South Korea as I was told by my boss earlier. They were coming to the museum to look at galleries, but I was a bit nervous as I knew nothing about the Korean language. I had asked my boss if there was going to be a translator present, but all he did was shove a book for dummies about Hangul in my face. Suddenly, the phone rang. I picked it up, eager to answer it so I had more time to avoid talking to these people.

"Hello?" I answered, a fake smile on my face.
"This is Michael Cho, a receptionist that Rick, your boss, hired from 1-5 to take over for you so all the Korean tourists wouldn't think you were an idiot. I'll be there in five minutes." The line went dead.

How rude, I thought to myself, staring at the phone as if it had just slapped me. I looked up, the tourists now in front of my desk. In panic, I grabbed my coat and my purse, hoping they would get the hint that I was not entitled to help them, at least not anymore. Like an angel, Michael Cho appeared, breathless as if he had been running.

"Anya h'sayo." He nodded at them, getting behind my desk and shooing me out of the way. I wasn't offended, I was more than happy to have the early leave. I walked away, planning on roaming around the galleries for inspiration on what to add to that boring, neck of a woman painting of mine.

Usually, I always turned to the right, where all the art work by my favorite artists hung. But my feet kept walking the other direction, to another place I had visited only once as it had been too sensitive for me before. It was the place where Egon Schiele's paintings hung. I often imagined how Cam would have liked it if I had shown him the place, but I didn't think about it too often as I had forgotten about him for a good 10 years. I guess things were different now. It was as if I were this firework, unlit for the past decade, and he had just come in with no warning, setting me on fire and crackling up into the skies. But as I fell back down, I disappeared into the night sky, until he no longer saw me. He was now with Loraline, and that's what it felt like. But I can't complain. They share the same world now, and I am completely content in mine.

The first thing I saw was the painting of Death and the Maiden, which was Cam's favorite piece from him. I had to catch my breath, as it was one of the paintings that came late to the museum. The last time I had visited this area, the painting had not been there yet. Though I did not know what Death and the Maiden looked like, I knew it was the painting. Cam had described it enough to me in the past. A man and a woman sat on a white sheet on top of rocks that bore parts of the human face. The woman is embracing the man, who represents death. But unlike any other version of the painting, this one depicted a rather somber state, melancholy present in every stroke of paint.

"Ah," I said, walking up to it. "So this is what you look like. Cam meant to show me how you looked like when I was 15." I observed the painting, fascinated as I remembered Cam telling me about the story behind it.

Back in 1911, a 21 year old Egon Schiele met a 17 year old named Valerie Neuzil (who went by the name Wally), who had lived with him and modeled for some of his paintings. The two wanted to escape so they moved to a small town in southern Bohemia. He and his lover were driven out of town by the residents, however, as they did not find their lifestyle proper. So together, they moved to Neulengbach, a place west of Vienna. They searched in hopes of inspirational surroundings and a place to live. But he was arrested the following year for apparently seducing Wally, who was not of legal age at the time.

The police got a hold of his artwork, deeming them pornographic. After getting out of prison, Egon Schiele had met two sisters, Edith and Adele Harms. They had lived across from his studio in a suburb in Vienna. Their father was a master locksmith and were of middle class. Since Edith was socially acceptable, he chose to marry her. But his love for Wally never left him, so he had hoped to maintain a relationship with her. But upon hearing his situation, Wally left him, never to see him again. Her departure led him to paint Death and the Maiden. In the end, he ended up marrying Edith anyway.

The story always got to me. It really is a devastating thing, to be without the person you love.

Suddenly, I heard a man stand behind me, I was assuming he was admiring the painting as well. I wondered if he even had the slightest idea that this painting was the product of a star-crossed love affair.

"Did you know," I heard him say behind me. "That Egon Schiele had painted this after-"
"A girl named Wally left him." I said under my breath. "I know. And they had loved each other."
"Yeah..." He said, his voice trailing off. "How did you know?"

I turned around, startled as I found Cam standing there in his suit as if he had just gotten off work. I was astounded. He wasn't a painter anymore, what was he doing here? He tore his eyes from the painting to look at me.

"Cam, what are you doing here?" I looked around.
"I could ask you the same thing, Ava." He answered, smiling gently.
"I..." I really wished there was a better way to say this to someone who was the boss of everyone at McGreggor & Company. I sighed, quitting the act. "I work here."
"You do? I come in here every week and I never see you." I walked over to another painting as he followed me.

"Well same here, I come here everyday and I never see you." Being alone with him was enough for my heart to act up again. "But I thought you had given up painting, so what gives?" I turned to look at him.

He shrugged, sitting down on a bench. "I come in here after work sometimes, I still love art. I still love Egon Schiele." He smiled as I sat down next to him.

"Yeah, I never forgot that." We both sat there, staring at a self-portrait of Egon Schiele in 1912.
"You never forgot the story either." He added on. But how could I? Everything I ever did with him was embedded in my head. It was inevitable.

We stared in silence, looking at the other paintings around us. "Why don't you paint anymore?" Before realizing what I had just asked, it was too late to take it back. It had just slipped from my mind and out my mouth. I looked at him, a perplexed facial expression on his face. It was hard to read, as with Cam's other facial expressions sometimes.

"I'm sorry, it just came out-"
"No, no. It's alright, sometimes, I wonder that myself." He took a breath out, thinking about it. "I just... I never have the time anymore. With Loraline going crazy over this whole wedding, and work..." He trailed off.
"But you said," I started, hoping that I wasn't prying. "That you haven't touched a paint brush in 8 years."

He looked away, not saying anything. I had hit a sensitive spot. I felt like slapping myself right then and there. How could I be so insensitive? Maybe he didn't want to talk about it! Maybe he-

"Because every time I tried to paint," he said suddenly. "I thought of you." He looked at me, a serious, unwavering look spread across his face.

I didn't know what to say now as I looked away, not knowing if the situation was awkward or forbidden. My heart broke a little inside upon hearing this. I loved to paint because he had introduced me to it. He couldn't find the strength to do it again because he saw me in each blank canvas he came upon. It used to tear me up that he was no longer with me, but through him, I had found a purpose to live, even if that purpose had not taken me anywhere just yet. Was the thought of me dreadful for him or was he just overwhelmed when reminded of me? But even then, what was so overwhelming about me at all? So many questions that will go unanswered.

"Remember that time," I spoke, trying to change the subject. "When I sneaked off into my Dad's jag in the middle of the night?"
"And I told my host family that I was sleeping over a friend's house that night." He smiled, shaking his head.
"I picked you up but I almost crashed into a tree so you had to drive." I smiled, giggling a little bit.
"Oh my goodness, and you said you didn't care if your Father found out you crashed it. If it were ever to happen. You were really out there, Ava."
"And then we drove to the lake and swam there the whole night, just talking." I went on.
"We fell asleep inside the car." His smile slowly faded off his face. "With you in my arms."

He really had to keep making this hard for me. But I thought of Loraline, her face so excited when she had seen me in that peach dress. "Those were some good times..." I nodded. "But... it's all in the past now."

He nodded at this, looking at the ground.

I stood up. "I guess we should probably -"
"Yeah, yeah, I still have to catch a taxi." He got up from the bench, grabbing his brief case.
I smirked at this, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Mr. McGreggor? Catching a taxi? Where's the Rolls Royce? Where's the Bentley -"
"Oh shut up, Ava." He said, shaking his head and smiling as we walked away.
------------------------------

"Shit." I muttered, eying the rain from outside as we reached the revolving doors. "It's raining. Do you have an umbrella?"

"Nope. All I have is my suit." And with that, Cam took off his blazer. "Use your coat, come on." He held his hand out in front of me and looked back before stepping into the door. I looked at him for a second as he raised his eyebrows at me. Quickly, I shook off my jacket and took his hand. We entered the door, revolving quickly as numerous people walked in and out.

There was always something about rain and crowded streets. As if rain suddenly indicated hectic traffic and busy sidewalks. We threw our coats above our heads as we stepped out, the rain instantly hitting us. We stood on the sidewalk for a while, looking out onto the road, which wasn't moving at all.

"Look, you're not gonna find a taxi in this rain!" Outside was loud with people hurrying from place to place, horns honking, and rain falling hard everywhere. I could feel water seeping through my jacket and onto my hair. "My car is parked down the street! It won't be as jammed where I live, it's always easy to find a taxi there! Sun or rain!"

He nodded vigorously, not wanting to stand outside any longer. He followed me as I hurriedly walked down the street, reaching inside my purse for my keys. Once I spotted my car, I unlocked it, getting into the driver's seat as Cam sat on the passenger's seat. We closed the doors, relieved to be watching the rain fall from outside, not being there ourselves to stand under it. I started the engine and turned on the heater.

"I'm sorry if this is no BMW or Mercedes Benz -"
"No, Ava. This is perfect." He rubbed his hands together in front of the heater, looking at me reassuringly that I had to smile back.
"Didn't you used to love rainy weather?" I asked, remembering.

"Wow, you remembered that too. But no, I still do. It's just that Loraline will let me have it if she sees that my suit is ruined, she gets so anal about it. I just don't understand sometimes. I mean, it gets wet in the washer anyway." He shrugged, hanging the blazer on the head rest behind him.

"Give her a break, it's probably because she's stressed from all the wedding planning-"
"Oh no, it's been like that ever since we've been together." He shook his head and raised his eyebrows. "But, as much as you remember things about me, I probably remember more about you."
"Yeah?" I asked, a bit intrigued now.
"Yeah, like that one tattoo you have down your-"

I held up a hand, turning red like mad as I drove away. "Say no more, Cam, please."
He laughed, swatting my hand away. "I told you so."

And like it had been in our nature again, I punched him in the arm. God, did it feel so natural. Except this time, his arm was a lot harder, and much more muscular. My hand felt a little sore.

"What'd you do that for?!" He rubbed his arm, smiling as he gave me a look.
"For remembering something I hoped you'd forgotten!" I shook my head in mortification. "And I don't know, something forced me to do it. You know, like old times?" I glanced at him as I stopped at a red light, the traffic now loosening up.
"Wow," he said, "well you know what, I still don't hit girls, so I'm still a gentleman." He turned away dramatically as he gave me the hand.

I laughed at this as if I were 15 again and he was 18. Some things never change. No matter how much time tries to outrun you.