I Wish You All the Best(74)

“Yeah.” The spot I picked isn’t too busy, but people filter by, some stopping, asking me questions about how I did the paintings. But most will just smile, nod, and move on. After another ten minutes, Meleika and Sophie head off to find the food table, and Mrs. Liu gets caught up talking to someone else.

So now it’s just me and Nathan.

“Still can’t believe you did that,” he says, turning around to look at his portrait again. “I like how you can see the details of the paint, like the paint isn’t lying flat? If that makes sense.”

“It’s just the brushstrokes, nothing fancy.”

“I still like it. It makes me feel warm.”

“That’d be the yellow,” I say.

“Why did you pick yellow?” he asks.

I’m answering before I can stop myself. “Because it’s bright and hopeful.” I wait a beat. “Like you.”

Nathan glances at me out of the corners of his eyes and gives me that sly grin.

I feel my face go hot. “Sorry, I mean … It’s nothing special,” I argue, hoping he’ll forget what I said. “Look.” I let my finger hover over the painted version of his face. “The lines here aren’t really right.”

“Oh, please.”

“And I should’ve added a darker tone here to make it seem more like a shadow.”

“Ben.” He sighs.

“What?”

“Tell me one thing you like about this painting.”

“What do you mean?”

“You always point out the flaws in your work, but what’s one thing you like about this painting? Or that one?” He points to the one of the cardinal, which seems like it’s from such a lifetime ago.

I think for a moment. “I like that I could make it up, the space around it, I mean.” Sure, I got the bird accurate, but the rest of the void was my playground. A blend of blues and purples with the small red bird providing the contrast.

“And the Pollock thing?”

“Drip painting,” I correct.

“The drip painting,” he says with a grin on his face. “What’s one thing you like about it?”

“I like how the purples still come through, even under all the blue.”

“And this one.” Nathan points back to his portrait.

“I like that it’s about you,” I say quietly, and he doesn’t seem to hear me at first, or I think he doesn’t.

Then he says, “That’s a pretty good feature.” He lets out a long sigh. “You always point out the problems with the paintings or the drawings. But what about the things you got right?”

“What about them?”

“Don’t they mean something?”

His words make my stomach drop. I don’t know, maybe he’s right. But I don’t think he realizes how difficult it can be to forget all the mistakes when I know they’re my fault. When I know I should’ve caught them. “It’s hard to be proud of something you messed up, even if everything around it is perfect.”

“Don’t ignore the problems,” he says. “Learn from them. But also, don’t knock what you get right. Every success deserves a celebration.”

I feel sort of speechless, before I can manage to spit out a “Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for. Emotional support. Being a model just narrowly comes in second.”

“I think Sophie’s right. This hasn’t done much for that ego.”

“Whatever. So, we need to discuss modeling opportunities. I’m thinking I go full nude next?”

“Not on your life,” I say, laughing him off, and trying really hard not to think about Nathan being naked. “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you like about my work?”

Nathan glances toward me, but he doesn’t answer.

“That day we got the paint from the art room, you acted like you were going to say something. What was it?”

“You remember that?” He chuckles.

“I think it was the only time I’ve seen you speechless.” I nudge him. “Come on.” I make my voice deeper, sounding as serious as I can. “What do you feel when you see them?”

“That’s a terrible accent.”

“I sound scholarly,” I argue. “Now stop avoiding the question.”

“Your paintings seem … complicated.”

I freeze; okay, not really expecting that. “What do you mean?”

“It’s … nothing,” he says, and then he starts to laugh for no reason. “Nothing, I swear.”

“No,” I say. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know, I feel like I can see you in them. That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

Not really. But I want to hear him out on this. “Keep talking.”

“Like the Pollock one, I don’t know, it seems bright and active. But, like, really dark at the same time. If that even makes sense.” He takes a slow breath. “I think it’s the painting that feels most like you.”

“That one was just some assignment. Mrs. Liu wanted me to show her freshman class how Pollock painted.”

“Still, it feels like you.” He laughs again. “Like a very ‘Ben-ish’ painting.”