Painting by The Numbers

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

"Ronnie?"

As soon as I heard his voice, I put down the iPad Pro. I'd been sketching my nieces as they played, but my heart skipped a beat hearing his voice again. He was supposed to be in New York City. What was he doing here, in Ohio?

Forcing a smile, I slowly turned. "Hey, John. Did you travel all this way to hit on girls at McDonald's?"

Unlike mine, his smile seemed genuine. "Not hitting on anyone." He lifted his brown paper bag. "Just grabbing a quick lunch and heading back to the office. Your girls are beautiful. Congratulations."

That was BS. John knew they were my nieces. He'd met the girls before. My brother was a popular professional athlete. Nicky was retired, but still did commentary for ESPN and had his face on the cover of video games. John was the art director for the video game company, and that's how we'd met.

"Thanks." I took a sip of my sweet tea. "I have seven more at home. It gets hard keeping track of them, but I love them so. Why aren't you back in New York?"

"I got a job offer I couldn't refuse. I'm working for the US Olympic Committee now."

"Great. That's fantastic."

It wasn't great, and it wasn't fantastic. Nicky had forced the game company to use some of my art in his games. When I met John, I was shy, unsure of myself, and inexperienced. I was also into him, probably too much. He was cute, sophisticated, and nicer than he had to be. Disappointingly, John was also completely professional.

I eventually wore him down, and we began a relationship. John was my plus one when Nicky married Cat, my maternal aunt. Nick and I shared a father, but had different mothers. I had familial ties to both, but their only relation to each other was through marriage. Most of my firsts were with John. Things tend to get delayed when you have kidney failure as a teen and don't get a transplant until your early twenties. He was my first adult relationship. He was the first man I lived with. He was the first man I walked away from.

John didn't do anything wrong, really. I just never felt like he was truly present. I wasn't his priority, and he didn't seem to care. His mother was his only family, and he never even introduced her. If I ran into her at a store, I wouldn't know who she was. Promises to do better went unfulfilled.

Eventually breaking down, I spoke to Cat, my aunt. She convinced me that I deserved better, and I moved back to Ohio, taking with me a broken heart and leaving a piece of myself in the City That Never Sleeps.

He wasn't a bad guy; I just needed to be with someone who loved me as much as I loved them. Being with someone who is constantly guarded and distracted just didn't work, regardless of how obvious it was that he cared for me.

I chalked it up as a learning experience and worked through the pain.

Standing in the loud and garish McDonald's, he looked over my shoulder at the iPad. "That's really great. You always had a talent for bringing your subjects to life. It was good to see you, Ronnie. I've got to get back to the office."

With a smile that had turned a bit sad, John was about to leave when Calvin approached and extended his hand.

"Hello, I'm Calvin. Do you know Ronnie? Can you join us?"

Calvin had been in the US for more than a decade, yet his accent was still present, and his speech was a bit stiff. He pronounced his name "Cuhlvin" and was one of the country's most talented collegiate wrestlers.

John looked at me, eyebrows raised, and then back to Calvin. "No, thank you. I have to get back to work. It was nice to meet you, Calvin. Ronnie, it was great seeing you. Sorry I missed your other seven kids."

Calvin sat down as John walked out, my eyes following his every step. I let out a small laugh as I looked back to the table. The dedicated athlete had a large fry and two Double Quarter Pounders. So much for the body as a temple.

"Don't you have to make weight this weekend?"

He shrugged. "I'm not worried about cutting weight, I'm worried about keeping weight on."

After scarfing down his food, he grabbed two toys that usually come with a happy meal and joined the girls in the play area. I had never pressed, and he didn't talk about it often, but I knew he had young siblings back in Croatia.

I'd stopped by the university to take more photos. I had been commissioned to create a portrait of each of the three Olympic hopefuls from the school. It was supposed to be an in-and-out visit, so I brought the girls with me. Calvin made extra money working for the athletics department, so he escorted me while I was on campus.

We'd met before. He was one of the three athletes, so we'd spent some time together. My nieces begged for McDonald's, so I asked Calvin to join us and was planning on paying as a thank you. I found it difficult to tear my eyes from him as he squatted down and handed each of the girls a toy. Lean but solid, everything about him suggested controlled power.

Trying to push John out of my mind, I went back to sketching. Liz and Lori were never more than ten feet away from me, but I watched them like a hawk. My fingers and the creative center of my brain kept on working, a little shading here, extending a line there, but it was all secondary, just something to do while they tired themselves out. Liz came over and insisted on sitting on my lap.

She knew to be careful, and picked up the iPad. "Calvin!"

Looking down, I saw the rough sketch I'd done of Calvin as he spoke to the girls. I quickly switched over to the sketch I had done of the twins and looked at Calvin, embarrassed. Which was odd. There was no reason to be self-conscious. I was going to have to do dozens of sketches of him.

"Lori, it's time to go. Come back and take your apple slices. Did you girls thank Calvin for the toys?"

"Thank you." They spoke in unison, in the way strangers found adorable in twins, but was so commonplace for me that I barely noticed it. We were barely a block from campus, so I had left my car in one of the parking lots. Calvin walked us back.

"That was fun. I don't get to see kids that often."

"I'll let you in on a secret. The key is to be a favorite aunt or uncle. You get to spoil them, give them fast food, and as soon as there's a problem, you can give them back to their parents."

He laughed. "It is always good to have a plan. I am not sure how this works. You're the only artist I know, but would it be possible to get a copy of that drawing? I would be happy to pay for it."

"The... from McDonald's? Sure, I guess. I can email it to you, but it's barely anything. Just a few minutes of sketching."

"My aunt, she would like it. If I am in the paper, she will cut out the article and save it. She has a YouTube channel where she puts my matches. My aunt and uncle collect everything. I think they hope that one day we will hear from my mother, and they'll have everything saved."

What the heck do you say to that? Was his mother missing? "Sure. Give me your email, and I'll send it over this evening."

Nicky was at home, waiting for the girls and me. As soon as I unbuckled them, the twins went racing toward their dad. He scooped them up and began twirling them around.

"You may want to slow down, they're full of McNuggets, fries, and soda."

He shook his head while smiling. "You really have zero F's to give. I'm just surprised you didn't stuff them with candy on the drive back."

"Come on, I'm not that bad. Fast food once a week isn't going to kill anybody. How's your mom?"

Still holding the girls, he walked up to the door. "Stay for a while. I should have dinner on the table in half an hour. Mom is good, just crazy busy. Did you hear that she's thinking about taking in kids?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Against their will?"

He laughed. "No. They're thinking about being foster parents. How is your wrestler doing?"

"It's not 'my wrestler,' and he's fine, I guess."

"Mom said you had him over to the house?"

"Yeah, that... That wasn't really anything. He works for the athletic department and was dropping off some promo material I could use for reference in the portraits."

He looked at me skeptically. "Yeah? He couldn't do that on campus or at an office somewhere?"

"They were late getting it to me, so he wanted to drop it off as soon as possible. I was at your mom's. It's not a big deal."

"Uh-huh. Not a big deal. Just out of curiosity, how many other of your male colleagues has my mom met?"

I stood there for a moment, nervously running my tongue along my teeth. "Okay, so maybe I'm interested. I'm getting paid, and he's a subject, so anything more than that wouldn't be right. Not now. But, I think there might be something there."

"Ronnie, you could've just said that. I'm not going to judge you. If you like him, good for you. Explore it. As long as he treats you well, I've got your back. Would he be the first guy since John?"

I paused before nodding. "Yeah."

"Well, you don't need my approval, but if my opinion means anything, I'm happy to hear that you're moving on. You both need to live your own lives. You're here and John's in New York, you both have a right to be happy."

There were times when it was hard to believe that Nicky had been absent from my life for so long. Maybe that's why we were so close. I knew he wanted me to be happy and to have someone in my life. If he needed to, my brother would move a mountain for me.

Stepping close, I gave him a quick hug. My voice was almost a whisper as I spoke. "Thanks."

But John wasn't in New York. He was here in Ohio working for the same people who had hired me to do the portraits. Stepping back, I looked at the girls. No matter what else was going on, seeing them always lifted my spirits.

"Can I get a rain check on dinner?"

"Sure. Before you go, two things. First, if you're going to feed the kids, try not to do it right before dinner. Or give me a call and I won't cook. Not a big deal."

I looked at him a little confused. "And?"

"Oh, and the second thing is that I have an appointment for you with a financial advisor."

"That's okay, I like Vivian."

Nicky was biting his lower lip, which he does whenever he's trying to be careful about what he's saying.

"Um, yeah. She's great, but the people I'm talking about are... They handle larger accounts than Vivian. And they are not as, I don't know, flamboyant."

"Yeah, but I've known her for years and I'm comfortable with her."

He shrugged. "All right. If you change your mind, let me know."

Vivian handled Aunt Cat's money. Cat didn't make a ton from the chocolate shop, but she was comfortable. When I started making money, I thought I would be okay doing everything for myself. It was fine for a while, but when things exploded, there was no denying that I needed help.

After my work on the video games featuring Nicky, I got a few more sports-related gigs. We didn't know what sort of year he was going to have at the time, but one of them was for a baseball player who wound up setting the single-year home run record. Suddenly, my piece was everywhere and requests for my work came flooding in.

I could set my own price, and work at my own pace. It's embarrassing to admit that I didn't know who Leroy Neiman was until people started comparing us. When I looked into it, I was even more embarrassed. He was amazing and I was... just me. I took almost everything that was offered if they were willing to pay the insane rates I was charging.

For a while, I had a niche of proud, rich grandmas who wanted me to paint their granddaughters' gymnastics triumphs, or their grandson scoring a goal. I guess that if you're crazy-rich and old, there were worse things that you could spend your money on. So, yeah, I was banking as much money as possible before everyone realized what I already knew. I was more lucky than talented.

I would assume that I was Vivian's biggest client, but that was going to go away as soon as the public realized I was average, at best. Nicky, on the other hand, was rich and that was not going to change. When he was competing, he took on sponsors, both corporate and individual, with the stipulation that when he retired, they would help him with financial advice, and management guidance. It was sort of an odd, deferred payment deal, and it was probably the smartest decision he ever made.

He regularly speaks to two billionaires, one of which he hangs out with all the time. Of course, the guy is married to Nicky's former fiancée, and she is still his best friend, so that factors in. Still, he was trying to hook me up with financial advisors who work for billionaires. I'm just someone who was lucky enough to get paid for what I loved to do.

As eccentric as she is, I'll stick with Vivian.

I got kisses on the cheeks from my nieces and headed home. After ordering Mexican delivery, I sat on my couch and went through photos of the three athletes. Determining how they would be posing in the paintings is important, but it's not that hard to figure out. I can watch videos of someone or take a look at enough photos and figure out how they would be best represented. It turns out that I have a decent eye for kinesthetics.

What's difficult is adding depth. I'm not looking for photorealism when I paint, I'm trying to bring a piece of the subject to the viewer. I want the person looking at the painting to feel as if they've gotten a glimpse of who the athlete actually is. Since these depictions are for the Olympic committee, I needed to figure out how to put a little Americana into the paintings.

For Calvin, I was considering including something representing his Croatian background. Bouncing back and forth between photos of him and articles on Croatian culture, I found myself slowly falling away from the articles, and concentrating on the photos. He was 5'11" and lean, but not thin. The man was solid. Calvin had a shy smile and trouble meeting your eyes if he didn't know you. That all changed when he stepped on the mat.

If you were his opponent, he had no issue staring you down, and there would be no smile in sight. His wavy hair always seemed to be a week or two overdue for a haircut and was absolutely drenched at the end of each match. I wasn't sure if I wanted to capture the friendly Calvin or the warrior Calvin. There were endless photos of him on the mat, so my natural inclination was to show the human side.

Would that fly with the people from the Olympics? I had no idea. The last thing I remember doing before I fell asleep was looking at his picture, so why were my dreams about John?

When I woke up, I took a quick shower and felt the drive to work on canvas for a while. I rented the first floor of a house with large, open windows, so I had plenty of natural light. I had no idea why, but I had woken with the image in my mind of Calvin wearing a sweater, jeans and an Irish tweed cap in the winter.

I was working on that shy smile when there was a knock on my door. Checking my cell, I was shocked that four hours had gone by. Dad and I had a standing weekly date for brunch after his therapy. When I opened the door, he smiled at me as I stood there in my ratty shorts and paint-smeared T-shirt.

"No need to get all dressed up for me. It's just eggs and pancakes with your old man. Want to wear something more comfortable?"

I laughed. "Lost track of time. Let me wash up and get changed."

"It's a little chilly. Grab a jacket."

It didn't matter how old I got or how much money I made, I was always going to be his little girl. I grabbed the jacket.

Seeing me after his therapy was important. He never verbalized it, but I knew that a lot of what he was dealing with was how he had treated Nicky. Mom grew to know my brother when he donated his kidney to me. His stories about growing up after Dad abandoned him and his mom almost caused my parents to split up.

It took me a while to accept that the man who had doted on me could just walk out on his ex-wife and son. It was like saying that the sun was made of ice. It simply made no sense. I grew up idolizing my brother from afar. Dad promised that I would meet him one day but kept pushing off that actual meeting. Looking back on it, I was sure that he would've preferred it if I never knew that Nicky existed. Actually introducing me to him would have meant facing the child he had abandoned.

As a kid I knew that I had a brother out there somewhere who was a famous athlete and celebrity but who wasn't part of my life.

So, after Dad sees the therapist about the child he left behind, he comes to see me, the daughter he was always there for. I guess it's a guilt thing but getting breakfast with Dad wasn't a hardship. I was happy to go.

We went to Buckeyes Breakfast on Third. I could smell the onions and bacon frying and the coffee brewing as soon as we walked in. Dad ordered his regular: two eggs over easy, two pancakes and half a grapefruit. Feeling adventurous, I got a waffle and some oatmeal with cinnamon. I hadn't had oatmeal in a couple of years, but somehow it felt right.

Dad waited for his coffee before speaking. "Who's the guy you're painting? Another athlete?"

"The canvas? Were you sneaking around while I was getting changed?"

"Yes, and yes. It's a little ridiculous to expect the father of the most talented artist in Ohio to not check out her work."

I laughed. "Good save. Yeah, he's an Olympic hopeful. They have three of them at the university. He has a really good shot."

Dad leaned back, shaking his head with a smile. "I just... Ronnie, I'm happy for you. I'm just... really, really happy. You found this calling, you're an amazing artist, and you're making your way in the world. When you--" he grimaced. "When you were younger, with your kidney, your mother and I would make little bargains with God. It was ridiculous. What could we possibly offer God? But what else could we do?

"So, it was stupid little things, like if I could just see you smile, I'd go to mass twice a week. Bring down your fever and I'd go every morning. Then there was the big stuff. Find her a donor, Lord, and take me. As if He were so vengeful that he would take her father's life in exchange for healing a daughter. It was ridiculous, but again, what else could I do? I would take any bargain, any deal.

"And look at you now. Happy, healthy, famous, making money for yourself and you're at the top of your field. Does it sound arrogant to say that my kid has done well? I mean, it's all you. I didn't show you how to paint or how to draw. There are times when I think of what you're doing and what you've accomplished, and I'm blown away. My kid is amazing."

Staring at my plate, I shrugged. "Kids."

"Huh?"

"Kids, not kid. Plural, not singular. Nicky is rich. He's famous. He's much more successful than I am. His issues were emotional, not physical, but he had it as bad as I did. He took care of his mom. Not kid, Dad. Not one."

He was quiet for a moment and his voice was softer when he replied. "Kids. You're right. I... We don't talk about this a lot, but I don't think of Nicky as my kid. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't have that right. I gave up the right to call him my son a long time ago, and it was the most shameful thing I've ever done."

Dad lapsed into silence, and breakfast was awkward with a few attempts at small talk. When he went to use the bathroom after we were finished, I left the tip on the table and paid at the register. Waiting by the exit, I waved him over when he was returning to the table.

"Did you get the bill?"

"Yup."

He began reaching into his pocket. "How much was it?"

"I got it, Dad."

"No, it's fine. How much was it?"

"Seriously, I got it. It's just breakfast."

Nodding sadly, he walked over to the car. When we got to my place, I started to get out, but he put his hand on my shoulder.