Painting by The Numbers

"Uh, yeah. That's really kind of you, but I was meeting my brother for dinner and Calvin, and I had that food he made for lunch, so I'm sort of stuffed. Maybe another time?"

"If you are stuffed, then you don't need to eat with your brother, yes? Calvin, bring two glasses and the photo album to the living room." When he did so, she stepped closer to me. "You are the first woman he has brought here in three years. Please, stay for dinner. His uncle worries about him. He would love to meet you. Call your brother. Maybe you can stay, eat and then see your brother for dessert, yes? Please?"

How could I say no to that? The patron saint of photography would strike me down with lightning or something.

"Let me call him and see if we can meet up tomorrow or the next day."

Smiling, she stepped close and gave me a quick hug. Honestly, it was a bit much. All of it was. I wasn't comfortable with her heavy-handed pushing of dinner. At best, Calvin and I were an interesting "maybe." At absolute best. This felt like way too much, way too early.

Still, it wasn't the end of the world. I stepped out of the front yard where Calvin had been wrestling with the kids and called Nicky.

He was distracted as he answered. "Yes, it's Ronnie. I'll ask. I said I'll ask, let me speak to your aunt." He been talking to the girls as he picked up. "Hey, they want to know if you could tell them a princess story. Can you grab a bottle of wine on your way over? I could use it."

"About that. Would it be okay If I stopped by over the next couple days instead of tonight? I sort of got myself talked into something."

"Sure. I'm not going to be free tomorrow night, but any other day works. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. I'll explain when I see you. Tell the girls we'll do a princess story when I see them."

"Okay. Call me if you need me. Love ya."

There were still times when his saying that pushed a button in me. I had grown up raised as an only child knowing that somewhere out there, I had a famous brother. Sometimes everyday words of affection were just words, other times they meant the world.

I went back into the house. "Okay, tell me about this spaghetti."

Calvin tried to rescue me, but wound up sitting in the kitchen as his aunt walked me through every step of making her sauce and pasta. She promised to one day show me how to make the pasta from scratch. More than once I looked over at him and he had a half-grimace in place as he mouthed "sorry."

Calvin's uncle was the opposite of his aunt. A quiet, reserved man, he was gracious and asked me polite but nonintrusive questions. To be fair, the pasta was amazing. We spent a good amount of time going over childhood photos, and I learned that Calvin started wrestling while still in Croatia.

Marta sent me home with a tremendous amount of pasta and chicken cutlets. I tried to decline three times, but accepted when she looked insulted. She gave at least the same amount to Calvin, who had eaten like a horse when we had dinner.

She had patted his arm when he helped himself to seconds. "He gets too thin. Those other boys are so much larger than him. I say to Calvin, tell your coach you want to wrestle at a lower weight, but does he listen? Of course not. So now he has to eat, and eat, and eat."

Instead of his uncle or aunt doing it, I drove him back to campus. He apologized the whole way. Yeah, it had been a bit much, but his apologizing was cute and went a long way. He seemed embarrassed and more quiet than usual.

When he got out of the car, he took his Tupperware of pasta and paused. "Unless something comes up about the paintings, I'll leave you alone. If you need anything, call. I know she's a lot. Sorry."

Hands filled with leftovers, he closed the door with his hip. I sat in the car watching him walk towards the dorms. It wasn't a bad view. When I got home, I was getting ready to email Marta the photos she wanted, but instead did some research on track and field events and got some light sketching done.

I slept like a hibernating bear and woke up late the next morning. Most of the day was spent painting. When I finally took a break, it was almost five o'clock. Opening the fridge, I saw the pasta. There was enough food for at least four people. Thinking about how Nicky said he was going to be busy today, I decided to pack it up and bring it over to share with Cat and the girls.

When I got there, all three of their cars were in the driveway and another car was parked in front of the house. Curious, I grabbed the food and walked through the front door. Nobody was there, but I heard voices from the backyard. Putting the food on the counter in the kitchen, I walked out the back door and saw Nicky grilling with John at his side.

Great. Just great.

Turning around, I grabbed the food and put it in the fridge. Clearly, it wasn't just going to be me, my aunt, and my nieces. Okay, I was stalling. The kitchen window was open, and I could smell the charcoal and meat on the grill. One of the twins shrieked and started laughing. They had a swing set and sandbox in the backyard, and I assumed Cat was keeping an eye on them.

I heard her voice cut through the air. "Nicky, let John handle the grill for a minute. I need you to keep an eye on the girls."

I was at the sink grabbing some water when I heard the door open behind me. "Sorry. I didn't know you had guests. I had leftovers, thought we'd split them."

I could hear the concern in her voice. "Some beef company wants Nick to endorse them. They sent over a huge box of grass-fed burgers full of Omega this and vitamin that. We have plenty. Are you okay to stay?"

Turning, I forced a smile on my face. "Sure. It was gonna happen sooner or later. Nick is friends with John. We're going to run into each other. We're adults. It's not an issue."

She stepped forward and gently touched my forearm. This was the aunt I'd known all my life. Aside from my mother, there was no one I was closer to.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. Let's go see how those burgers are coming."

I walked outside, and Cat followed. Heading towards John, I gave him a little wave as he looked over. "Do New Yorkers know how to grill? Have you got some pizza on there?"

"Do we know how to grill? Lady, New York is the hot dog capital of the world. How are you, Ronnie?"

"Good, I --"

The girls started yelling for me when they noticed I was in their backyard. Laughing, I shrugged while looking at John.

"Duty calls."

I was soon pushing the girls on their swings. Nicky leaned against the set, his arms crossed.

"How is it that whenever you show up, my children forget I exist?"

"They have good taste?"

"Funny. Listen, is this okay? I mean, I don't want this to be awkward or anything."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. I appreciate you looking out, but it's not an issue."

I was lying. It was a serious issue. John looked good, but I could deal with that. For some reason, his accent put me on my heels. He was the only one that I associated that stupid New York accent with. It immediately brought me back to both the good times and the bad.

Lying to family and doing it well was a skill I had developed years ago. When you can't stand one more day of being pitied, you learn to be earnest and keep a straight face when you say you're feeling fine. When you see the terror in your parents' eyes as they worry about your mortality, convincing them that you're not afraid becomes secondhand. Making Cat and Nicky believe that I was fine around John? Easy.

The girls wanted me to tell them another story about Princess Purplepants, but I told them we had to wait until after dinner. If you had told me five years ago that talking to two kids and making up stories for them as they fell asleep would be the highlight of my week, I would've thought you were crazy.

They were my lifeline. When I came out of a daze, having gotten lost in my work and painted for way too long, they brought me right back to reality. Somehow, I couldn't make the reality of their starting school next year work. They were too young. Cat and Nick just brought them home from the hospital a couple months ago, at most. Just yesterday, they learned the word "no" and were in the terrible twos.

They were growing up way too quickly, and there was nothing any of us could do about it.

We ate dinner outside, and Nicky quizzed us all on the burgers. I took a bite, and he looked at me expectantly. Rolling my eyes, I held up my index finger, suggesting he wait as I chewed. Finally, I swallowed.

"I don't know. It's good, I guess, but it's not something I'd rush out to buy. I mean, sure, if I saw them at the grocery I'd grab it, but it wouldn't bother me if it wasn't there."

John took a nibble. "I disagree. It's light on the palette, but still filling. It doesn't seem as greasy as other burgers. I'd purchase it online or go out of my way to find a store that carries it."

I jumped on that. "Yeah, well, not everyone is pretentious enough to look for a burger they can match with their Chardonnay after a night at the Met."

The table grew quiet, and everyone was looking at me. Okay, so much for keeping things cool around John.

"Sorry. Just trying to make a joke. This is... Yeah. Sorry."

That was awkward as hell. Cat jumped in quickly. "Girls, what did you think of the burgers?"

"Good!"

"Mushy."

John laughed a little too hard, awkwardness lingering. "Mushy?"

Nicky smiled, tilting his head. "Yeah. She thinks all burgers should be cooked well done, like at McDonald's or Wendy's."

"Ah. Makes sense. Certainly not pretentious."

I stood up. "I'm gonna get a drink. Anyone need anything?"

Cat spoke up. "I'll join you. Girls, lemonade or iced tea?"

They wanted lemonade, which was fine with me. I filled the pitcher with water while she got the mix out of the cabinet. When she put it on the counter, Cat put her hand on my back.

"You all right? We should've told you he was coming over."

"No, Nicky told me he was busy today. I just didn't put two and two together and realize he was busy with John. I thought I would eat with you and the girls. I honestly don't know where that came from. I mean, he's the least pretentious person I know."

She laughed a little. "Come on, he's a little pretentious." She held up her hand, index finger close to her thumb. "A little bit."

Cat could always make me smile. "Okay, maybe a little. It's just... It's harder than I thought it would be. It wasn't easy, but I could deal with things when he was in New York. Your backyard? Maybe not so much."

She was quiet for a moment and then spoke softly as she grabbed the plastic cups. "You know, if there's still something there worth exploring, no one would blame you. I have your back, no matter what."

I shook my head. "No. That's dead and gone. Maybe we can be friends or colleagues or something, but that's it."

"Okay. Grab the ice on your way out?"

"Sure. Um, he hasn't said anything about that, has he?"

She shook her head, compassion in her eyes. "Not to me."

I nodded. We went back out, finished dinner, and let the girls tire themselves out. We had watermelon for dessert, and John spent at least half an hour teaching the girls how to spit the seeds. They had a contest and Lori got one to go about three feet. All right, maybe he wasn't that pretentious.

I was in the bathroom, helping the girls wash up for bed when John called out.

"Night, Ronnie."

"Night, John."

I heard the door open and then close. That hadn't gone great, but it could've been worse.

The girls shared the same room. Cat and Nicky let me tuck them in. "Right, I remember promising you girls a story. So, I guess you want to hear about the Italian Renaissance masters?"

They laughed and cried out "no" at the same time.

"Oh, okay. So, I'll tell you all about the ingredients that go into apple strudel."

"No!"

"Well, what the heck do you guys want to hear?"

Again, they called out in near unison. "Princess Penelope!"

"Okay, you win."

The Further Adventures of Princess Penelope Purplepants

Everyone whispered that the Princess was magical. All she did, day and night, was paint and draw. If she saw a tree, she would stop and draw it. If she saw a castle, she would sit on the grass for days painting every little bit of it. She wouldn't eat and she wouldn't sleep, and she only drank a tiny little bit, because painting and drawing were more important than anything else. The Princess had a wonderful aunt and mommy and daddy, but she was sad and lonely.

Then she met the two bestest friends in the world. Lizarama and Loriborifordori were very, very small, barely taller than a large mouse, but they were very nice. They always said thank you and please, and listened to their parents.

The Princess was no longer sad and lonely, and whenever she wanted to paint or draw, she always had her new friends to portray.

Lori scrunched up her face. "What's portray?"

"To draw or paint a picture of, now pipe down. I'm telling a story."

The friends went to the Princess's castle and they brought McDonald's for lunch. They noticed that the Princess seemed confused and asked her if everything was okay.

"Yes," the Princess said. "But I heard the oddest story. Someone said that there is a knight who travels the land on a bicycle. Isn't that silly? All the knights get together and they have competitions to see who is the best, and the Bicycle Knight always wins."

All three of them thought that was the strangest story they'd ever heard. Lizarama asked what the knight got for being the best.

"Well," he got to be the one to fight the mean and scary dragon."

Liz spoke up. "What was the dragon's name?"

"The Fearsome Exgames. Can I finish the story now?"

The girls giggled.

The Bicycle Knight had to go find the Fearsome Exgames. He rode up and down mountains and jumped over hills and rode through rivers and eventually found him.

"So, you are the fearsome dragon. I have come to slay you, for I am... the Bicycle Knight."

The dragon was a hundred feet tall and bright green with red eyes. He wore a gigantic blue shirt and a very tasteful watch.

"Slay me? What have I ever done to you?"

The Bicycle Knight was stumped. "Nothing, I guess, but you're a dragon."

"Well, that's just silly. What if I went around slaying all the people with brown hair, because they had brown hair?"

The Bicycle Knight thought about this. "I came all this way. What am I going to do if I don't slay you?"

The dragon pointed to the mountain behind him. "Do you play Uno? I have a deck in my cave."

So, the Fearsome Exgames and the Bicycle Knight became the best of friends. The end.

Lori rubbed her eyes. "Was he Daddy?"

"Don't be silly, your dad's not a dragon."

Once again, the girls giggled, and the sound was everything to me.

"No, the Bicycle Knight."

"Oh," I paused. "You know, he does ride a bicycle a lot. Okay, time to go to sleep."

I gently kissed each of them on the forehead and left the door slightly open on my way out. Cat helped me pack up the leftovers from Calvin's aunt. I was generous, but not stupid. That was coming home with me. Nicky insisted on carrying the food out to the car.

"Sorry about tonight. I'll give you a heads up before he stops by from now on."

"No, that was on me. It's fine. I appreciate it, though."

"Good. It's hard to remember to keep people up to date when I'm out there slaying dragons and everything."

Getting in the car, I laughed.

Unfortunately, the life of an artist isn't just creating. It's also bookkeeping, staying in contact with clients, exchanging emails with my financial advisor, and a bunch of other stuff that I'll eventually hire an assistant to handle. When I got home, I spent an hour online, taking care of business. Going off of memory, I made a list of what supplies I was short on. Some things I could order off the Internet, but there was a great art store about forty-five minutes from where I lived, and I'd rather pay a little more and support them than just have Amazon drop off the box at my door. I could browse, I could chat, and I could support a business that helps the next generation of artists.

When I was done, I decided to go to bed early and wake up by seven the next day. I brushed my teeth, took a shower, and went to bed. My will was a piece of iron. I was able to last an entire ten minutes before I was back up in a pair of baggy shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Brush in hand, I stood in front of the canvas. Another ten minutes went by of me not moving, physically or mentally.

I spent ninety minutes watching a stand-up special on Netflix. When it was over, I was able to sleep.

The next morning, I grabbed three granola bars and a large bottle of water and drove over to Art of the Way Supplies. I had used their online ordering, so they had what I needed waiting for me. I was making good money, but I didn't drive a fancy car or take exotic vacations. The store was the home of my heart when it came to art. That was where I splurged.

Although I wasn't as enamored with my painting as everyone else was, I was still a professional. I knew what I needed. I could've walked in there, said hi, paid for my stuff and been back home within a few hours.

That was never the case. Whenever I placed an order online, after browsing my total was at least twice that amount. Walking up and down the aisles, something would catch my eye, and I would grab it and put it in the basket.

The store wasn't in a bad section of town, just out of the way. The area was industrial, not commercial, and that let them have a large amount of space at a reasonably low rent. I loved the expanse of the building. It had been built in the 1930s and an art store was just its latest incarnation. It had been a grocery store, a post office, a commercial butcher for restaurants, and the local headquarters for a major political party.

Now, it was heaven.

When I reached the end of an aisle, I heard a voice call out.

"And right there, is Ronnie Tremaine. For those of you that are not familiar with her work, Ronnie is one of the leading artists of the day, specializing in athletes. Maybe we could convince her to talk about modeling images and how that helps her final product. Ronnie?"

Mark looked like an old hippy, but I knew that he had worked in construction most of his life and had only started getting serious about art after he retired. The man was as strong as a bull, and solid as a rock. It was an odd juxtaposition against his long gray ponytail and his round glasses. He was speaking to a class of teenagers.

"Well, I guess the first thing that I should say is that if you truly want to be professional and you really want to know what is important, here it is. You need to learn to sneak around art stores so that Mark can't put you on the spot."

A few people kindly laughed as I made my way over. I spent about half an hour answering questions and offering advice on projects the kids were working on. One of them asked me for my autograph, which was embarrassing. I went back to browsing and eventually checked out with a full cart.

As I rolled my car towards the door, one of the teens that Mark was teaching jogged over.

"Hey, let me give you a hand with that."

A little confused, I smiled. "It's fine, thanks. I parked right outside."

"No problem. I'll put the stuff in your car."

I thought he might be looking for a tip, so I let him put everything into my trunk. When I reached into my purse, he started his spiel.