Chapter 177
tris
1 stand back, wiping my hands on my already paint–stained overalls, and tilt my head to examine the finished piece.
It’s vibrant. Alive. The central image depicts a framed dent in a kitchen wall, cracks spider–webbing outward. Yellow sunshine
spills across the scene, dust motes floating in the air, and a baseball bat leans against the wall beneath the frame.
When did I start painting happiness again? Usually my work leans toward the melancholic side of things, all muted blues and
grays with occasional bursts of controlled color and light.
But this this is practically on fire. I’ve already used up one whole tube of yellow paint getting the sunbeams just right.
I check the time on my phone and realize I’ve been painting for over four hours straight, completely lost in the creative flow.
If I were analyzing someone else’s work, I’d say the artist was experiencing a significant emotional upswing. Or perhaps a manic
episode.
Which, I suppose, I sort of am. For the first time in years, I’m… happy. Genuinely, unexpectedly, blissfully happy.
“Mommy?” Miles‘ voice from the doorway pulls me from my thoughts. He’s standing there with a coloring book dangling from
one hand. “The kitchen smells funny.”
“Funny how?” I ask, setting down my brush.
“Like that time you fell asleep during movie night and the popcorn got all black.”
My eyes widen. “The roast!”
1 rush past Miles into the kitchen, where a thin haze of smoke hangs in the air. The oven is still on, and when I yank open the
door, a plume of thicker smoke billows out. Coughing, I grab an oven mitt and pull out what was supposed to be tonight’s dinner.
“Shit,” I mutter, dropping the blackened roast onto the stovetop. I was so absorbed in my painting that I completely forgot about
dinner. And not just any dinner–the special family dinner with Arthur’s parents that I suggested.
The dinner that’s supposed to happen in less than two hours.
“Is that what we’re eating?” Miles asks, peering around me.
“Definitely not,” I say, turning on the vent and opening a window. “Thank you for telling me about the smell, buddy. You did
really good thing. Now go pick up your toys before Grandma and Grandpa arrive, okay?”
Miles scampers off, and I stare at the burnt roast, trying not to panic. The apartment still reeks of smoke, 1 dinner, and
Arthur’s parents are due to arrive soon
I grab my phone and start scrolling through food delivery apps. There’s no time to start another roast, and I don’t have the
ingredients anyway. Take–out is our only option, but it can’t be just any take–out. Not for Leonard and Wendy.
1/3
+20 Bonus
After a few minutes of frantic searching, I find a higher–end local restaurant that delivers. Their menu looks promising. It’s
pricier than I’d usually spend on delivery, but this is an emergency.
.
I select a grilled salmon with roasted vegetables, an herb–crusted prime rib, roasted potatoes, a seasonal salad, and some fancy bread. For Miles, I add a gourmet macaroni and cheese that I know he’ll actually eat. I add some desserts for good measure, a
decadent chocolate lava cake and some fruit tarts.
As I place the order, I wince at the total. There goes a chunk of my residency stipend. But it’ll be worth it if it means saving this dinner, which feels strangely important. Not just for Arthur and me, but for Miles, too. He deserves to have a relationship with his grandparents, and I want to make a good second impression after the gala
and With dinner handled, I turn my attention to the apartment. I race around opening all the windows, spraying air freshener, setting out candles to combat the smell of burnt food. Then I shower quickly, change into a simple but nice dress, and help Miles into the outfit we picked out together–khaki pants and a button–up shirt that makes him look adorably grown–up.
“Do I have to wear this?” he asks, pulling at his collar.
“Just
for tonight,” I promise, smoothing down his wild hair. Goddess, sometimes he really does look like Arthur when that one stray curl falls across his forehead. Although, for the first time in the five years of his existence, I don’t feel compelled to tame it
out of sight
The food arrives just as I’m setting the table with my nicest dishes. I quickly transfer everything from the takeout containers to serving dishes, arranging it all to look perfect. A few minutes later, the doorbell rings.
