Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17558 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17558 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
I knew I was going to have to tell him my and Titus’s story one day, I just guess I never really believed it.
I just kept thinking in my mind, “It will be tomorrow. It will be tomorrow.”
And then tomorrow finally came. Dad saw my little baby bump, and my whole world turned upside down.
“Lucy,” I remember him saying, his eyes on my tummy. “What in the world is that?”
My whole body goes tense just thinking about it. My heart begins to race all over again.
When I look across the table at my father, I feel so conflicted. On one hand, I feel terrible for having lied to him for this long—for having hidden something I could have easily told him.
But on the other hand, I know that had I told him from the beginning that I was in love with Titus, he would have immediately said no. He hasn’t been open to the idea of me pursuing my art, why would he be open to the idea of me and Titus being together?
Hiding our relationship was a necessity. This was the only way for us to ever give our love the space it needed to blossom.
I try to take another bite of my pasta, but I’m just not hungry. My stomach feels like it’s full of lead bricks. I look up at my dad. “May I be excused?”
He looks up from his plate but doesn’t look at me. Normally, he would most likely make me finish my meal before letting me go upstairs, but tonight, he’s quick to respond.
“You may.”
I stand up and take my plate to the kitchen and clear it before I practically sprint up the stairs to my bedroom and close the door behind me.
Immediately, I have my brush in my hand and I’m back at work on my latest painting, a wide canvas of Titus’s arm and his scar, something I not only hope he’ll be honored by, but that I can also potentially sell and use to raise money for a local veterans foundation.
I’ve never actually sold any of my work before, so it’s a lofty goal, but I think it’s an honorable one as well, so I’m hoping it works out.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes, my phone vibrates with an e-mail alert. I’m in such a mood after the “dinner” with my dad that I almost don’t check it, but I do. And thank God that I do, because it’s from Riverbank Gallery letting me know that I’ve been accepted to their show in October.
“Another one?” I whisper, almost unable to believe it as my eyes scan the text of the e-mail. Happiness floods my heart and pours through my veins. I’m absolutely thrilled. But then I read the next paragraph.
Not only have you been accepted to be part of the show, but we would also be honored if you would be our featured artist.
My heart nearly stops.
What would this mean? This would mean your art would be featured more prominently at the front of the gallery where everyone who enters would be sure to see it, as well as placed higher on all our marketing products including social media, e-mails, and brochures.
“Oh...my…” I can’t even finish the sentence.
If this is something you would be interested in, Ms. Anderson, please let us know by responding to this e-mail.
There’s more below that I should probably read, but I can’t. Not right now. Right now I’m on my feet and racing back downstairs screaming, “Dad! Dad, look at this!”
Dad is sitting on the couch watching something on TV when I burst into the room like a Chihuahua on crack. “Dad, look! I got accepted into a show at Riverbank Gallery and they want me to be their featured artist! Me!”
My dad smiles and nods. His eyebrows go up. “Featured artist, huh? That’s…quite the accomplishment, Lucy. I’m proud of you.”
A moment ago, I was soaring high, high above the clouds. Now I’m merely gliding a few hundred feet above the earth. All a girl wants most in this world is her father’s approval, and while my dad is doing his best to give it right now, it’s not hard to see that he’s still unhappy with me, and that’s getting in the way him being truly proud.
“Come on, Dad,” I say. “Can’t you just…be happy for me? I mean—I know you’re mad about me lying to you and everything that happened, but this is a really big deal!”
“I am happy for you, sweetie.” My dad smiles. The way he’s trying to force it just hurts me even more.
“You know, if Titus was here, he’d be honest with me.”
That gets him. In an instant, my dad’s on his feet and glaring at me. I know my dad would never do anything to hurt me, but that doesn’t mean the anger in his eyes can’t scare me a little bit.