Homesick (Lesbian)

CHAPTER 11: What she did

My opening night was so close I could taste it, and let me tell you; it didn't taste well. It tasted like nervousness, nausea and possibilities of failure. But I had to keep going, I had to see this through, even if it didn't turn out to be the success I wanted it to be.

Regarding the email I sent her, she never replied. No surprise there. I close all my social media accounts and changed my phone number to make sure I wouldn't be distracted by thoughts of her. I could not allow myself to think of anything other than my opening night. At least that was the plan. The universe makes it a habit out of laughing at whatever it is you want.

It was probably the end of August. Less than a month away from my opening. Time had been moving fast, yet slow at the same time. Like an airplane moving in the distance. It had been slow because every day I woke up with this intense, debilitating sense of worthlessness and pain in my chest that made of life a chore, and fast because I kept thinking 'what the hell have I done with my time? Why haven't I finished the paintings already?'. Fast, because even though I was going through the toughest moment in my life, I was also going through the second greatest.

Scott took one hundred and thirty-seven pictures of me, added some photoshop here and there, chose the best ten ones and began the marketing. There were so many pictures of me in Caroline's gallery that I was beginning to get bored of my face. I also went to at least ten reunion, five gatherings, many other events by many other artists and talked to so many people I would otherwise despise that I was feeling ready to become antisocial.

Except for Scott and Dumont. Ellen kept taking me in this very extravagant parties. We would arrive at midnight, drink with a bunch of strangers whose name didn't matter because I'd never see them again, I would kiss some random woman because Ellen liked me when even others found me attractive, she was the one I was leaving one. We did more drugs than I care to admit and I lost my mind in more than one way.

It was fun, and tiresome. And honestly, after a few months of it, it was beginning to lose its edge. And when I needed something more grounded, I went out with Scott.

That day we were hanging at his apartment, at Harlem. He was making us tea while I stared in awe at the amazing black and white pictures he had hanging on his walls.

"This one is beautiful," I said looking at the photograph of a woman nursing a baby in the middle of what probably was some sort of main square.

He came out of the kitchen holding two cups of green tea. "I took it in a small-town Chile. Beautiful place. Amazing food."

"When did you go to Chile?"

"A few years back. Back when you wouldn't talk to me."

"So, after the divorce."

"Yeah."

Hearing that word again made this sensation come back. The sensation of 'I'm getting divorced again. Yay.'

I knew I had to tell him, assuming she hadn't told him already. "Hey Scott?" I asked

He handed me the cup of tea and asked, "Yeah?"

"I need to talk to you about something, and I need you to be supportive, and loving and compassionate." He frowned but didn't add anything else. "I asked Riley for the divorce."

It hit him. You could tell. Scott had a bigger response than probably she herself had, which meant she hadn't told him. He looked out the window with his mouth slightly opened, like he was trying to process what to say, what to think or how to act. When he realized looking out the window wasn't it, he walked towards the couch and sat down.

He rubbed his face with his right hand and then had a sip of his tea. "Whe-when was this?"

"On my birthday. That day, when she didn't call or write, I just knew I was done waiting for her."