Titanium Promises

Epilogue

A year later

I'm not the type of person who's embarrassed to watch videos of themselves or admire their own artwork. I like seeing myself in old videos my mom and dad held onto over the years. It's nice seeing how much I've grown.

But this is different. I'm looking at one of my own art pieces, and not one that's hanging in the privacy of my room or garage. It's hanging in a public place for hundreds—thousands, if I'm lucky—of other people to see. I've never put myself out there like this before. I mean, I've tried, but there was always something that stopped me.

I thought once my painting won the competition I'd feel accomplished—I'd feel different. I don't. I feel the exact same, a little too exposed, even. I've painted something so personal, and I never even thought I'd be able to paint something like this to begin with. Maybe I just needed the right inspiration.

I still remember the email that told me I won. It started off with a "Congratulations, Reid!" and the rest blended together, lost with my excitement. The moment I read that line my heart soared so high I could barely breathe.

"It took them long enough to see your talent," Silvia had said once I told her and my dad the news. We had a celebration dinner that night by going to get pizza. Seeing those checkerboard tables made my chest twinge, but I've learned to let go of those feelings.

I barely think of him anymore. Not when I go to the park, or when I go to downtown LA. Or even when I visited Massachusetts to look at colleges. Though I haven't told anyone, I can't help but feel relieved that none of the schools really felt right to me.

I sigh out a breath. As I look at my painting now, other than feeling exposed, I feel a calming sense of pride. I created this. And I couldn't be more proud of myself.

"It's amazing," my dad says, appearing beside me.

I don't think I've ever seen him in professional clothing before. He wears a white button down and a black blazer along with freshly ironed jeans—an outfit he bought solely for this occasion.

"I have to agree with Silvia," he says. "He was a handsome man."

I'm not even trying to be cocky, but it really is... beautiful. But his eyes are what bother me. I painted them with too much grief, too hard a crease on his brow. He was strong, he wouldn't let anyone see his pain. Anyone besides me, at least. I saved his mouth for last because it was incredibly difficult to capture his smirk. Everytime I sketched it, it was more of a grin that didn't encapsulate him.

"You never told me the title," my dad says, leaning forward to get a better look at the painting.

I point at the metal plaque next to it. "You can read the title right there."

"I could. But I want to hear it from you."

I have to swallow the lump forming in my throat. "'A Titanium Promise.' Stupid, right?"

He shakes his head. "It's clever. How'd you come up with it? Find it in a poem? Sounds like something you'd find in a poem."

"Nope. It's just something I thought of."

When I look back at the painting, all I can think about is that day at the waterfall. That is where the picture came from, after all. I find myself missing my adventurous side from time to time. The part of me that charged into the mafia house, and was fully aware of the dangers lurking inside. He brought that out of me.