Eternal Longing ✓

53. Wins And Losses

JAYA

"Welcome all to the annual Emphasized Contest! This year, we've been fortunate enough to have Barton Enterprises as an amazing supporter of the event and our marvelous artists!"

Cheers ring out in the room, friends, family, and significant others all gathered in one space, glasses of champagne held high and smiles plastered on rows of faces, all excited to be here and finally get a look at the art that was birthed out of this competition.

"Our amazing contestants-who will each come up and reveal their respective pieces themselves-have worked for weeks, and all of their strenuous work has culminated to this moment."

Like everything attached to its name, The New York Barton Galleries location where the event is being held is a mastery of beautiful sleek furniture, bright lights, and pristine all-white walls. Two dozen or so works are arranged around us, all covered and ready to be revealed.

"Don't be nervous, Jaya." My mother slides her arm between mine, squeezing tightly. "These other children don't look like they can even hold a paintbrush." She sucks her teeth, sliding her gaze around the other anxious artists.

"Mom!" I hiss at her, biting down a laugh. "There's no need to be rude."

"Please, you know I'm right." She shrugs and reaches forward to pull Dev into a quick embrace when he descends upon us with a champagne flute for her and a cup of water for me. "Tell your sister I'm right, Devlin."

Dev passes me the water, no idea what my mom is talking about, but knowing well enough to simply agree. "She's right, J."

"Thank you, chip," I thank him for the water, and waste no time in guzzling it down.

"Do you hear your brother? I'm right." She fixes the strap of my dress-a silk slip dress in red that I absolutely adore-and pats my cheeks softly as I drink. "Slow down, dear. Don't go and spill water on your beautiful dress."

But I'm way past listening to her, my insides dry and in need of water, a clear sign of my nervousness. Funny enough, I'm not necessarily scared of losing, what I'm more preoccupied with, the thing that is making me edgy and restless, is that Fin is nowhere to be found.

I've been texting him for the better part of the past hour, initially concerned with his silence and absence, then slowly growing annoyed, and now I'm just plain nervous. I don't want to reveal and talk about my work without him here-I quite simply won't.

He doesn't know it and might frown if I were to tell him, but the piece wouldn't be what it is without him. Dare I say, it wouldn't even exist if he didn't support me in ways that go even beyond the word itself.

The countless times I didn't think I would finish nor did I want to, the times I didn't even want to finish because I didn't believe in the piece, the days that I fell asleep in the guest room, drained and over it. He was always there, always supporting, always providing.

I've won already. Whether I leave this gallery being named the winner or not, Fin has shown me that I have him and that I can trust and rely on his unending support. And that, to me, is better than being crowned the winner of anything.

At the front of the room, the speaker leaves the stage, shaking the hand of the first artist who will be explaining his work, maybe going over a bit of the process, then unveiling it for everyone to see. The guy's throat works as he grabs the mic, his eyes sweeping across the gallery.

Then he starts talking, uncomfortable at first, then more confidently, until he's walking from one corner of the constructed stage as if he's giving a Ted Talk. He has no more than five minutes to five his little spiel though, so he doesn't waste time and dives into