Even Heroes Have Scars

[107] I Will Survive

Ansley's P.O.V.

The following morning, Friday, I called Jacob at a time I didn't normally call him, as I had the day off of work after going in to overtime after only four days of working. He seemed like he was in a rush, stating he had a meeting shortly with his recovery team, so I made it quick, asking him how he felt about us being invited to spend Thanksgiving with Demi's family.

"Really? They want us to?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I guess so. Would you want to?"

"Can I think about it and let you know when you come visit tomorrow? I just don't know if I'm ready to tell Maddie everything."

"Okay. That's fine. And hey, if you don't think you're okay with it, that's okay. We can always do something, just us, if that's what you want," I offered, nervous about him having to share information he wasn't ready to share.

"Okay, thanks. Okay, I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Demi asked me to go shopping with her an hour later. It was odd, something we hadn't done together in nearly a year, but I went along with it anyway. She was wanting to start browsing for Christmas gifts for her family while also searching for art supplies; she wanted to have a new hobby.

So I went, a bit reluctantly, to the mall and Michael's with her, both of us a bit disguised with hats and coats. She bought two gifts at the mall rather quickly, but she was stumped by all of the art supplies at Michael's.

"This is why I brought you along," she told me.

I almost laughed. "Wow. And here I was, thinking you wanted to spend quality time with me."

"Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. I need recommendations, Ans. I don't know anything about this stuff. There's just so much to choose from," she explained, staring at the paint brushes.

I noticed the assortment of acrylics and oil paints in her hand, so I decided to offer some help. "Well, what are you painting?"

"Pictures – I don't know!" she fussed, clearly flustered and frustrated. "Ugh, maybe this is more trouble than it's worth."

"Come on. I mean – do you want to paint on canvas or on paper or on wood?"

"Oh," she blushed. "Canvas, probably. That's what everyone does, right?"

I nodded along. "Oil paint or acrylic paint?"

"Both? I don't know."

I giggled a little at her indecision. "It's hard to use both. You can't mix them, really. So, you kind of have to choose just one. So... acrylic is very forgiving. You make a mistake, and you can fix it pretty easily. It also dries kinda fast, and it's easy to clean off of skin and hard surfaces. Oil, on the other hand, is not as forgiving, takes a long time to dry, like days, and doesn't clean easily since it's so greasy."

Demi nodded, hanging on to every word I said. "Okay. Acrylic, then. Why would anyone use oil?"

"I don't know – ask da Vinci, Picasso, van Gogh, Monet..."

"Okay, I get the point," she said jokingly to my laughter.

She looked down at her hands for a moment, pulling the bottles close to her face to read them, before putting the oil paints back and grabbing a canvas. Since she wasn't sure what she wanted to paint, I grabbed her two bags of assorted brushes and a pack of two palettes, along with a plastic painting knife for her to mix colors or add textures. She also wanted an easel, so we found a tabletop one.

In the car, as we were about to exit the parking lot of Michael's, I got a phone call from Jacob's treatment center. I answered quickly, worried something went wrong with his meeting that morning.