The smell of fresh paint tickles my nostrils. I used to love the smell as a kid, but now it's just another reminder that things are changing.
Today's been crazy. I couldn't be more stressed if I got on my knees and begged. I haven't had a panic attack in years, but right now I wouldn't be surprised if one somehow crept up on me.
But still, there's a joy in my heart that even cynical old me can't deny.
Today marks my very first gallery opening. Well, tomorrow actually, but I've only just arrived back in Beaumont this evening. It's been a long time coming. A lot of rescheduled dates and anxiety riddled indecision.
I didn't think Beaumont would see me again. Not after all those years of avoiding it due to everything that went down with Parker. Even though this place was my home before I even met him, it didn't feel like one until he entered my life. But, alas, I've decided it's time to go back to my roots. Who knows what could grow?
I stand here in this vacant studio, various boxes filled with my work surround my feet, ready to be hung up on the walls.
Dane was supposed to be here with me. It doesn't quite feel right to be doing this without him. It was meant to be a joint exhibition, something he'd promised me a long time ago. He has more experience than I, so it was only right to do it together. That way, his clients could become my clients too. We could pretend we were Frida Kahlo and Diego Riviera.
I remember the way he said it the day we first met and my heart pangs.
"I hope one day we'll be able to collaborate."
Oh Dane, if only he were here to hold my hand through it all. Before he was my partner, he was my friend, and I miss that connection we had with all my might.
He may not have been my forever romantically, but he was still my best friend for life.
But, of course, he pulled out. We haven't really seen each other much since the divorce, and I can't say I blame him. I broke his heart.
I'm terrified to do this all by myself. What if nobody comes? What if I'm sat in this studio all by myself with just my memories to keep me company?
I expressed these concerns to my agent the other day, who assured me that Dane's' vacant spot has already been filled with a surprising new budding artist who has already created enough buzz for themselves.
If they weren't coming for me, they'd definitely be coming for them.
She refused to give me any more details like their names, gender, age, or other exhibitions they've done.
I let my imagination run wild and I imagined a 20-something year old, pixie-haired, fresh out of university girl who wants a chance to showcase her talents. A girl who was a lot like me once upon a time.
In the other room, another pile of boxes sits waiting to be unpacked by their owner. They aren't mine, so they must be the other artists.
I told myself I wouldn't snoop, but where's the harm? I'm pretty sure the contents of these boxes will be hung on the wall in a few days, so why not give myself a free preview? It's not as if it's a secret.
I make my way across the polished wooden floors and begin opening the paint-stained box.
A painter...
I lift one of the canvases concealed in a glass case up and survey it.
"Oh my." The case slips from my hand and smashes onto the ground. Shards of glass flew everywhere. "Shit, shit, shit."
It's me. That woman is me. The exact same wedding dress with the exact same hair, body shape, and skin tone. She's me. She has to be. There's no way around it. They've even got the tattoo in the middle of my back right. The one I got on the trip to Italy when I visited Parker for the last time. It was just before we broke up. A little black and red spiderweb... Parker had the large black spider on his own back. Back then, it was just a funny little spontaneous thing we did, but now it is a reminder of all the good things I once had and lost.
I continue to stare at the painting. The figure of a woman in a wedding dress stands at the altar, marrying a broken heart with legs. Her face is turned to look behind her. She's beautiful, but she has clouds where her mouth should be. This reminds me of a painting I once saw a long time ago.
But, no, it can't be. My agent would've told me, surely. I tell her everything, she knows about me and him. My hands shake and tears threaten to descend from my eyes. I'm so overwhelmed with emotions, I'm completely stuck on the ground.
I've got to clean these shards up.
A letter falls out from under the painting. Parker's nickname for me is written on it in his familiar handwriting, with another one of his Spider-Man stickers on it.
I smile to myself as I gently open it. Some things never change.
Dearest,
I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you.
Meet me at our spot. You know the one.
Truly yours,
P.A.S
PS. I'm wearing my special Spidey socks ;)
"Othello." I whisper to myself. My cheeks swell and I bite my lips. A habit I thought I had grown out of.
He still loves me. All these years have gone by and he still loves me.
I clean myself up and grab the box to take with me, my hands still trembling.
My body has already memorised the way for my mind. I walk without even thinking about it. My spirit guides me to where I need to go.
I see him and my heart catches in my throat. He's on our couch, which is wonderfully tattered and frayed with age. He's smoking. His long, slender fingers tentatively clutching the cylinder of paper.
His peach-coloured lips purse to blow out some smoke, and he closes his eyes to take another drag.
"Lurking around, are we?" He says, his eyes still closed. "You always were a nosey one, camera girl."
I step out from behind the bush, my face hot. He could feel me there.
I step in front of him, waiting for him to show me those eyes. "You smoke now? That's not good for your health. "
He laughs, his eyes crinkling up but remaining closed. "You know how to set me straight, alright. It's only rose petals, none of that toxic stuff. "
I shake my head, "Still, it produces carbon monoxide, which is bad for your lungs."
Finally, he opens his eyes and all the memories that they hold flow between us. "The only thing bad for my lungs is breathing without you. Hello, Pencils." He gives me a closed mouth smile, sheepish and childlike.
He looks so different yet so similar to the 18-year-old boy I once loved. He's grown his hair all the way out, it's long and full, tied in a bun on the top of his head. The light curls that don't quite make it into the bun fall against his forehead and jaw, framing his chiselled face. He's got a little bit of stubble on his face, meaning he probably hasn't shaved in a while, but I like it. It makes him look more mature.
His skin is tanned and wonderfully freckled, reflecting his days travelling in the sun. I want to reach out and stroke them like I used to do when we were young.
But, instead, I say, "Still cheesy, I see."
"You look different." He blinks at me slowly, as if he's taking a picture with his eyes. "Older.. I like it."
"People tend to get older, Spidey." I touch my hair subconsciously. I cut it all off after my divorce. I wanted to be free, to have a fresh start. The word 'Spidey' rolls off of my tongue so effortlessly, even though I haven't said it in years. "You didn't come to the wedding."
He turns away and shrugs his broad shoulders. "You like what I did to the place?" The smoke from the cigarette leaves his lips in a heart-shaped cloud. I am mesmerised.
I look around for the first time since arriving and notice all the decorations hanging off the trees. They're beautiful. My tunnel vision of Parker stopped me from even realising how much effort he had put in.
My heart beats a million times per minute when I realise exactly what these decorations are.
Pictures from the first photo book I ever created for Parker are hanging all over the trees from gold and silver string with fairy lights intertwined, illuminating their images.
Talk about a blast from the past.
"Woah." I breathe. I can hardly contain my feelings, it's like walking into a gallery of my past.
"I remember listening to James Blunt. You know that song where he's speaking about this beautiful person that he thinks he'll never be able to be with? And my mind went to you. I mean, that's ridiculous. Why would it go to you? We'd always end up together, right? Even if it's been almost 12 years and you're married and probably happy."
"Divorced."
"Huh?" His eyes flicker to me. The greyness cools down the heat rising in my chest.
"I'm divorced now. Me and Dane aren't together anymore." I bite my lip and his gaze follows it.
"You're serious?" He stubs out the cigarette and moves towards me in a hurry.
Soon his chest is practically against mine and I've forgotten how to breathe. "As a heart attack."
"Are you okay?" He asks, looking into my eyes.
Trust Parker to still worry about how I'm feeling after hearing news that benefits him.
"I'm fine." I shrug. I thought I'd feel more heartbroken after signing the papers, but I didn't. If anything, all I felt was lost. I felt as if I'd lost my bearings in life. I found it again through the art of photography and re-reading all of Shakespeare's plays.
He sighs and rubs the stubble on my head like a little kid. "You gave your heart away, Pencils."
I push his hand away and it returns to the pocket of his black, tapered trousers. "I only did what you told me to, Parker. You told me to love someone like I loved you. You told-"
"And did you?"
"What?"
"Did you love someone like you loved me?"
"That wasn't possible." The smell of his shampoo reminds me of the first night I slept over at his, and a part of me just wants to kiss him right here, right now. "I don't think I can ever love someone the way I love you."
He lets out a low breath. "Love. You said love."
"What?"
He laughs lightly and shakes his head, "You said love, not loved. You still love me."
"Of course I do." I breathe.
" I would talk to the moon every night, pretending it was you." He grabs my hands and kisses my fingertips. "I'll die before I let you walk out of my life again. Do you understand that, Harley-Blair? I'm sorry for not fighting, for letting you go so easily. I was stupid, thinking I was doing what was best for you, not me."
"That's the thing, Parker. You always thought you knew what was best for me. Why couldn't you just trust that I could make those decisions for myself?"
He lets go of me and looks down at the floor, "I guess I took that protection role a bit too seriously. I'm sorry, I really am."
"I missed you, Parker. I've spent twelve years missing you."
"I know how much that hurt because I felt it too. I made a bad decision, the last bad decision I'll ever make. It's weird how much I love you, Pencils. You're the closest to heaven I'll ever get. I mean that. Even after all these years, my heart still throbs for you, Harley-Blair. My fingers ache from all the sketches I've drawn and all the canvases I've painted of your face." He smiles sadly. "I've only ever drawn you. You were my muse then, and you are my muse now. Always and forever. "
We move over to the couch and sit in the all too familiar position where my head lays on his lap and his arms go over me. I feel so safe and comfortable here in his arms.
"My dad tried to get in contact with me a few years ago. He's dying. Or he's dead. I'm not sure, I didn't reply." He lets his head rest on the back of the couch, staring off into the sky. That troubled look returns to his stormy eyes.
"Oh, Spidey." I remember how lost he looked that day and how found he seemed earlier.
"It's okay. I'm okay. It's just...weird. You know?" He hugs me back, and I drink in the smell of his citrusy cologne. A new older Parker smell. "You're the only person I've told. I haven't even told my Mamma."
"How is she? How is Rose?" I ask hurriedly.
He chuckles lightly. "Mamma's doing great. She wants to see you. She probably misses you as much as I do. She still lives in Beaumont. Rose, however, is doing fine for now, but I'm not sure how much longer we'll have her on earth for." He swallows hard. "Just savouring every moment with her."
He nuzzles his nose against the top of my head. "How's Silas? Still hate me?"
"Yes." I laugh. "But at least Pops always adored you, but I think that's only because he fancies you."
Parker lets go and poses whilst fluttering his long, dark eyelashes. "I mean, what can I say? I think I've still got it."
"Oh yes, you definitely do." I kiss him on the nose, and he's taken aback. "What?" I say.
He shakes his head and chuckles to himself lightly, "Nothing. It's just, I want to kiss you so badly, but I also want it to be perfect like our first kiss."
I laugh. "Every kiss with you is as perfect as our first kiss, Spidey."
"Don't I know it?" He gestures to the box I placed on the floor. "Have you looked through it properly?"
"Not yet." I walk over to it and pick it up so I can sit on the couch and see what's inside. He sits next to me, and I feel his warmth radiating off of his body.
I pick up a peculiarly amazing abstract painting of myself and hold it up for him to see.
"March 2027." He says and tells me to keep going.
A mini grey stone sculpture of me and him with our palms pressed against each other so that they become one. It's so beautiful that a tear falls from my eye.
"I did that one month ago. You are my mirror, Pencils." He bites his lip and smiles at me. "Now that took a lot of concentration, I'm not used to working with stone. One mistake can define the whole piece, so I had to be careful not to make another one."
"It's extraordinary. Can I keep it?"
He blushes deeply, like a little kid. "Of course."
He stares at me as I look through all of the canvases, paper, and even little napkins that have sketches of me on them. He draws me every time. Me. After all these years, it's still me.
"I love you, Pencils." He breathes. He's crying but not actively. Tears are gently streaming down his cheeks, but he's not making any sound. He gently wipes them away and smiles at me. "I can say it a million times and it'll still never be enough."
The way he says he loves me, it's like he invented the very word. He loves me. Parker loves me.
"I love you, Spidey." I smile. I put my face close to his, so our noses are touching. "Will you marry me?"
He laughs, that same laugh that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle up. "What?"
I get down on one knee, completely committing. "Will you, Parker Angelo Spidey Sorrisi, marry me, Harley-Blair Marie Thompson, formerly Matthews?"
I continue. "I know it sounds crazy. I've only just finalised my divorce. Why should I rush into marriage? But, I've never been more certain of anything in my life. Fuck tradition and social stigma! I just want you, Parker. "
He just keeps on laughing and laughing until he's bowing over, his hand clutching his stomach.
"What's so bloody funny? I'm trying to be romantic here!" I shout.
He points over at a series of pictures hanging on one of the fairy lights. "Look over there."
I go over to where he's pointing and finally understand the laughter.
There are five pictures, all taken of me sleeping when I visited Parker in Italy when I was 19. Behind my sleeping face in various positions, is Parker holding a different card with writing on it in each photo.
It spells out the words, "Will you marry me, Pencils?'
"It was a shot in the dark," he says. "I didn't even know if you were still married, I didn't even care. I took those photos a decade ago, and I still feel the same way now. The time is more than right. I want to marry you, Harley. I want to watch you walk down the aisle towards me, not away from me. That's why I didn't come to your wedding, Harls. You were marrying the wrong person. "
He kneels down in front of me, the moonlight illuminating his face. Though his face had grown older, there was always one thing that remained the same about him. Those stormy grey eyes. He pulls out an ancient box from his pocket. "This was my grandmother's engagement ring, passed down to my uncle, then to me." I catch my breath as tears spill from my eyes. "What do you say, Pencils? Can I finally make you a Sorrisi?"
I squeal as I jump up and down like a crazy pogo jumper. "Yes! Yes! A million times yes!" He slips the beautiful emerald-cut ring on my finger and kisses me firmly on the lips. His fingers trace the rose-shaped scar on the back of my hand, the scar he loved so much. I have never felt this much joy in my life, not even when Dane proposed. This was the moment I've been waiting for. Like everything I'd done since we broke up had been leading to us meeting again right here.
He stands up, and I jump on him with excitement. My sudden weight on him makes him topple over, and we both fall to the ground in laughter.
The sky above us, which was decorated with stars only moments ago, now appears swollen with dark, purple clouds.
"It's going to rain." I whisper.
He turns his face to the side and smiles at my lips. "I don't care."
I turn to look at him too. "Then I don't care either."
A raindrop falls onto my nose, and I giggle as he wipes it off. Only Parker can make me feel like I'm 17 again, flirting with my school crush.
The rain starts falling harder, and sooner or later, we're drenched. Luckily, the canopy is protecting the pictures and fairy lights otherwise, we'd have been screwed.
"It was always going to be you and me, Harley." His long eyelashes are wet and seductive, and I wanted to have him there and then. "Until the world falls apart, until the world disappears. This is love. Ain't no maybe about it. Always and forever."
"Until the stars fall from the sky, Spidey. I'm so glad I took your picture."