The Build Up (92)

Porter laughed. “I will but right now, I’m starving. The flight to Spain is going to be long and I need one last hit of soul food before we go.”

“Come on. Let’s get you something to eat. I hear they have gumbo on this concourse. I mean, it won’t be like Senior’s. But—”

Porter kissed me midsentence. After several sweltering kisses, I pulled back, gently pressing the tip of my nose against his. He smiled. “That’ll be perfect.”



Epilogue


Ari


3 Years Later

We watched as Desmond hung the large mural across the wall of the office foyer. Porter supervised while Eloise, my mom, and I all stood back with our heads cocked to one side in curiosity. Porter had his hands on my back, and as always, was rubbing it in small, reassuring circles.

“Well... What is it?” asked my mother, as she put the temple of her glasses between her teeth.

“Can’t you see it?” asked Desmond. “It’s a train. You know, where Porter first saw Ari. Porter’s the artist. He can explain it better.”

“Well,” said Porter. “It’s my interpretation of that.”

My mother shrugged with squinted eyes. “I guess. I don’t see it. But if you say so.”

Todd walked in, carrying a large box, followed by Kim, holding two gorgeous lamps. Todd was doing great, having been sober for almost three years, and practicing civil rights law at a smaller firm. Todd shifted the box to one hand, giving me a one-arm hug. Kim balanced a lamp on each hip. Both stood in front of the painting, transfixed, trying to figure out what it was.

Todd scrunched his lips in confusion. “Des, what is this? A worm?”

“Yes, a worm! Through a sunset, maybe?” speculated Kim.

Desmond threw his hands up, kissing his teeth. “And you all call yourselves cultured! You all have no eye fuh good art, you know! Rich folks pay good money fuh art like this!”

We all erupted into laughter.

“Well, I think it’s nice, honey,” said Eloise as she kissed Desmond on the cheek. “This is really going to brighten up the spot for the kids. Look at them! Their first office!”

James-Harrison Designs was a small fine art and architectural firm in the historic Sweet Auburn district. Porter didn’t win the bet on calling it “Harrison Squared.” Luckily for us, Jamal was now one of the most popular real estate agents in the city. He wasted no time finding us an exceptional building in a glorious, refurbished warehouse space. It was large enough to house a full-size studio for Porter’s art as well.

After spending almost three years in Spain, Porter and I knew it was time to go home.

Living in Spain gave Porter the clarity he needed, realizing that architecture hadn’t truly made him happy. Porter spent much of the time in Spain working on his art, exhibiting his work in several small, well-respected galleries, and selling pieces. He was truly at peace and happy to have found his calling, without the Harrison name behind him.

My time at the Claudio Velez Firm was amazing. Velez and I had designed four award-winning resorts for the Serranos. All housing James Beard-award-winning chefs, much to Porter’s greedy delight. When I resigned, Mr. Velez begged me to stay, enticing me by raising my salary by almost double. He even said he’d hire Porter if it would make me happy. “He’s okay,” he said. “But I like you much better.” I laughed. I told Velez that I appreciated the opportunity, but we were both homesick. He understood.

I watched as Mr. George put the finishing touches on the logo on the door. My mother walked over, deliberately sauntering, swaying her ample hips to bring him a bottle of water from the makeshift cooler. He smiled widely in eager anticipation. A lot had changed in the three years since we had been away—like my mom and Mr. George dating. She said it started with her asking him to help her with some small renovations in her condo. The next thing you know, he asked her to dinner every weekend. I couldn’t believe it. Mom assured me she wasn’t trying to be the next Mrs. Flores, but she was happy. Mom had even met his kids, and they adored her. She was learning Spanish for an upcoming trip to Ecuador. It wasn’t going so well. Beyond learning “agua” and asking where the “ba?o” was, Doris was hopeless.

Just then, a streak of green and blue tulle swished past, almost knocking me down as they grabbed my legs.

“Sasha! Malia! Get off your Auntie Ari!” yelled Bella as she carried in a box of cupcakes and a thick notebook that I knew was her event planning bible. As usual, she was deliberately overdressed for move-in day in heels, a cardigan, and jeans. She was more invested in planning the welcome party for our new clients than moving boxes. When we opened our firm, we had no problem finding clients, including some former clients of Riddle and Robinson. The endorsement by the Serrano brothers and Claudio Velez certainly helped.

Bella put the cupcakes and the notebook on the receptionist’s desk. I had a tinge of sadness looking at the still vacant area. Ms. Gayle had turned down our offer to be our new office manager, saying she’d rather “monitor the old men” and retire with them. Ms. Gayle promised she would visit us from time to time to make sure that we were doing alright.

The twins released me and ran into the arms of my mother, who gave them kisses on each cheek, and then to Porter, who picked both girls up and allowed them to give him a big bear hug. Porter had instantly become Sasha and Malia’s favorite new person.