As soon as Ransom and I reached the opulent shopping center, all royal arches and overflowing flower baskets, I realized no part of me wanted to shop.
That, in fact, shopping was a very depressing way to pass the time. Drawing joy from something materialistic never lasted for more than a couple hours. And…it needed to be said, most of the designer stuff was horrendous.
But it was much more than the act of shopping.
I was tired of the chase.
Tired of trying to fit in.
Tired of trying.
Designer clothes represented something I wanted to be a part of—glitz and glamour and sophistication. But deep down—or maybe not even that deep—I wasn’t a fan of consumerism. I mean, these companies wanted us to stock up on new, expensive clothes each season, even though last season’s clothes were perfectly wearable and still good to use. Overproduction resulted in waste and ecological damage. Every time I purchased a fashion item I didn’t need, I put another nail into this planet’s coffin.
“I don’t want this,” I heard myself say. I was rooted to the ground, staring back at an array of designer stores and upscale restaurants. “I don’t want any of this anymore. I have enough clothes. Nice ones, too.”
He stayed quiet for a moment, but I had a feeling he was relishing every word. More than that—I had a feeling he’d expected this to happen. That he somehow knew shopping wouldn’t make me feel better.
“I want to go,” I said.
“Where to?”
Good question. I wanted to get another tattoo. But I was still sore from yesterday, and also, I didn’t have anything else I wanted engraved on my skin. My tattoos all had meaning. Maybe I could sketch something real quick? I could…but I’d run out of hotel paper. And I guessed using a pencil, rather than the unreliable hotel pen, was a better idea. But the thought of holding a pencil and paper made me feel like a poser. Some pleasures were reserved for literate people only, and this was one of them.
A flashback of a sneering Hera assaulted my memory.
“What do you need my pens for, Hallie? It’s not like you’re gonna write something. Give them back. I’m studying for a test. And don’t ever steal from me again!”
Still…
Ransom had no idea about my…issues. I could draw as much as I wanted, and he wouldn’t judge me.
“Can we go to…Hobby Lobby?” I turned to him. I’d never been before, but it always looked like such a wholesome store. Nothing bad ever happened in a Hobby Lobby, I bet.
His face remained unreadable, but I could tell he hadn’t expected it. “Sharp turn of events.”
“Or I could call the paps again and find a subway grate à la Marilyn Monroe so my dress flies above my underwear,” I suggested sweetly. I wasn’t asking to go to a nightclub, for crying out loud. Work with me.
“Say no more.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll find the nearest craft store.”
It hadn’t been the cozy adventure I’d been seeking, but we were back in the armored Ford Explorer and headed to the closest arts and crafts store in no time, where I purchased a thick sketchpad, along with a charcoal pencil set that included erasers, sharpener knives, and a double-end pencil extender.
I’d used Siri to find out what tattoo artists normally used when they sketched.
I made my way to the checkout line, before Ransom—who was suspiciously quiet, even by his standards—put his hand on my shoulder. Marking the second time today that he’d touched me, casually. And the second time I hadn’t hated it.
I couldn’t let myself dwell on that. It probably meant nothing. I mean, if he liked me even a fraction, he wouldn’t insist on putting me through the misery of staying in Texas, would he?
“What?” I turned around.
“While we’re here…” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
I wasn’t following. I cocked my head. “You want to hit the yarn section and learn how to knit?”
“You know me too well,” he groused. “Or you can also buy a few drawing guides. Get the basics, you know. Drawing for Dummies. Set yourself up for success.”
“Why would I do that?” I only doodled for myself. There was no danger in that. No potential failure. “It’s just a hobby.”
“It’s shit you put on your body afterwards.” He started striding purposefully back to the appropriate section. He jammed his hand into a fully-stocked shelf, pulling out a thick book. “Shading, Texture, and Optical Illusions. You wanna tell me you don’t need this?” He waved the book between us.
I plucked it from his hand and flipped through the pages hurriedly, expecting lots of text. I was surprised to find none. It was all step-by-step tutorials on how to draw. With pictures. It was amazing. My heart picked up speed. This was the first time in years I’d felt like I could advance and educate myself through something other than vids, TED talks, and audiobooks.
You can hold a book and understand it.
“Guess it can’t hurt. Do they have more like this one?” I tossed the guide into our shopping cart.
He took another one off the shelf.
Realistic Drawing Secrets.
“Hmm, I don’t know about that one.”
“You need to up your game.” He slam-dunked it into the cart. “Another?”
“I mean, I guess. Whatever.”
Soon, the cart was overflowing.
How to Draw Anime.
Artist’s Guide to Realistic Animals.
How to Draw with Photorealism.
How to Draw Modern Florals.
The options were endless. I wanted to gobble everything up.
Tapping my foot against the floor while we were waiting in line for the checkout, I glanced at the time on my phone. Ransom stared, amusement dancing in his forest-green eyes.
“Did you think about what you want to do with your life yet?”
“Now’s not the time,” I barked at him impatiently. Must he rain on my parade, just when I was feeling a little better and participating in what he wanted? “I’ll figure something out. Don’t rush me.”
Then—lo and behold—something amazing happened. Ransom Lockwood let loose an actual smile. It was small, it was hesitant, but it was there.
And it was glorious. Which made something else happen. Something—not butterflies, maybe small birds—flipped their wings in my lower belly, making my entire body tingle. We stared at each other for a beat, with intense, raw longing.
“Hello! Ready to check out?” The cashier popped the bubble we were both suspended in.
Ransom shook his head, turning to look at her, and smiled. “Absolutely.”
The next week was surprisingly bearable. Possibly because my family did not summon me to any more ‘casual’ dinners. Everyone was in D.C., where Craig’s family was from. No doubt frantic about appeasing Hera, who did not like it when life didn’t go according to her detailed plan.
I tried calling my older sister and inquiring about Craig’s grandfather’s health—apparently, he was still hanging in there—but was sent straight to voicemail each time I did.
There was no way to admit it without sounding awful, but each time I got to her voicemail, I let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t have any particular desire to speak to Hera, and I had no idea what to say about Craig’s grandfather.