But I’m worried about what Jasmine will think, if it’s really okay to have a man over to sleep with me. A thousand things like that. And also my own terrors. But this is how to chase somebody away, isn’t it?
How do I let myself take a risk?
I write a text. Sorry, I’m feeling a little awkward about Jasmine being here.
Erase it.
Try again. Having boundary worries about Jasmine. You ok with that?
Erase it.
It’s not you or us or anything. I’m just feeling weird about Jasmine.
Erase it.
Leave it alone, I think. Just leave it all alone. Except, as I fall asleep, I think about how he felt around me, how it felt to be held and touched and kissed. How we talked into the early-morning hours.
Why did I tell him not to come over? I fling back the covers and pick up my phone. Four a.m. What if he hasn’t turned off his notifications?
Still. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I open our text string and type: Sorry. I’m probably worrying too much what Jasmine will think. See you tomorrow?
There’s no reply. But I can at least get back to sleep for a little while.
In the morning, Jasmine and I walk over to the studio. It’s cold and overcast, not a great day for being outside, but great for artwork. She needs to stay off the iPad. Her obsession with tsunamis and bombs and natural disasters is simply a focus point.
My creative brain is itchy, and I set aside the wallpaper painting and pull out some gessoed boards, smaller, twelve by twelve. I let my hand hover over the rolling container of acrylics, and feel turquoise and yellow calling me. I squirt some of each on the board and tilt my head. What do I want? A triangle. A square.
Jasmine is worried about change. Stephanie is making a good move for her life. It’s a great opportunity, and it’s good for Jasmine to see her mother choosing big steps, being brave. London will be an amazing adventure, even if it’s challenging at times. I want Jasmine to be able to enjoy it—and maybe even anticipate it. So often I’ve taken the safe path. I want more for Jasmine.
While I was sleepless last night, I tried to think of ways to help her, and I came up with a couple of projects we can do together.
In a vase on the main table, the dahlias Ben brought last week are starting to fade, dropping petals in pink and peach and white, and it gives me a little pang. He hasn’t texted me today. Have I messed things up?
But if a simple no to an invitation messed it up, what kind of connection would it be? I sweep the petals into the trash, irritated with myself. I’ve always been terrible at relationships, loving too much, loving the wrong people. It’s like I’m tone deaf in that arena, but I really don’t want to be that person now. Haven’t I grown up after all this time? Learned my own value?
I like him, and I’m mad at myself for that, even. Why should I expect it to be a big thing?
Except that it seemed important the other night. It felt like something real. It felt like I could trust him.
Focus. Jasmine needs me.
I move the board to a drying area. “So,” I say, spreading out a big piece of white butcher paper, “let’s do something.”
“Okay.” She leans on the table. Her hair is pulled back into a scrunchie, the curls boiling out in a puff at the back and escaping in tendrils by her ears and nape. Baby hair lines the edges of her hairline, pale against her warm golden skin. “What is it?”
“Did you look for the best things about London on your iPad last night?”
A shrug. “Yeah.”
I give her a pink Sharpie. “Write one of them down.”
She chews on her lip. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah? What am I doing?”
“Trying to change my mind.”
“I am. Because I really, truly, in my heart of hearts, think you are going to love it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I smile and pick up a red Sharpie. “They have double-decker buses. You could ride on top.” I draw one, with a girl waving from a window.
She giggles. “They have a big old castle,” she says, and draws a square building with turrets.
“Ah, yes. There’s more than one. The king lives in one, and one is an old, old thing from ages ago, and it has a dungeon.”
“There’s a king?”
“Yep.” I draw a face with a crown.
“Is he handsome?”
“Not especially.” I draw a teapot and a tray with little cakes. “You can have afternoon tea, with little sandwiches and cakes. I will make sure we do that when I come visit.”