“I won’t.”
And I believed him, like that would surprise anyone. True to his words, he didn’t laugh. He stared at the butterfly painting, and I wondered what it was about it that had him speechless.
Maybe blue and brown weren’t good colors to combine. Did the butterfly look weird? Did the painting even look like a butterfly?
“It’s pretty. What does it represent?”
I looked at the butterfly. “Freedom.”
When I looked back at him, he was nodding with a smile on his face. He patted the space next to him, and I dragged myself over to him. When he handed me my wine glass, he clicked his on it.
“Here’s to freedom.”
I took a sip of my drink as did he.
“So, where are the others?”
“Others?”
“Bring all the paintings out, I want to see everything you’ve got.”
“This is the only good one.” I protested, trying to hide my nervousness.
“I don’t care,” he shot back, his determination unwavering.
The more I argued, the more insistent he became, and I found myself powerless against his resolve. Reluctantly, I brought out each piece, my heart racing with every revelation.
To my surprise, his eyes softened as he examined each painting, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
“These are pretty,” he murmured, and I felt my cheeks flush at his praise.
With every compliment, my heart warmed, melting the last remnants of my resistance. His unexpected admiration made me see my paintings in a new light, and for the first time, I believed in their worth.
*****
The architecture of the farmhouse was not short of my expectations. It stood tall and mighty among a fine bush and had a wide expanse of mowed lawn in front of it. Far off, the mountains elegantly stood, representing the background of the delicate nature.
This is the last place I expected to find myself. But Christian was away on a business trip that he insisted didn’t need my presence, and I should take the time to rest. And I would have been resting if a text hadn’t come from his mother asking me to meet her at the Carrs’ farmhouse.
Nothing good ever came from meeting Melissa alone, but there was nothing I could do about the situation at this moment.
I made the long walk into the farmhouse, refusing a ride from one of the men at the gate. My excuse was my desire to see the scenery when, in reality, I wanted to delay seeing Melissa. The woman terrified me, the mother of my best friend, and boss or not.
“Welcome!” Melissa must have seen me from a distance as she walked briskly to meet me halfway in her fine summer clothes.
“I hope you are not too tired. It’s been such a long time since I saw you!” She cried, pulling to the porch. “You’ve grown so well. Who’s older? You or Allison?” She made me sit on one of the cozy crimson sofas.
“We’re the same age,” I responded.
“Ah, I used to think you were younger than my Allison.” She commented.
I quietly dismissed her.
She had not experienced the tiniest change over the past ten years. She was still the always excited, and often, condescending type of woman.
Fortunately, neither Christian nor Allison took after her in character, but they both strikingly looked like her. Allison was like her mother’s twin.
“It’s quite nice outside. The weather is cooler today.” She beamed.
I wryly smiled.
“I have just baked some cookies, and I’m sure you’d love them.” she childishly chuckled and dashed inside the house.
I found her behavior too phony for a woman I knew never actually approved of my relationship with her children.
Though she had never voiced her displeasure, her attitude betrayed her most of the time.
I thought the wrap-around porch was like a scene in a whimsical movie. The rainbow of cozy sofas, warm rugs, colorful terracotta, glazed pots of Philodendron, Begonia, and Snake plants, and the choicest antiques uniquely adorned it.
A swing made of rich oak hung in a corner from the ceiling, and a vintage rocking chair stood not so far from the swing.
The wooden railing was festooned with a medley of large and small bright petals, and the beauty added to the glory of the daydreaming effect the entire place had on one. A wave resin table graced the center of everything.
Melissa returned with a beautiful tray of freshly baked cookies and a fancy teapot.
“Yunnan,” she said, smiling.
I smiled to myself, remembering Christian and that fateful morning I brewed the tea for the first time.
