The Muse's Undoing

“Thanks.”

“Oh. My. God.” Vaughn says.

I turn to find him looking at the tree.

“Wow,” Nicole murmurs.

I swallow hard and turn my back on them both, choked up suddenly and not knowing what to do with this punched in the chest feeling. I also realize I’m not wearing a shirt. God.

Gavin gathers his things as I walk to my dresser, pull out the first thing I grab—a tight black tank—and pull it over my head. It’s not as tight as it was last time I wore it—a result of the last week.

I wonder if I look as wasted as I feel.

“Fischer mentioned it was incredible,” Nicole says. She hasn’t noticed Gavin. She’s still staring at the tree.

I’m a fucking mess. I close my eyes and give my head a slight shake to pull myself together, trying to get Fischer’s image out of my mind. But it’s impossible with his son in the room.

Nicole turns as Gavin passes me, giving my arm a squeeze. “Call me if you need anything,” he says quietly.

“Hey—” I grab for his hand, stopping him.

He looks at me, wide-eyed and expectant.

“Thank you.”

He gives me a soft smile and nods. “It’s gonna be okay,” he reminds me once again.

I nod and let him go. He slips quietly out the door, and I turn back to Nicole who looks like she’s trying to solve a physics problem.

I should probably offer her something. Coffee or water or…what could she possibly want? There’s barely anything left of me.

“Maggie gave me your address,” she says when my words fail to materialize.

I nod. I figured.

“Everyone’s worried about you.”

I can’t read her tone, but I lift my arms like what you see is what you get. “Still standing,” I tell her. “That’s why you’re here? Because there are a lot of people who want to see him, and I figured I’d be at the bottom of that list.” I nod toward Vaughn.

“Can I climb it, Matty?”

I look at my nephew, horrified. “No. Look. Come here.” He walks with me to the couch. I open up my iPad to the sketching app and hand him the digital pencil. “Draw it for me. You know how to change the colors, right?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he says, squinting across the loft at the tree.

“It’s glass, dude.” I feel compelled to add. “You can’t climb things made of glass.”

He sighs like that’s the dumbest rule ever.

“It’s supposed to be art. You take art class right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s for looking at. Draw it. There’s thirteen hundred leaves on it. Can you count that high?”

“Maybe.”

“Go for it.”