I glanced at my watch, watching the second hand tick pass the ā12ā and mark another minute passed. Calum had offered to drive today, but if I had known he was going to be late I would have insisted on taking my car instead. However, in an effort to put the incident at Peteās completely behind me, I refrained from calling him to demand an explanation for his tardiness.
I paced back and forth in the front hall, ears attuned to every crunch of gravel under tires that passed my house. There was an amazing exhibit I couldnāt wait to see, and this weekend was the last time it would be on display.
Finally, I spotted Calumās black SUV roll up and pull into our driveway, and I was out the front door and halfway down the front walk by the time my phone vibrated with a text from him announcing his arrival. Gripping the silver handle, I swung open the heavy door and hauled myself onto the seat. I buckled my seatbelt, flashing Calum a quick smile. āHi! Are you ready? Yeah? Good. Letās go.ā
He chuckled, eyes crinkling as he shook his head lightly and started back towards the freeway. āSomeoneās a little excited.ā
I rolled my eyes, bouncing in my seat and scanning the lanes for congestion as we headed down the on-ramp.
āSo what did you think of the recital?ā I asked absentmindedly. Backstage had been crowded with adrenaline-riddled, overly dramatic kids with what seemed like an endless line of sticky hands caused by the molasses cookies from the reception. I had barely gotten a chance to say hi to Shane and Mom, let alone Jessie, Luke, or Calum.
When Calum didnāt reply I sneaked a peek at him, catching him glancing down at his phone as his free hand typed out a message.
āCalum!ā I exclaimed. āYouāre not seriously texting and driving. Do you realize how dangerous that is? You could get us killed.ā
āIāve got it under control, Brooke,ā Calum said easily, tossing his phone into the cup holder. āAs if I would do anything that would ever put you in danger.ā
We chatted easily for a few more minutes until Calumās phone buzzed, rattling against the plastic. He snatched it up, eyes intently scanning the little screen. He completely missed my question about his plans for the upcoming week.
I tried to fight it, but I couldnāt stop a slight pout from slipping over my lips, my eyebrows creasing together. He has seemed really excited about going to the Getty with me, but maybe I had misread him. After all, not many 18-year-old boys want to spend their free Sunday afternoon holed up in a stuffy museum. Iām sure that he had plenty more interesting offers besides mine.
āCalum?ā I spoke quietly, fiddling with my fingers and fighting to keep disappointment from leaking into my tone.
āHmm?ā he hummed, eyes still shifting between the road and his phone.
āIf you have stuff you have to do today, we donāt have to go to the museum.ā
He snapped his head to the right and looked at me in surprise, plump lips popping open. āWhat? Of course I want to go. Iāve been looking forward to this all week. Here, look, phoneās going on mute.ā Tucking it into his pocket, he offered me a smile. āBesides, weāre already almost there.ā
We turned off the freeway and pulled into the parking lot. Once in the main lobby, I used my UCLA student card to grab us two discount tickets and snagged one of the pamphlets from the clear plastic cases on the reception counter.
Scanning the list of the current exhibits, I felt my eyes widen. āExcuse me,ā I called out anxiously, calling the attention of the man behind the counter. āThe Pollock showing isnāt listed on the exhibits page. Could you tell me where I could find it?ā
āIām sorry, Miss, but that exhibit has been put away. Its last showing was last Sunday, not this Sunday.ā My chest deflated as I processed his words.
I fought the ridiculous urge to cry as I quietly thanked him and headed back over to Calum. āItās not here. The artist I wanted to see. His paintings have already been taken down.ā
Calumās eyebrows knitted together over his dark eyes. āAre you sure? Maybe we should go check the hall.ā
āI just talked to the guy at the front desk,ā I said, shaking my head. I could have sworn Riley told me as we sat in lecture last week that today was the last day. āItās gone.ā
āCāmon, Brooke, itās not going to kill you to go check.ā He wrapped his hand around my wrist, towing me across the marble lobby floor and straight into the east wing.
āCalum, why are you in such a rush?ā I huffed, struggling to keep up with his long strides. āItās not there, we can take our time and look at these other exhibits instead of just running through them.ā
He continued to ignore me, hanging a sharp right, taking a flight of stairs down, and swinging me around the corner.
āHow did you even know which wing-ā I cut myself off as I stumbled to a stop next to Calum, blinking as I attempted to take in the sight before me.
There it was, suspended from the ceiling at the center of the room in all its glory. Jackson Pollockās Mural.
āHow-ā¦ Why-ā¦ But I thought-ā¦ā I sputtered, still staring at the painting in a mixture of shock and awe. āHow is this possible? The guy in the lobby told me the showing was over.ā
āWell, technically, it is.ā A slow smile spread over Calumās face as he tugged me forward, pulling me up to the painting.
Despite the fact that I was no more than a mere 2 feet from one of my favorite pieces of art, I still couldnāt believe it was real.
āI remember you telling me this was your favorite painting before.ā Calumās voice echoed softly throughout the still room. āWe were at the shop and you made me a sundae and you were laughing about how the caramel and chocolate drizzles looked like this painting. You told me Iād better appreciate it because I was eating a masterpiece.ā
I turned my face up to look at him, my jaw falling slack. āYou remember that?ā
He just let out a chuckle, ducking his head and staring at his shoelaces. āI remember everything you say, Brooke.ā
Lifting his head to look at me with a proud smile on his face, he continued. āAnyways, when you invited me here to see an exhibit, I had a feeling it was for this artist. I looked it up and saw that it was set to end last week, so I called in a favor to at least keep this one on display an few extra days. Thatās why I was on my phone in the car. I wanted to make sure it was all set up.ā
I stared at him in disbelief. The familiar sting of oncoming tears pricked the back of my eyes for the second time today, but for a completely different reason. I quickly blinked them back, my heart swelling to twice its size in my chest. āI canāt believe you would do this for me.ā
āSo, cāmon, Ms. Art History Major,ā he said, linking his hands behind his back and giving me a playful shove with his shoulder. ā Tell me about the painting. Wow me with your knowledge.ā
āWell, it was painted in 1943 by Jackson Pollock. And this was right when the United States and the USSR were in the Cold War. Things were confusing for a lot of people, and Pollock would sometimes lock himself in his studio, get drunk, and just splatter paint all over these huge canvases. His paintings may seem chaotic, or like something that an 8-year-old could create, but thereās just so much feeling in it.ā
I stepped closer to the canvas, admiring the elegant curves that resulted from Pollockās brush. The way all of the disorder fell together in harmony was simply breathtaking.
āThe US government put his work out on a tour, to sort of contrast the Soviet Union and their traditional, neoclassical art that they were commissioning at the time. They did it to showcase how much freedom Americans had, which was ironic because their poster boy had so many questions about how they were running things. I think thatās why I love Pollock the most. People tried so hard to pigeon hole and define him but he was completely different than what they thought.ā
I looked over my shoulder to see if he was paying attention and he was, his dark brown eyes intently focused on me, a slight smile on his lips. The way he was looking at me caused a flurry of butterflies to erupt softly in the pit of my stomach, making me feel like I could float away at any second. I offered him a grin in return, taking his hand and leading him to the next painting.
It was surprisingly empty for a Sunday, our footsteps echoing softly through the tall marble rooms and we drifted from exhibit to exhibit. I offered little tidbits about works I was familiar with, but for the most part it was silent, just Calum, the museum, and I.
After an hour of walking around we decided to grab lunch at the cafƩ on the third level terrace. The restaurant was as empty as the museum, and we were seated and our orders were taken within a matter of minutes.
āSo, you said that this museum was the best place to get to know you. Do we actually get to talk about ourselves here, or is this just a very long art history lesson?ā Calum asked, stretching back in his chair and cocking his head to the side.
I laughed lightly, spreading my napkin over my lap. āAfter pulling off the Pollock thing, I think youāre entitled to a few questions.ā
āAlright,ā he said slowly, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table, rubbing his large hands together. āLetās start with an easy one. Personal, but easy.ā
āOkay,ā I conceded, feigning a deep breath to steel my nerves. āDo your worst.ā
āBrooklyn Stevie Edwards.ā Calum kinked an eyebrow in my direction so I continued. āSteve wouldāve been my name if I was a boy. My parents were major Journey fans.ā
āThatās awesome! My full name is-ā
āCalum Thomas Hood. And Thomas was your great-grandfatherās name,ā I lifted my glass to my lips to conceal my smile. āYou forget Daisy buys all your magazines.ā
He laughed, a cocky grin creeping onto his face as he sat back in his seat and slung one elbow over the back. āAnd apparently you read all of them. Iām sure you filched all of our posters and have a secret shrine to me in your closet.ā I shot him a narrowed look as he continued. āAlright, letās move onto nicknames. What are they, who gave them to you, and what are the stories behind them. And I want them all- especially the embarrassing ones.ā
āOkay,ā I mused slowly. āWell, my parents used to call me Bitty when I was little because I was always a small child. Jessie used to call me āBā when we were in high school and going through a major Gossip Girl phase. And my brother- and occasionally my Uncle Nate- calls me KitKat.ā
Calum crinkled his nose, amusement dancing across his features. āKitKat? Why?ā
āWhen I was eleven I broke my arm. Shane and I were playing soccer in the alley next to our apartment complex. I went to dive for the ball and landed wrong, smacking down onto the concrete. I remember being so terrified to tell my mother. It was at a time when things wereā¦ difficult for her.ā
Difficult was an understatement, the grief of losing my father transforming my mother into a person I couldnāt recognize.
āAnyways,ā I continued, trailing my fingers over the side of my water glass to collect the condensation on my fingertips. āI knew sheād yell at me for being careless, but Shane was able to calm me down. He turned it into a whole joke, really. Singing that stupid KitKat bar jingle while he rinsed the dirt from the scrape. He even took the fall for me that day, claiming that I broke my arm because he tripped me so my mom would get mad at him instead of me.ā
The waitress arrived with our plates and we paused our conversation until she left. āShane didnāt care, though. He just wanted to make me feel better. He says that was the day when he decided he wanted to be a doctor.ā I finished the story with a small smile, the memory of Shane singing to me in our tiny apartment bathroom still clear as day.
Calum chuckled softly, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. āIt sounds like youāve always had the men in your life wrapped around your finger. I bet youāve broken a heart or two.ā
I let out a dry laugh, rolling my eyes. āNope,ā I replied, popping the last syllable. I kept my eyes trained on the water droplet slowly falling down the side of my glass. āI donāt date. I mean, I did. I had one serious boyfriend but no one since because whatās the point? Bit dense, isnāt it? Thinking something can last forever.ā
He was silent for a beat, but I could feel his eyes studying my face. My cheeks flushed, not because he was staring at me with judgment in his eyes but because he was looking at me like he somehow knew better. āI donāt think itās dense,ā he began slowly. āI hope to create something that will last forever. Thatās why I love songwriting.ā
āNo, I agree with you on that. Art can last a lifetime and beyond. Songs, photographs, paintings. But thatās not really forever. They last because they only capture a snapshot of a personās life- just a moment. Things change and people leave and forever is nothing more than a concept that people delude themselves into believing because it makes them feel safe. But that only ends in heartbreak and disappointment,ā I finished, my voice dropping to a whisper as I dropped my eyes to stare down at my hands folded in my lap.
āThatās pretty cynical for a girl whoās killing herself planning her motherās wedding,ā Calum hummed, arching an eyebrow.
I opened my mouth to respond but quickly snapped it closed. I had to admit, I was caught off guard. Usually people just laughed at my point of view, claiming Iād feel differently when I grew up. Thatās the problem with people like Calum. Theyāre honest to a fault and tend to expect the same from others. But sometimes people donāt want to accept the truth you give them.
Clearing my throat I folded my napkin and placed it on the table next to my plate. āAre you done eating? Thereās still time to see a little more of the museum if we want to wait out rush hour traffic.ā
āI think L.A. always has rush hour traffic,ā Calum laughed, pushing his chair out and standing. āBut Iām in no hurry to leave.ā
I stood as well, reaching up to brush my hair behind my shoulders. A sharp tug pulled at my scalp and I let out a small wince. Reaching behind me, I fumbled with the clasp of my necklace.
āAre you okay?ā Calum walked around the table, hand automatically coming up to cup my elbow.
āYeah,ā I mumbled, arms still flailing behind my head. āMy hair just got tangled in my necklace.ā
āHere, let me help you.ā
āI can do it myself,ā I insisted. My hair was caught at an unfortunate angle, too close to my scalp for me to bring the knot in front of my face
He pushed my hands down, stepping behind me and sweeping my hair over one shoulder. āStop being so stubborn. Unless youāve sprouted eyes in the back of your head in the last minute, itāll take you forever to undo this.ā
I let him work quietly, trying to ignore the chills that surged down my spine whenever his warm fingers brushed the exposed skin of my neck. He was gentle, barely pulling my hair as he worked it out of the chain.
āThere we go, all done.ā I was about to turn to thank him when he paused, his thumb slowly brushing over the thin, puckered patch on the left side of my neck. āBrookeā¦. Where did you get this?ā His warm breath washed over my skin and I pulled away, nervously pulling my hair back over my neck.
āI guess thatās one thing that does last forever, huh?ā I laughed nervously. āScars.ā
He had this look upon his face like he desperately wanted to say something more, a bold curiosity in his eyes as he stared at me with a mixture of sadness and confusion.
āCāmon,ā I laced my fingers through his, braved a smile, and tugged him back towards the museum entrance. āLet me go bore you with more art history trivia.ā
A smile finally graced his lips as he allowed me to tow him across the marble floor. āAlright, show me another one of your favorites.ā
I thought for a moment, still walking backwards as I pulled him forward. Finally picking which one I wanted to see next I led the way to the fourth floor of the east wing and into the Seurat room.
āThis guy was insane,ā I explained, looking at Calum over my shoulder. āHe did most of his painting completely in tiny, little dots of paint or crayon. His art looks like velvet and is meant to give the viewer optical illusions.ā
We walked up to the portrait of Seuratās mother, staring at the mass of black and grey pinpoints.
āIt does look like velvet,ā Calum mused, clearly impressed. āI wonder if it feels anything like velvet.ā
He leaned forward, hand outstretched. I gasped and quickly slapped his hand away. āCalum!ā I exclaimed. āDonāt you dare! Thatās a priceless work of art, you canāt just reach over and touch it.ā
He grinned, his dark brown eyes crinkling with laughter. āRelax, Brooke. I wasnāt actually going to do it. I just like seeing you get all worked up.ā
I huffed, crossing my arms. āIf you do anything to get us kicked out, theyāll never let me back in here and Iāll end up on the 7 oāclock news for homicide.ā
āAlright, alright. Iāll behave myself.ā Calum made a big show of clasping his hands behind his back and headed into the next room, slowly swinging one foot in front of the other.
The following hour was spent with different variations of āCalum, no.ā and āI really donāt think thatās an interactive display,ā so by the time we finally made it out of the museum and onto the freeway I was wiped out, fighting to keep my eyes open as the setting sun lulled me to sleep.
āTraffic still looks insane,ā I groaned, taking in the sight of the cars that were lined up bumper to bumper. āTake this next exit and then turn left onto Palm Avenue.ā
I gave him turn-by-turn directions, our final destination being The Swirl Shop. I climbed out of his car and met Calum on the sidewalk.
āIce cream? Seriously?ā
āAs if you donāt want another sundae.ā
āYouāre right,ā he admitted after a contemplative pause, just like I knew he would despite polishing off a churro on his own and half of mine back at the museum. I was probably long over due for an angry overseas call from his mother for giving him cavities.
āCāmon. Iāll make you another Pollack replica.ā The bell above the door chimed as I swung it open, leading the way into the warm shop.
I was expecting to see Uncle Nate behind the counter, donning his starched white apron. What I wasnāt expecting was to see Riley in one of the booths, his large black headphones hanging around his ears.
āRiley?ā I led Calum over to his booth. He started at the sound of my voice but quickly flashed me a smile, pushing his headphones so they landed around his neck. āWhat are you doing here?ā
āPerks was closed today,ā he explained simply. I nodded. This wasnāt too out of the ordinary. Riley visited me at work enough times to be adopted as an honorary nephew by my uncle.
āBrooke! I thought I heard your voice!ā Uncle Nate came out of the back room, drying his hands off on a dishtowel, a large grin pasted on his face. He made his way over to the booth and enveloped me in a bear hug. āI feel like I havenāt seen you in weeks.ā
I chuckled lightly, squeezing him back. āItās only been one week.ā
Uncle Nate let me go, turning to clap Calum on the shoulder. āNice to see you again, son. Iām finishing up some organizing in the back, but you kids yell if you need anything.ā
Riley waited until Uncle Nate disappeared before twisting in his seat to peer around me, extending his hand out. āI donāt think weāve met yet. Iām Riley.ā
āCalum,ā he answered, shaking Rileyās hand.
āAnd how do you two know each other?ā A small knowing smile graced his lips, bringing forth the dimple on his left cheek.
āCalumās best friend is Jessieās boyfriend,ā I explained.
āUh huh,ā Riley quipped slowly. What were you two up to today?ā
āBrooke showed me around the Getty.ā
Riley replied with a low whistle. āThe Getty? Pulling out the big guns, arenāt you, Brooklyn?ā
āShut up,ā I hissed, shooting him a narrowed glare.
He held up his hands in defense. āAlright, alright, I can take a hint. Go about your business, pretend Iām not here.ā He made a big show of placing his headphones back over his ears and resumed typing up his paper.
With a roll of my eyes I led Calum up to the glass case, slipping behind it and looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to choose his flavors. The shop felt too crowded all of the sudden so after making up his sundae, we slipped back out to his car. I gave Riley a sharp slap on the back of the head as we passed, which he responded to with the same goofy grin heād been wearing since first seeing the two of us.
āHe seems nice,ā Calum offered around the spoon stuck in his mouth as we climbed into our seats.
āHeās a pain in the ass,ā I clarified. āBut heās also one of my best friends.ā I cringed inwardly at the strange emphasis I applied to my last word. I didnāt know why but I wanted to make sure that Calum didnāt read more into the way Riley and I act around each other than he should. After all, he wouldnāt be the first to think we were an item.
I reached over and knocked Calumās spoon out of the way with my own, stealing the brownie chunk he was eyeing. I flashed him a dimpled smile as I pressed my spoon to my lips. He stared at me, a warm fondness in his eyes as he shook his head slightly.
We finished the ice cream slowly, a comfortable, warm silence filling up the space between us. I leaned back in my seat, propping my feet up on the dashboard and crossing my ankles. We watched the sunset until the last sliver of golden light disappeared beneath the horizon before heading back to my place.
As I stepped out of Calumās car and onto the sidewalk in front of my house, I realized how chilly it was getting. Wrapping my jacket tightly around myself, we headed up the walk to my front door.
Under the protection of the front porch I turned, smiling up at Calum. āThank you for going to the museum with me. Even though you probably got us really close to being banned a few times, I had a lot of fun.ā
āI had a good time too, Brooke. Thanks for inviting me.ā
āYou really do need a haircut,ā I said with a light chuckle, reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. As my hand fell back to my side Calum laced his fingers through mine, tugging me forward so that I fell flush against him, hands resting lightly on his hips to steady myself.
I looked up to see Calum gazing at me, the softest smile pulling at his lips. He bent his head down at an agonizingly slow pace, brushing his lips against my cheek in a kiss. Releasing his grip on me, he stepped back.
I could only stare at him, eyes wide as a searing warmth rushed from the spot his lips had landed on, spreading from the top of my head and blazing through my entire body, anchoring me to the very spot at which I stood.
He chuckled at the expression on my face, turning to pace across the lawn towards his car. āGoodnight, Brooke. Sweet dreams,ā he called over his shoulder.
I teetered on the balls of my feet as I whirled around and fumbled with the door lock. Finally able to fit the key in, I stumbled inside, shutting the door and pressing my back to it as I took in a deep inhale.
Twisting at the waist to peer out one of the slim windows that framed the door, I tried to make out his figure in the dark. Calum had driven off, the tracks he made across the wet grass already fading, but as I raised my fingertips to my cheek, I could still feel the warmth from his lips.
I kept my hand on my cheek until it went away, trying to figure out what in the world that boy was trying to do to me.
I hope this chapter was worth the wait! Please do come by and let me know what you think; Iāve missed you all dearly!
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