The Language of Flowers, page 9
Maya set the last bag on the bed and sighed. Instead of asking Bryant to help her (as Keeden had rightly guessed she wouldn’t) she’d made her own bed.
At least she’d begun to until she’d gotten distracted by the luxurious feel of the plum purple sheets as she stretched them over the queen sized mattress. She didn’t know linens could feel so soft, then she touched the towels and felt certain Keeden’d had someone pluck them from the softest cloud in the sky. Her bare feet nestled into the soft cushioned light purple rug, stretching out from under the bed. It was layered on top of the grey carpet, cleverly drawing one’s gaze to the focal point in the eggshell grey room.
Keeden might have wanted to inconvenience her but giving her sheets, towels and carpeting infused with elegance and designed for pleasure was a temptation instead of a deterrent. She’d tease him about them later.
After she finally managed to finish making the bed and putting some of her things away, she decided to head to the kitchen for a snack.
She saw a splash of light seeping from the living room and peeked her head inside.
She saw Keeden sitting on the dark grey couch under one lit lamplight. Four large windows with their long maroon colored drapes still open, stared back at her like two pairs of dark eyes.
He wasn’t doing anything—not watching something on his cell phone or the flat screen TV or reading. He just sat staring ahead. Perhaps he was meditating?
“What do you want?” he said.
Her initial instinct was to step back and pretend she hadn’t seen him. That she hadn’t been spying on him like some kid waiting up to see if Santa Claus was real. She didn’t know why she hadn’t gone straight to the kitchen as she’d planned to. But she couldn’t tell him that. She had to come up with a reason she’d been staring.
Maya looked down at the bracelet he’d given her. She quickly took it off and the earrings too. She walked into the room and held them out to him. “Here.”
He didn’t look at her. “Keep them.”
“I thought you said they belonged to your sister.”
“Not anymore. Now they’re yours.”
“But you said she left them behind.”
Keeden released a tired sigh. “Do you like them or not?”
“I do.”
“Then they’re yours.”
“Are you sure she won’t mind?”
He finally looked at her. “Does that really bother you?”
“Of course. I can just picture being summoned to another meeting.” She mimicked Papa So and So’s deep baritone. “The Kayodes and Adesinas have known each other for centuries. Thievery has never marred our name.” She changed her tone. “And I’d say, ‘But Keeden said I could have them’ and then Aunty Such and Such would say ‘Melody Adesina is in tears accusing you of taking what belonged to her’ and I’d say ‘He said she wouldn’t mind’ and your sister would deny it and then—” Maya stopped when she noticed him staring at her amused. “I’m making too big a deal of this, aren’t I?”
“As always.”
“Easy for you to be so nonchalant about it. You don’t know what it’s like not to be given the benefit of the doubt. People tend to think the worst of me, present company included.”
Keeden nodded before he said, “If there’s any trouble with the jewelry come to me.”
That made her feel better. People tended to doubt her word but not his. “Thanks.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
He cleared his throat. Scratched his chin. Cleared his throat again. “The uh...sculpture.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
“But be careful next time. It’s really high up.”
She sniffed. “Then you should be encouraging me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I could lose my balance and fall and break a leg then you’d be rid of me.”
“That wouldn’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because Bryant would be there to catch you.”
She felt her cheeks heat. Instead of being cheered by the scenario it embarrassed her. “I wouldn’t want that.”
“Why not?”
She wasn’t going to tell him that she didn’t want Bryant to see her as a klutz. It was bad enough having Keeden see her that way. “Just because. Anyway, you don’t need to worry about me. Bryant was holding the ladder. I felt fine. And even though you’ve probably heard it hundreds of times and my lowly opinion means nothing to you, I think that sculpture is extraordinary.”
“Hmmm.”
She pointed to the windows. “Do you want me to close the drapes?”
“No.”
She should leave. She knew she should leave but she didn’t feel like it yet. She wondered where he’d disappeared to for the rest of the day, but she wouldn’t ask that. Instead she stalled by putting on the bracelet and earrings. “So what are you doing here?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing nothing?”
He nodded.
“How can you do that?”
Keeden sent her a long look. “It’s really simple,” he said slowly. “You sit down and do nothing.”
“I don’t think I could manage that.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“That’s a statement of fact.”
Maya sat down on the other end of the couch. She didn’t want to face him, she’d find that too distracting and intimidating, especially when trying something she’d never done before. “I can try.” She clasped her hands together. “So what’s the first step?”
“You just did it.”
“I did? Oh, right. Sitting down. And then what?”
“Nothing.”
“I just sit here?”
He nodded.
“And do nothing?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Maya read the pained expression. “And that includes no talking, right?”
“Maya,” Keeden said with thinning patience, “don’t torture yourself.”
“No,” she said as she settled back into her seat. “I want to try.”
She lasted twenty seconds before she started fidgeting, a minute before she began to swing her foot then another thirty seconds before she said, “Are you sure you’re not meditating?”
“I’m not meditating.”
“You’re not visualizing or repeating a mantra in your mind?”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re just sitting there.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it calms me.” He turned fully to her. “At least it used to.”
She held up her hands. “Okay, I won’t bother you. I’ll get this right. I’ll be calm. Perfectly calm. And I’ll—”
“Nothing includes no talking.”
“Right.” Maya took a deep breath. Keeden made it look so easy. She could do this. She folded her arms then unfolded them. She studied the pattern on the rug, grouped the lines in the ceilings by fours—did counting count as doing nothing?—she crossed her legs then uncrossed them and began to hum but stopped when Keeden shot her a look.
She inwardly groaned. She didn’t find doing nothing calming at all.
He closed his eyes as if in pain. “Go away Maya.”
“But—”
“Faaaaar away.”
She didn’t need further encouragement. She jumped up. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
But she didn’t leave. Instead she stared at him. He looked so peaceful and being around him in this quiet space felt peaceful too. It was strange. Only this morning she’d detested this man as she had for years. But now...
Now she didn’t particularly like him but she didn’t dislike him either, which was a very odd almost disturbing feeling. As if she’d been dropped into another country where she didn’t know the language or customs. She didn’t know how to approach him anymore.
“You’re still here,” he said, his eyes still closed.
“I know.”
He briefly tilted his head back. “Are you still trying to do nothing? I think you should stop. You actually lasted longer than I thought you would. I know it’s a chore for you. It’s hard for a lot of people so don’t push yourself.”
And he kept talking but she didn’t listen to the words instead she listened to the deep richness of his voice...soft, soothing, engaging even encouraging. It reminded her of the ASMR artists. The ones who felt like friends, who made her feel less alone in the world.
Keeden suddenly opened his eyes, a shock of awareness coursing through her when his eyes met hers. She noticed how long his eyelashes were and remembered how once...long ago...she’d thought his eyes were beautiful.
“What is it?” he said.
“Nothing.”
A quick grin touched his lips. “Are you being ironic?”
“No,” Maya said, wondering why her face—no, not just her face her entire body—suddenly felt warm. Conflicting emotions flooded her. She knew she should stay away from him, but she also felt strangely drawn to him. Like a stupid month destined to get its wings singed on a bright light. It had happened before, but now in this quiet, almost tender moment, it felt as if it had never happened at all. She lowered her gaze and touched the bracelet on her wrist.
“Uh...thanks again for the jewelry.” She looked at him, having gotten control of her warring emotions. “Bryant really thought I looked nice.”
Keeden studied her for a moment before he nodded then turned away. “Good.”
Yes, it was good. That was her goal after all.
But what wasn’t good was as Maya was walking up the stairs, she wasn’t remembering Bryant’s big, beautiful smile, but instead Keeden’s small one. It felt rare and precious.
And had affected her more than she wanted to admit.
20
It took two days for the depression to hit while she worked on his project. It snuck up like a thief then pummeled her. Maya felt so depressed she couldn’t eat. Even when Bryant tried to cajole her.
She needed space.
She needed hours of ASMR. But even that didn’t do much to improve her mood.
She’d pictured herself helping some overestimated, over appreciated, overhyped, over everything, just above average black male artist with his woodblock designs and focus on getting Bryant’s attention. Instead she’d been so enthralled and awed by Keeden’s work she hadn’t even been able to think about Bryant.
Keeden…was...great. More than great. Brilliant. He hadn’t gotten lucky. He’d gone farther than she’d hoped to ever be as an artist because he was just better.
The awards, accolades, success had all been well earned.
Facing that truth was dispiriting and soul crushing. She’d hated him for years, believing he’d stolen something from her—opportunity, resources, dreams. But he hadn’t. She’d never had a chance.
Not against someone like him.
He’d also worked harder than her. She remembered more fragments of Bryant’s story about him. The lean years, the struggles, the many times he could have quit but hadn’t. His work hadn’t reached galleries such as the Art Institute of Chicago on talent alone or just because he was a man. He’d been more driven, hustled more than she ever had. He’d done what she would have needed to if she’d wanted even half the success he’d managed to achieve.
If she could stay under the bedcovers forever she would.
Why did he have to be so skilled? It wasn’t fair.
This skinny, flint eyed, bastard. How had he managed to keep a joyous, childlike spirit? His studio burst with the freedom of creativity. A freedom she’d let whither years ago.
But the absolute worst part?
He made her want to create again. She hated him for that. Hated him for whispering that she might try again, that she could do it for fun and he’d done it so carelessly.
She’d finished one of the trial woodblocks he’d begun before the accident. From the painted image clipped to one of the easels, the final print was going to be a complicated project made up of many colored woodblocks with silver and gold leaf accents forming a beautiful surreal image of a hand reaching up and grabbing a star.
Her job was to help him finish the three or four trial woodblocks for print proofs before he finalized anything. It was a time consuming project that had already taken him nine months and would likely take him the rest of the year to finish. But with her help he wouldn’t have to delay it. Since most of the work had been almost completed it hadn’t taken her more than six hours to finish one of them.
Using a variety of tools like chisels, knives, and awls she carefully brought forth the traced sketch he’d drawn on one of the blocks and sanded down areas, that would not be printed, until they were smooth, feeling almost at one with the wood as she inhaled its scent.
She’d then shown Keeden and he tested it by having her stain the block with paint and putting it on paper.
It was okay, but didn’t get the effect he was going for, he didn’t say so but she could tell by his face. So she told him not to worry and sanded some more edges down. She still didn’t get the effect she wanted, didn’t provide the detail that he’d sketched. She’d sanded and carved twice more until finally she lifted the block and staring back at them was the image they’d been trying to bring forward. The relief worked. There was still a lot more work to do but it was a good step forward.
Maya clapped her hands. “We did it.” She turned to him, but he wasn’t staring at the image he was staring at her.
“What?” Maya peered closer at the image. “Did I miss something?”
“No. You’re done for the day.” He motioned to the far workstation. “Go and have fun.”
“Fun?”
“Yes, work on something. You can use anything you want. If it’s not here let me know.”
“I can’t use your studio.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m not a real artist, remember? You said so. “I don’t have any ideas.”
“The ideas come when you start working. Don’t be shy, it’s not like you.”
It was too much. Too overwhelming. Like being asked to drive a Rolls Royce when you’d just gotten your driver’s license. They weren’t in the same league and she was scared.
As if sensing she was about to bolt, Keeden grabbed her arm and sat her down in front of the table. Then he put the pastels in front of her. “Use them and they’re yours.” He nodded at her look of surprise. “I mean it.”
It was a challenge and it terrified her. Her hands shook and she gripped them in her lap. She actually had a chance to get them back. But...
But...
She took a deep breath, managed to get her hand to stop shaking and carefully opened up the case. She gazed in awe at the beautiful array of colors.
They intimidated her.
Keeden closed the case and picked it up. “If you don’t want them that’s fine. I already know how I’ll use them.” He paused, thoughtful. “I think I’ll use them to create an image of a morning glory.”
A flower. The jerk would use these wonderful tools to draw a flower. Not just any flower, but a deceptively alluring plant with purple flowers and curling tendrils, a creeping vine that could invade an unsuspecting garden like a coup. Left unattended, they’d cheerfully twist around anything—choking deck chairs, and prying between window eaves. She remembered her grandmother telling her how difficult they were to pull out.
No way was she going to let him draw that with her pastels. She held out her hand. “I’ll use it.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
She snatched them from him. “Too bad.”
And what had started as a simple challenge became a door to an unexplored world. Before she knew it she was lost in creation and by the time she looked up it was dark outside.
And she was alone and she’d never felt happier. She felt like dancing, free to be herself again. He’d given her back the dream she’d lost.
But she soon realized it was all an illusion. Only people like him could afford to dream.
This wouldn’t last. In less than a month she’d be back home looking for work.
She thought of crumpling the picture up but instead folded it along with any hope she’d been nurturing.
Four days later she feared she’d never manage to eat with Bryant again. She felt like such a failure, unworthy of his attention. She sat on the edge of the bed, wondering how she’d manage to finish her time there without her heart being completely broken.
21
“You could force her.”
“How can I force her to eat?”
Keeden stared down at the untouched plate of food—a rice medley with grilled trout—Bryant had set on the kitchen counter. Keeden had suggested he take it to Maya’s room, but when he had, she’d refused it.
Bryant covered the plate and put it in the fridge. “She said she’s not hungry.”
Keeden frowned. Maya had changed over the past several days. The first time Bryant had told him she’d cancelled dinner, Keeden hadn’t taken much notice. He’d just been relieved Bryant had been willing to eat with her, which hadn’t surprised him since Bryant enjoyed entertaining a captive audience (which Maya would undoubtedly be). But this was the fourth day she’d stopped eating with him. “Did you tell her I wouldn’t be there?”
“Yes.”
“You were clear that she’d be alone with you?”
Bryant sighed. “Yes.”
“And she still turned you down?”
“Yes.”
Keeden opened the fridge. “Try again. I don’t think you sold it.”
Bryant shook his head. “Leave it. I think she needs to be alone.”
Keeden slowly closed the fridge and looked at his friend confused. “Why?”
“Your studio is something to overcome. It can be intimidating.”
“I don’t see why. It’s nothing special.”
“Only to you.”
Maya had changed when he’d offer to let her use it. Maybe he shouldn’t have given her back the pastels. She hadn’t shown him what she’d created and he didn’t ask. But something bright and alive in her had dimmed.
