Say Yes by Kandi Steiner

 

 

 

 

 

Ten Years Later

“I don’t get it,” my little sister said, tilting her head with a frown too deep for her age etched into her forehead.

I chuckled, squeezing her shoulders from where I stood behind her. “What do you feel when you look at it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I like the colors. They’re pretty.”

“Which one is your favorite?”

“The yellows,” she said, pointing at the canvas. “And the orange.”

“Warm colors. Says a lot about you, Nell Bell.”

She tilted her head the other way before looking up at me. “You painted this the summer you met Uncle Liam?”

I smiled, heart fluttering with a thunderstorm of memories as I looked from my little sister’s bright blue eyes and back to The Art of Hope. It was strange, seeing it displayed again after all these years — especially in an exhibition that housed my most impressive work in my career so far. In many ways, it seemed so juvenile, so inexperienced. I could note a hundred strokes on that canvas that could have been better, could note a hundred ways the painting fell short.

And yet it was my favorite of all.

“I did,” I said. “When you were just a little bean inside Mom’s belly.”

She giggled. “I wasn’t a bean.”

“Were, too. You were this little,” I said, holding up my left hand to illustrate with my forefinger and thumb.

Nella giggled again, and she looked like she had another question on the tip of her tongue but didn’t get the chance to get it out before we were ambushed by a stampede of little feet.

“Aunt Nella!” Kyle said first, wrapping her in a hug that nearly took her to the ground.

“Aunt Nella!” Anna echoed, though she was so slight, her little hug didn’t have quite the effect of Kyle’s.

I laughed at the site of the three of them together, my sister and my children, so close in age they were more like cousins. Nella had just turned ten last month, Kyle was coming up on seven, and Anna was five.

And if the view of those three little beings clinging onto each other and giggling wasn’t enough to melt my heart, the sight of my husband strolling through the gallery archway behind them did the trick.

Liam Benson was the same ornery boy I’d met ten years ago, and he wore that same mischievous smile I’d fallen for the first time I laid eyes on it. Though, now his chestnut hair was shorter, styled with a side part and a bit of gel to keep it in place, his jaw was freshly shaven and those dark eyes shone a little brighter. I loved seeing him in a well-fitted suit like the one he wore now, and it was a daily occurrence now that he was a lawyer for one of the most prestigious firms in Portland.

But all I had to do was blink my eyes closed for a split second to remember him in a Nirvana t-shirt and baggy jeans.

His eyes were on the children when he first walked in, the same humorous smile I wore reflected on his face, but the second he lifted his gaze and took in the gallery, he stopped dead in his tracks, a look of awe washing over him.

I stood next to The Art of Hope and watched as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the nearly two-dozen paintings the Seattle Art Museum had curated for the event — an event our entire family was coming for. He’d seen every single painting hanging on these walls before, but the way his jaw fell slack and his eyes grew wide with wonder, you would have thought it was the very first time.

He blinked out of the spell after a moment, and then his eyes were on me.

Liam’s smile was soft and sure, and one I should have been used to after eight years of marriage. But it still made crimson shade my cheeks, my neck hot to the touch when he slid his arm around my waist and pulled me into him for a gentle kiss.

“Well, hello there,” I said.

“Hello. I’m looking for the artist,” he said, glancing around the room before staring down at me once more. “Do you know where I can find her?”

“Possibly. Depends on the nature of your business with her.”

“I want to ask her to marry me, of course.”

“I believe she’s already married, sir. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“Ah, figures,” he said with a snap of his fingers. “Lucky bastard.”

“Lucky, indeed,” I echoed with a smile, leaning in for another kiss.

“Momma!” Anna said, tugging on my dress. “Can we go play in the courtyard?”

“Yes, you may,” I corrected. “Listen to your aunt Nella.”

She nodded emphatically before she, Kyle, and Nella linked hands and ran through the museum like a bunch of monkeys.

“Are you sure we should let them run loose like that?” Liam asked.

“Your mom is out there. Think I’d trust the three of them on their own?”

He chuckled. “Never. Grandma Benson will keep them in line.”

“She always does.”

“And how is Mrs. Benson today?” he asked, wrapping me up from behind.

I sighed, resting my head back on his shoulder as we both looked around the gallery. It was a private viewing for just us and our close family before the exhibit opened to the public tomorrow, and as my eyes washed over the culmination of my hard work over the last decade, I couldn’t help but get emotional.

“Humbled,” I whispered with misty eyes.

Liam kissed my cheek, holding me tighter. “This is just the beginning.”

“Ha, tell that to my thirty-two-year-old wrinkles.”

“I love your wrinkles,” he said with another kiss. “And your gray hair, too.”

“I don’t have gray hair.”

“Oh? What’s this?” he asked, sweeping a bit of my long hair off my neck and holding it to his face for inspection.

Panic zipped through me, and I grabbed the lock of hair in my own hands, desperately searching until Liam barked out a laugh. I narrowed my eyes, elbowing him in the gut, but he was already sweeping me up in his arms again before I could wiggle away.

“Not funny, Liam,” I said.

“I don’t know. It was pretty funny to me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You’re as beautiful now as the first day I met you,” he whispered in my ear before pressing his lips to the shell of it. “And the only thing more beautiful is the art you create.”

I flushed, leaning against his chest again. “I can’t believe they wanted to include this one,” I said, nodding to The Art of Hope.

“I’m glad they did,” he said, though his brows furrowed deep with the words. “Even if I hate that I’m the bastard who made you feel all the things necessary to paint it.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” I reminded him. “And hey, at least I got something out of that heartache.”

He twisted me in his arms until I faced him. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve your love, especially considering what a mess I was.”

“You introduced me to lampredotto,” I said with a shrug. “How could I not love you after that?”

Liam chuckled, kissing my nose before his eyes flicked back and forth between mine, a thousand emotions swirling in their depths. “And now look at us.”

“Married.”

“With kids.”

“You, a lawyer.”

“And you, a world-renowned artist.”

I snorted. “I don’t know about that.”

“Have you looked around?” he asked. “This entire exhibit is dedicated to you, my love. And like I said before — I know this is only the beginning.”

Liam framed my face in his hands, not letting me look away from his earnest eyes. He pressed his forehead to mine, his lips on track for a kiss I knew so well now, but before his mouth met mine, an awful, loud, gagging noise came from the archway.

“Ick,” Angela said. “Save that for after the show, you two. No one wants to see it.”

“Angela!” I bolted from Liam’s arms and tackled her, but luckily, she was taller and stronger than I, and was able to hold us both steady enough not to fall. We squealed like the schoolgirls we were when we first met, holding onto each other in a fierce embrace.

“I have missed the shit out of you,” she said, patting my ass when she released me. “And look at this! Can you stop being such a badass, already?”

“Says the most highly sought-out architect in LA.”

She waved me off. “I design houses for rich people. You actually make art.”

“So do you, and you know it.”

She shrugged, admiring her manicure with a devious smile. “Alright, alright — so we’re both badasses.”

“Must have been something in the water there in Florence.” Her eyes flicked to Liam, then, and she smiled, opening her arms wide. “Come here, loser.”

Liam wrapped her in a big hug, the two of them holding onto each other with a warm smile afterward. “Great to see you, Ang. Where’s your better half?”

Before she could answer, another loud rumble of laughter and feet stormed toward us, and then Angela’s partner and former professor, Gabriella, swept into the room with Anna on her shoulders and Nella and Kyle hot on her heels.

“AIRPLANE COMING THROUGH!” she screamed, twirling around the three of us upon entry, which made Anna giggle and throw her hands up in the air.

“Careful!” I called, but couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“That little one is going to give you a run for your money,” Liam’s mom said when she caught up to us. “She’s the spitting image of her father at that age.”

“Lord help us all,” I said.

Maureen Benson was a spitfire, and I hadn’t expected anything less when I’d met her for the first time in the fall after Liam and I met. I knew to raise a man that stubborn, she had to be both a drill sergeant and a saint. She and her late husband’s mother had invited me into the family long before Liam proposed. The three of us just had an understanding from that very first meeting, and our relationship had grown stronger every year since. And though Grandma had passed away a few years ago now, I knew she was still with us in spirit.

“Your parents are parking now,” she said. “And I should warn you — the flower arrangement your father got you is so big, they couldn’t shut the trunk all the way.”

I chuckled. “He wouldn’t be my father if he brought anything less.”

As if on cue, Mom and Dad walked through the doors down the hall, Dad balancing a gargantuan arrangement of roses and lilies as Mom tried and failed not to tear up as soon as she laid eyes on me.

I smiled, sweeping her into a hug, and laughing as her tears of pride soaked my shoulder.

“You haven’t even seen the exhibition yet, Mom.”

She sniffed, wiping her tears with a tissue when she pulled back. “I don’t need to to know it’s amazing. We are so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Very proud, Pumpkin,” Dad echoed, lost somewhere behind the roses. “Uh… any place I can set this?”

Liam chuckled, taking the flowers from Dad and setting them on one of the empty benches before they clapped hands in a firm handshake. He hugged my mom next, and then we all gathered in the gallery.

The next hour or so was spent drinking champagne and eating hors d’oeuvres provided by the museum as the staff led us around the exhibit, practicing the presentation they would give patrons when they visited themselves. It felt a little like an out-of-body experience, hearing them talk about my work, about me, as if I was someone important.

“Hey,” Liam said when we rounded the first aisle and into the next. “I hope you’re soaking up every minute of this moment, because you deserve it.”

“It feels surreal.”

“Well, it’s not. You earned this, my love. This is all you.”

My eyes watered, and I nodded, leaning into him for a hug before we rejoined the rest of the group.

“Momma, will you paint me a picture?” Kyle asked me when we made it back to them, his little hand grabbing mine.

“Of course. What do you want me to paint?”

“Um… a horse! And a cowboy!”

I laughed. “Anything else?”

“Oh, I want one, too!” Anna said. “I want a unicorn!”

“Unicorns aren’t real,” her brother told him.

“Doesn’t mean they can’t be painted,” I argued, which made Anna stick her tongue out in victory.

“Will you paint one for me?” Nella asked behind them.

I smiled. “I already have.”

“You have?” she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

I nodded, and then I took her hand and led her away from the group to one of the canvases we’d already passed.

It was of two young girls, one with blonde hair and blue eyes, and one with hickory hair and gold eyes. They were facing each other, but their heads tilted toward the viewer, their eyes mirrored as if to create one face. Between them, their hair was braided together, the blonde and brown weaving into one.

Around them was a swirl of colors — the bright golden glow of the sun, the pastel colors of the wind blowing through each girl’s hair, the deep blues of the ocean, the lush green and warm brown of the earth. And all around the perimeter of the canvas were dark, charred edges made from a flame.

“Wow,” she breathed as she took it in. “This is for me?”

“It’s for us,” I corrected, squeezing her hand where she held mine. “To show that our bond is greater than any element there is.”

Nella’s smile widened, and she glanced up at me before staring at the painting once more. “I have the coolest sister,” she said on a sigh.

I chuckled. “Impossible,” I said, and when she looked up at me, I tapped her nose. “Because I do.”

We took our time making our way back to the group, joining them just as the young girl leading our tour began talking about one of my most well-known paintings — a bright, colorful reef. She explained the unique way I blend colors, and how it had become a signature in all my pieces.

And while she went on and on about my unique style, about my awards and accomplishments, I couldn’t help but watch the people gathered around the canvas rather than the art itself.

Because these people, this family, this unbreakable love was my favorite accomplishment of all.

And it was a masterpiece so beautiful I couldn’t paint it if I tried.