Say Yes by Kandi Steiner

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Art of Coincidence

I allowed myself three days of self-pity before I got to work.

That day after I’d beelined out of class, I threw myself into the internship at the museum before retreating into my room for the duration of the night. I let myself cry, let myself eat entirely too much chocolate, and let myself fall asleep with tear-stained cheeks and half a bottle of wine swimming in my system.

Tuesday and Wednesday were spent just getting by — going to class, studying, working at the museum, eating, trying and failing to figure out what to paint, go to bed, wake up, repeat.

I found myself reflecting a lot in that time, too, thinking about what Professor Beneventi had said about perfectionism. It was difficult for me to wrap my head around, that he saw it as a bad thing rather than something to be celebrated.

All my life, I’d strived for perfect. In fact, I’d given up whatever was necessary in order to achieve perfection, or as close to it as I could manage. I got straight As all through school, though it meant sacrificing my social life. I graduated valedictorian of my high school and with high honors from college, and I didn’t mind that my life consisted primarily of studying or painting — especially because when I won an art award or got honor roll, my friends would congratulate me and say how they wished they could be like that, too.

I flossed and brushed my teeth every morning and night, just like my dentist told me. I went to church every Sunday, just like a good Christian girl should. I played golf throughout school and with my dad at the club, volunteered at the local nursing home, and was always first in the kitchen to clean up after dinner, called my grandparents once a month, and read a book a week, learned how to style my hair and apply makeup like the artist I was — all in the name of being perfectly well rounded.

Perfection, in my life, had always been celebrated.

Then again, was it perfection, or was it relative perfection?

I replayed milestones in my life — award ceremonies and graduations — and wondered idly if all those honors and all that praise came only because I had managed to do something merely ordinary, but with a disability, making it a feat.

It stumped me for those first few days after being hung out to dry in front of the entire class, but on Thursday evening, I sat down at my easel in my room with a fresh canvas and a chance to start anew. I was determined to pick myself up again. I was determined not to let the way the summer had started dictate the way it would continue, nor the way it would end.

I sat down with every intention of pushing forward.

And not a single idea came to me.

Three soft knocks at my doorframe shook me awake after what felt like an eternity of staring at that blank, mocking canvas. I blinked out of my daze to find Angela leaning against the frame with a plate balanced in her hands.

“I was craving a good ol’ fashioned PB and J,” she said. “Easy dinner, right? That’s what I thought. But you wouldn’t believe the trouble I went through to find this damn peanut butter. Apparently, it’s not a food the Italians bother with much. I got more than a few puzzled looks when I asked about it. I went to eight different stores until I finally found the tiniest jar to ever exist. Eight!” She lifted one of the sandwiches off the plate before extending the one left to me. “Care to indulge in some fine American cuisine with me?”

I didn’t know why that was the straw that broke me, but as soon as I took the sandwich in my hands, I burst into tears.

Angela softened with a sigh, setting both our sandwiches back on the plate before yanking me up off the chair and wrapping me in her arms.

I soaked the shoulder of her baggy t-shirt with my tears, clinging to her for the longest time before I finally sniffed and pulled back from the hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I knew you weren’t okay.” She frowned, rubbing my arm. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. Other than I’m not an artist like I thought, and I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’ll be an accountant for the rest of my life.”

Angela offered a soft smile. “Come on, now. What happened?”

I sighed, sitting on the edge of my bed with my hands tucked under my thighs. “We turned in our assignment on Monday.”

“Oh, my God! What did Professor B think of yours? It was so beautiful.”

I tried to smile. “He said it was beautiful.”

“See!”

“But, again, boring. Lackluster. Completely emotionless.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” I said, running a hand back through my hair. “And honestly, he was right. I essentially copied the original, but took two people out of the frame and made the scenery a little different. Other than that…” I shrugged. “I missed the mark. Big time.”

Angela sighed, sitting down next to me and patting my back. “Hey, it’ll be okay. He obviously believes you have it in you, or he wouldn’t be wasting his breath, you know?”

I shrugged. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m in one of the most beautiful places in the world where some of the greatest artists of all time created world-renowned masterpieces. And yet… I’m stuck.”

“What are you working on now?”

“He said he wants me to redo it,” I said, staring at the blank canvas with emotion strangling me again. “And for the life of me, I can’t think of anything other than what I’ve already painted.”

“It will come to you.”

“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “But maybe this is it. Maybe I’m not as good as I thought I was.”

“Harley, you’re amazing,” Angela insisted, squeezing my knee. “And you know it.”

“I thought I knew it, but what if it was all a farce?”

Angela frowned. “How could it be?”

I hung my head and slowly peeled my right hand from under my thigh. “Because of this.”

“Harley…”

“No, I mean it,” I said, cataloging the features of my underdeveloped hand before finally looking at my roommate. “Maybe everyone has lied to me my entire life because they were afraid of hurting my feelings. Maybe it’s why my parents have been so adamant about me double majoring, in having a backup plan. Maybe they knew all along that I wasn’t any good, and that the only reason I was getting attention is because of my hand.” My eyes welled at the admission. “And now I’m here, and for the first time, I’ve got someone who isn’t afraid to hurt my feelings, to tell me how it really is.”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there, before you start blubbering again,” Angela said. “I love you. And I’m sorry that you’re hurt over this. But let me tell you something, I know from the look in your eyes that you’ve lived a rough life just like I have. Nothing has ever come easy. Nothing ever will. Do you understand?” She leveled her gaze with mine. “If it was easy, everyone would do it. If it was easy, you wouldn’t even bother with it, because it wouldn’t fuel you. Stop the pity party and listen to your heart,” she said, stabbing my chest with her pointer finger for good measure. “You know what to do. You just have to stop crying, put on your big girl panties, and do it.”

She arched a brow, waiting until I nodded, and then she reached over for the plate of sandwiches and handed me the top one.

“Eat. Think. Create,” she said, waving her hand over my canvas as she stood. “I’ll be in the living room if you need another pep talk.”

I chuckled. “Thanks, Ang.”

She smiled, letting the door close with a quiet click behind her, and then it was just me, a PB and J, and that damn blank canvas.

I sighed, taking my first bite as I stared at the white rectangle. I frowned as soon as I started chewing because the peanut butter wasn’t as sweet as I was used to, and the preserves were more runny than the jam I used back home. I smiled, thinking about the work Angela had gone through to get it, and how I never thought I’d ever have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that tasted so different from the kind I was used to.

Who knew something so simple could even be this different?

I took another bite, and then I stopped mid-chew.

Wait.

My heart thundered in my chest in the most blissful way — the same way it always did when I was on the brink of inspiration.

Maybe that’s what was missing. Maybe it didn’t have to be some complicated work of art, but rather something simple, something familiar — but done in a way that made it feel new.

Professor Beneventi’s words floated back to me.

“You need to get out and live in order to understand the emotions you’re trying to create.”

My ears rang, vision black and dizzying as I thought through all the times in my life I’d played it safe, erred on the side of caution, put what I should do ahead of what I wanted to do. I thought of parties I’d skipped and concert tickets I’d declined, of food I’d stayed away from because of the calories it contained, or how I waited until I was twenty-one to have my first sip of alcohol. Moment after moment, memory after memory flashed through my mind, urging me to grab hold of that flicker of inspiration dancing inside me.

I can’t explain what came over me in that moment.

Looking back now, I wonder if it was destiny, or perhaps the most cosmically beautiful coincidence.

Whatever was responsible for the rush that washed over me, I dumped the half-eaten sandwich back on the plate, jumped up from the bed, and quickly changed into an earthy floral dress and threw my jean jacket on over it. I paired it with my favorite, white platform Sketchers, and threw my small leather backpack on, making sure it had my passport, visa, and cash inside.

I flew through the living room past a confused Angela, who asked me around a mouthful of peanut butter where I was going.

“I’m going out.”

“Out?” she mumbled. Then, after a swallow, she added, “You’re supposed to be working!”

“I am.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know,” I said with a grin, stopping in the kitchen to fill my water bottle and shove it in my bag.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know.” I laughed. “I’m going to walk out that door, and then I’m going to say yes to whatever comes my way. I’m not going to overthink anything or dig my heels in and tell myself all the reasons I couldn’t or shouldn’t do something. I’m just going to… live. To go where the wind blows me. To look at the world around me in a new way.”

Angela blinked a few times before she asked. “Are you high?”

I laughed again. “No. I’m inspired,” I said, stopping by the old couch long enough to kiss her cheek. “All thanks to you.”

“Well, wait, let me change and I’ll come with you.”

“No can do, roomie,” I said. “I’ve got to do this on my own.”

“I thought you said it was a yes night!”

“It is,” I threw behind me as I opened the front door. “As soon as I walk through this door.”

“That’s just cruel!” Angela crossed her arms on a huff, but then she smirked and added, “You’re lucky I love you. And that I’m on my period, so the thought of leaving this couch after the peanut butter expedition today makes me almost as whiny as the fact that Nia Long is straight.”

I barked out a laugh at that, doing a little spin to blow her a kiss before I shut the door behind me.

Then, I set out into the warm Florence air with inspiration crackling like a live wire under my skin. I knew that feeling well — it was a promise that something exciting and unforgettable was within reach, that I was on the cusp of a great adventure.

Or maybe it was just a warning in disguise.

A warning I didn’t heed.

It was quiet when I shoved through the door of our dorm building and flew out onto the cobblestone street. This part of campus wasn’t a touristy location, but I could hear the distant hum just a few blocks away, the sound of laughter and glasses clinking and music filtering up through the air.

I took a deep breath, tucking my hands in the pockets of my jean jacket as I walked toward the noise. I literally had no idea where I was going, only that I wanted to walk around the city and take everything in.

It was just past seven, the sun making its slow and lazy descent over the city and casting golden rays of light between the buildings and through the trees. I let my eyes wander the length of each building as I passed it, let my soul fill up with the knowledge that I was perhaps walking in the same place Botticelli had when he was alive.

I smiled when a group of American girls around my age walked past, their arms linked together, each of them leaning in and giggling over something said in hushed voices. It was easy to tell they were from America from their lack of accent, and the fact that they looked like they walked right off the set of Clueless.

I absolutely loved their outfits — the plaid miniskirts and matching suit jackets, the over-the-knee white stockings, the adorable saddle shoes. It was a look I’d tried a time or two before realizing I just didn’t have the perk to go along with it.

Usually, I would duck my head and walk right by them, admiring silently.

Tonight, I decided to try something new.

“I love your outfits,” I said when they’d nearly passed.

Their laughs stopped instantly, and they all whipped around, confused at first before wide smiles split their faces.

“Oh my God, thank you!” the tallest of the bunch said.

“I love your jacket, too,” the one to her left added.

“Thanks,” I said as they giggled and waved goodbye to me, and then they were linked up again and on their way.

I smiled to myself as I walked the next block, and where my eyes had sort of lost focus on the cobblestone street, I suddenly looked up at a sign in Italian that I didn’t understand. But one look at the products in the window and I didn’t have to guess.

It was a leather shop.

I pushed inside the door, nodding at the older woman who greeted me when the bell chimed above my head to signal my entry. She was busy checking out another customer, so I let myself wander the outside edges of the shop.

Leather of all colors filled the wall, namely black and brown, but even some as bright as yellow and orange. There were purses and wallets, belts and backpacks, jackets and briefcases and everything in-between. Italy was known for its leather, and yet I hadn’t even so much as thought about shopping for anything while I was here.

When I hit the back of the store, I closed my eyes and inhaled, filling my chest with the distinct smell.

And when I opened my eyes again, I was face to face with Liam Benson.

The strangest squeaking sound yipped out of my throat as I jumped back and knocked right into a stand full of purses, which shook precariously before I ripped my hands out of my pockets to steady them.

“Well, hello there,” Liam said with a smirk. He had a melting scoop of gelato on top of the cone in his hand, and he dragged his tongue around the edges of it before grinning at me again. He wore his black leather jacket over a white Foo Fighters t-shirt, a studded belt around his waist, and olive-green cargo pants with entirely too many pockets.

His chestnut hair laid on top of his head in messy waves, curling around his ears, though the scruff on his chin did look like he’d trimmed it. And since he was practically standing on my toes, I could smell that he’d showered.

A rare occasion, I imagined.

I let out a breath, narrowing my eyes as I righted myself and the swaying purses. “Do you always sneak up on strangers in leather shops?”

“Do you always close your eyes and sniff like a creep in leather shops?” he shot back. “Besides, you’re not a stranger.”

“I might as well be. Excuse me,” I said, sliding past him. He didn’t budge, however, so every inch of me brushed against him as I wound my way out of the corner, careful not to disturb anymore merchandise.

“What are you shopping for?” Liam asked, right on my heels.

“Nothing.”

“Then what are you doing in here?”

“Nonya.”

He chuckled. “Clever. Almost got me with that one.”

I didn’t humor him with a response, just set my eyes on the exit and my focus on getting the hell away from the last person I wanted to see tonight. I was on a mission, and I needed to get away from him before he ruined it.

But he rounded a stand filled with leather pants and blocked the door. “Why do you hate me so much?”

I scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I barely know you exist, let alone care enough to hate you.”

“Ouch,” he said on a laugh, covering his heart and stumbling back a bit like I’d shot an arrow right through it. His gelato tipped dangerously with the move, but he caught it in time, licking the edges of it again before the sticky dessert met his hand. “So, I’m supposed to believe you look at everyone like that?”

“Like I’m annoyed that they’re blocking my exit from a leather shop? No. That one’s reserved for you.”

Liam smirked, pushing his back against the door until it opened and then holding it open for me. He gestured like he was a servant, and I was the queen, a dramatic bow that again had me in awe at the durability of his dessert.

I rolled my eyes as I walked through the door, thanking the cashier on my way out. I tucked my hands in the pocket of my jacket and set out in the same direction I’d been heading.

Liam fell into step right beside me.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked.

“Just tell me why you hate me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Again, I do not hate you,” I gritted through my teeth.

“You just can’t stand me?”

I huffed, pulling to a stop and facing him. “Look. I’m on an important mission tonight, and I don’t need you or anyone else ruining it, okay? I’m running out of time, and this is my last resort. I don’t hate you. I like you just fine. Does it annoy me that you literally wait until the final hour to complete your projects and get doted on by the professor? Yes,” I admitted. “But I don’t hate you because you’re talented. I envy that you can be so lazy and still so impressive.”

Liam’s eyebrow shot up, the corners of his mouth turning down like what I said was surprising and flattering in measure. “Wow. Lazily impressive. I like that. I need to add that to my business card.”

I frowned, taking in this version of him that I hadn’t seen yet. I just didn’t understand him. One second he was moody and broody in the dark corner of a bar, and the next he was licking a gelato cone like an eight-year-old and making jokes.

But I didn’t have time to figure him out. That wasn’t part of the plan.

I closed my eyes and forced a breath, and then the best smile I could manage. “Now, will you please leave me alone, as you promised?”

Liam licked his gelato, which was finally down to the cone now, and then took a big bite of said cone. He crunched on it for a long moment before he shrugged. “I will if you tell me where you’re going.”

I blinked, and then shook my head and turned my back on him to continue walking.

He jogged to catch up. “Come on. I’m bored. Humor me.”

“I’m not here to be your entertainment, Liam Benson.”

“Well, maybe I’m here to be yours, Harley Chambers.”

I faltered a little at the sound of my name on his lips, at the surprise I felt that he even knew my full name at all. But I held my steps steady, my back straight, eyes ahead.

“Come on. Is it some top-secret mission? Just tell me where you’re going.”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah, so it is a secret.”

“No,” I said, stopping again to face him. “I really don’t know. Okay? Now go away.”

“How do you not know where you’re going?”

I let out a frustrated growl, ripping my hands from my pockets and throwing them up in the air. “God, you are like a freaking mosquito!”

Liam grinned.

“I don’t know where I’m going because I walked out of my dorm with no plan other than to say yes to whatever comes my way tonight. Okay? I’ve got roughly four days to re-do my Venus assignment and so far, my canvas is still as blank as the stare you’re giving me right now. So, I’m walking around the city and looking at everything with new eyes. I’m trying to find inspiration. I’m trying to live a little like the professor said. Alright? There’s your answer.”

My chest was heaving, face hot as I stared back at Liam. He frowned a little when I finished, which made me let out a long sigh.

“I don’t expect you to understand. Especially since you are able to sneeze onto a canvas and create a masterpiece, apparently.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and then his eyes flicked to my right hand.

Everything inside me froze, heart stopping in my chest before it kicked back to life with a thud. I flushed, shoving my right hand in my pocket as I tucked my hair behind my ear with the left.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Hide your hand.”

My throat was the Sahara desert. I couldn’t answer if I wanted to.

When a moment passed without me saying a word, Liam looked to his left, then to his right, and then he shrugged on a long, dramatic breath. “Welp. That settles it.”

“Settles what.”

He took one last bite of his cone before chucking it in a nearby garbage can. “I’m going to be your Yes Guide tonight.”

“My… what?”

“Your Yes Guide. It’s like a tour guide, but with your special mission in mind. I’ll be the light that guides you on this quest.”

He held his hands out wide like he had been delivered straight from God.

And I snort-laughed right in his ridiculously smug face.

“Um. No.”

I turned before he could argue, but of course he jogged to catch up to me easily. “Hey, you can’t say that. It’s yes night, remember?”

“I can do whatever I want. It was my idea.”

“It was your idea, and your idea said the minute you walked out of your dorm room, you’d say yes to whatever came your way.” He jumped in front of my path, making me stop before I crashed into him. “And I just so happened to be right in your path. Don’t you think that means something?”

“Other than we were both coincidentally in the leather shop closest to campus? No.”

“Coincidence, or fate?” he combatted.

He stood there with that cocky grin of his, dark eyes shining in the glow of the setting sun. And I shook my head, staring at him like he had six arms and was wearing a tortoise shell instead of a leather jacket.

“Why are you doing this? Why would you want to hang out with me anyway?”

Liam shrugged. “Because I want to. And because, technically, you can’t say ‘yes’ if no one is asking you a question. Right?”

I pulled my mouth to the side, not responding because he did have a point — but not one I wanted to admit.

“I’ll take that silence as affirmation,” he said. “Now, stop breaking the rules of your own game and say yes.”

He held out his hand, and my eyes fell to it, to the lines that were etched in his palm, and the bones of each perfect, tan finger. I flicked my gaze up to him briefly before I stared at his hand once more.

“Come on,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “I promise, I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

The corner of his mouth crooked up with the joke, but my mouth was as flat as my throat was dry. My heart raced like a lion closing in on her prey, confusion and curiosity battling for the reins.

And against every churn of my stomach and every warning bell whistling in my ears, I slipped my left hand into his and let Liam Benson lead the way.