And the expectation that coloring in between the lines is the only acceptable form of coloring? Nonsense. Intuitively, that’s what led me to pursue a degree in art and fashion design. I wanted to break the rules and create my own works of art.
Rules are meant to be broken. Boundaries are meant to be pushed.
Lines are definitely made to be crossed.
Which may very well spell trouble when it comes to Professor Lucas Mathiasson’s plans when it comes to me.
7
Lucas
It’s just another average Saturday night for me, turning up to babysit my godson while his father, my long-time unrequited crush, heads out on a date with his child’s nanny. Nothing weird about any of that, is there?
Sometimes I feel like I’m the main character in a Shakespearean tragedy.
Ringing the doorbell to Garrett’s front door, I step in through the unlocked front door and call out my arrival.
“It’s Luc. Anyone in need of a Lego Master champion tonight?”
I hear the small, excited giggles, followed by the slow-paced movement of an assisted walk coming down the hallway. As I turn the corner, I’m greeted with the sight of the bright, beautiful smile of my five-year-old godson, Caleb, his walker discarded to the side and his arms thrown wide so I can lift him in my arms.
“Hey, buddy.” I wrap him tightly in my hug and snuggle my nose into his warm neck, blowing raspberries into his cheeks, to which he laughs adorably. “I’ve missed you, Caleb.”
Time had gotten away from me over the last month as I prepared for the start of the school year. The last time I hung out with Caleb was at his birthday party, and even then I didn’t get to spend any one-on-one time with him.
“How’s my favorite boy in the world doing?”
I pull back enough so he can put his hands on my cheeks, which he often does as a sign of affection. Or it could be that I amuse him when I make fish lips and pretend to try to eat him. Either way, I adore the gesture and look forward to it each time.
Caleb moves his own mouth, working valiantly to form words, each consonant, and vowel a troubling result of a damaging and catastrophic car accident he was in when he was just a toddler. A car accident that killed his mother.
Garrett and I had grown especially close after the tragic turn of events, and it broke my heart to see him have to deal with the after-effects of losing his wife and managing through the life-altering challenges of having a disabled child.
The remarkable change, however, is seeing the slow, but constant improvement in Caleb’s motor skills and verbal abilities, much of which has happened since Brooklyn started as Caleb’s full-time nanny earlier this summer. With the time she’s given him, along with the regular therapy, he is already ready to start kindergarten.
“Unca Wuuuuuuu…cah…” Caleb says, his speech is broken and elongated, but clear as day.
“That’s right, buddy. Good job. I’m so proud of you. I know you’ve been working so hard this summer with Brooklyn and you’re going to be going to school soon, too.”
Caleb gurgles with excitement, his little legs kicking and wiggling over the prospect that he’ll get to go to school this fall.
“Hey there, Lucas. I see you got the full welcoming committee treatment.”
I turn my head to look back over my shoulder and see Brooklyn walking toward us from the back bedroom area. She’s dressed in a floral-patterned dress, sandals, and a light green jean jacket.
While she doesn’t do it for me, I can appreciate what Garrett sees in her. She’s intelligent, grounded and genuinely cares for Caleb’s development. Not to mention beautiful.
I set Caleb down on the floor and watch him move off toward the playroom in the front area, where we’ll be building some awesome Lego creations before I put him to bed in an hour or so. For all his motor challenges, Caleb knows how to produce the most elaborate structures with bright colored plastic pieces.
“Hey, buddy, why don’t you go get all our stuff ready and I’ll join you in just a bit.”
“Ohh-kaaaay,” he agrees, toddling off with a slight swagger to his gait.
Turning to Brooklyn, I open my arms and give her a hug and a brief peck on her cheek. “Hey lovely.”
When she pulls away, she blushes a pretty pink. “Thanks for coming over tonight. I’m sure you had much better things going on with your weekend than coming over to watch a rambunctious five-year-old.”
I wave her off at the ridiculous argument. “Please. I’m a boring old guy with no social life except online art forums with even older curmudgeons who want to talk about how the Roman period of art influenced Renaissance artists.”
Brooklyn gives a short laugh and rolls her eyes. “Okay, point taken. But, speaking of art, how’s the first week of the semester going for you? I heard that Kyler is in one of your classes. Small world, right?”
Very, I say inside my head.
“Yes, it does seem that way, doesn’t it? I guess it was only a matter of time before our paths crossed, considering his degree program and interests in art.”
Brooklyn turns toward the kitchen, with the open design that flows into the playroom where Caleb is already hard at work putting together his masterpiece.
“My friend Peyton says he’s a phenomenal artist. She and Kyler are roommates and she mentioned that Kyler was excited to work with you on his special fields course. That’s cool that you two already know each other, even peripherally. I hope it doesn’t create a problem or conflict or anything.”
Oh, there’s a conflict alright, just not due to our association that way.
I can feel a crease forming in my brow. Kyler mentioned his interest in working with me? Well, that’s interesting. I wonder if he said anything else? The worry churns like butter in my stomach.
Bending down to sit on the floor next to Caleb, I absently pick up a few Legos, flipping them in my fingers like a good-old-fashioned gunslinger, and reminisce over the interactions I had with Kyler this past week.
He’d emailed me on Thursday, in which we exchanged a few back-and-forths about research on imagery and symbolism. It ended up in a lively conversation that I thought about hours after our final email.
The easy repartee between us sparked something inside me that I haven’t felt in a long time, if ever. Kyler’s responses were intelligently composed, even if a tad on the satirical side, with a heavy dose of playful innuendo.
In fact, I had to stop myself on several occasions from throwing in my own hint of intimacy in the conversation, chiding myself for even thinking about going there. It’s exactly what I don’t want to have happen between us.
The line can’t be crossed.
I smile at Brooklyn and shake my head noncommittally. “No conflict to speak of.”
From my view into the kitchen, Brooklyn grabs her purse off the high stool at the island, as Garrett rounds the corner of the open concept room, his tall frame always knocking the wind out of my chest.
I tamp down my response that’s always there when I see Garrett. He’s been in my life for over a decade but always has a way of taking my breath away. The smile he flashes at Brooklyn is both intimate and seductive, and I have to drop my gaze to Caleb, moving my attention elsewhere to avoid watching the warmth blossom between them.