The Little House of Paints

Chapter 8

It has been about a week since I last saw Miller. Apparently the case that he is working has really been picking up. When he told me that they had leads I thought that he was just trying to comfort me. However, seeing that all of our recent conversations have been through text, he was probably telling the truth.

Besides the new-ish connection with my ex-crush, everything else about my time in Winston has played out like usual. Working or hanging out in the store for the majority of the day and then going home. It kind of feels like going back in time.

I guess everyone feels like this when going back to their parent's house. Everything is taken care of for the most part and you are able to fall back into your, let's be real, not so good habits. I know for a fact that the Bronco is running close to empty and I need to fill it, but a small part of me keeps thinking that every time I get into it the gas tank will be automatically filled again. Even when my dad isn't here I still feel as though I am under his watchful eye and he will take care of all the adulting for me.

Speaking of my parental figure, when I called him last week after Miller left, he actually wasn't mad. He said that I would have been busy if I hadn't called. I wasn't going to rile him up about it so I just let it go.

Our check-ins have been getting shorter and shorter, with me always being the one to initiate them. Usually he practically has his finger hovering over the call button for 911, but he has been really chill on his trip, maybe even happier. Perhaps he is finally getting back into the dating pool and just using the guise of getting supplies to see someone. It is definitely possible, but he hasn't shown any interest, at least around me, towards dating again.

The idea of seeing him with someone else, though a little upsetting, would probably be good. Since I have moved to college, he seems lonely. I would recommend getting a pet, but his clean freakiness makes that a moot point. We never had pets when I was younger, leaving the only hair for him to contend with my own.

I jokingly said to him once that I should probably shave my head again to get rid of the hair problem, but he completely flipped out on me. I should have known better since he was upset when I did for Mckenzie. It wasn't so much the idea of a bald daughter or that I had donated my hair that upset him, but more the idea that someone else was now wearing my hair, hair that was the exact shade as my mother's.

Much against my dad's wishes, Mckenzie and I stayed friends. He eventually got over Mckenzie being around, but his hatred for Miller stayed. I could never quite place my finger on the why, but it probably had to do with the fact that even when Miller was only a senior in high school, his presence dominated a room. I don't think that my dad quite enjoyed that in his own house, especially around his only daughter. Though as I know Miller had absolutely no interest in me, I expect that if I told my dad that, he would take it as more of an insult than a relief.

Maybe I will get an answer from him tomorrow as to why he has been acting strange. When we got off the phone earlier, he told me that he had to cut his trip short, something about the seller stepping out of the deal. He didn't sound too upset about it though, which surprised me since he seemed so gung ho on the material when he left. Of course I asked him about it, to which he said that when he looked at the metals up close, they weren't as flawless as their images made them look online.

In other news, with the lack of Miller's presence, I haven't really had any distraction besides running the store during business hours, so I have been staying after closing to do some school work. The only good thing that seems to be about this town is that I never am in a creative rut. Not that it doesn't happen, but my creative nature truly comes out here. Maybe it is because I truly have a space that I feel comfortable in. My little studio has always felt like one of the only spaces that I can just let my imagination go wild. A place away from the judgeful eyes of everyone else. A place that I can completely trash without there being any consequences or my dad breathing down my neck trying to clean it all up. For an ex-artist, he never seemed to be able to understand that the messes are part of my process. I don't really know what it is, but there is just something about the studio that I always find comforting.

This week, I got a lot of the different projects for school done, including the warm colors study. Though it is not some of my best work, it is good enough for at least a B.

I am currently finishing wrapping up the canvas to ship them out to Teagan to turn in for me. In addition I'm going to send in pictures to the professor just in case they don't arrive in time, but I know that they would much rather have the actual physical painting instead of a photo. There are three to go out this time, all in various sizes. One is gigantic and worried me for a minute that it actually wouldn't fit into the back of the car in with the other more medium sized pieces. However, much to my luck they all fit perfectly.

After dropping off the paintings, I get back into the car to the lovely dinging sound of the empty gas tank alarm. Sighing, I finally give into the demands of the Bronco and reverse out of my parking spot and go across to the gas station.