Artgirl

epilogue

ARTGIRLEPILOGUE

a glimpse into forever

ten years after the proposal.

elisabeth gina forrest: nine year old revolutionary

"MAMA!"

My mom peaks her head out of the bathroom, a lopsided wing falling from her eyes. The waterfall that is her hais is pulled away from her face, and I can see the sun's settlement upon it. "Yes, love?"

"Isaiah is still sleeping, I can't wake him up," I usher to him, sleeping soundly on the hotel bed. The covers, thick and fluffy, are like clouds of slumber.

Mom purses her lips and nods. "Give me two seconds. I just need to fix this."

"Fix what?"

"My freaking winged liner," she huffs. "It's crooked again. Honestly, what type of artist can paint on a canvas but not on her face."

A smile instantly overflows my face, "show, mama."

Her head turns and she crouches down to my eye level. The smooth layer of makeup graces her face beautifully, even if she is far from being done. I take a moment and admire her: how can one be so beautiful with and without makeup? Her eyes, however, closed, have a set of even, thick eyeliner. Impeccably done.

"It looks good," I conclude. "Don't do anything else. It's pretty."

She opens her eyes, and I see a reflection of my own. "You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise," I grin. "You look pretty."

"Thank you, love," her fine lines melt and she winks. "I get it from you."

In a split-second, she's walking over to my brother. The smile never leaves my face as she tears the covers from his body and takes his face in her hands. He still doesn't wake up.

"Isaiah," she says. "Isaiah, if you don't get up right now, you're not invited with us anymore."

His forcibly closed eyes twitch, and I recognize the ghostly smile on his face. He enjoys having her wake him up like this, but unlike everyone I know, he pretends to be asleep when he has to wake up, not when he's about to go to bed. "Hm?"

"Absolutely. I'll take Elisa and your dad and leave you here, in this hotel room. No wifi. No tv. You'll just be here for three hours, alone. And awake, since you slept so much. Ah— " she grins, when his eyes are wide open. "There you are!"

A small grumble leaves his lips. "'Morning, mommy."

She kisses his forehead. "It's five in the afternoon, but 'morning, love. Go shower and get ready before your dad gets here. We have to leave in an hour."

"When's dad getting here?" Sitting on the bed I shared with Isaiah for the night, I pick up my book from the nightstand. I'd been reading it on the plane and still wasn't done with it, but every word had me falling more and more in love with the story.

"Twenty minutes. He's getting us food before we go," she pours him a glass of orange juice from the breakfast tray. The hotel treated us kindly, bringing us croissants, eggs and even crepes. I guessed it was because Mom was so talented; they appreciated her art.

Mom turns to me and twirls a curl framing my face. She radiates sunlight, I gravitate towards her love, it is all I know."You ready? Do you still need the bathrom?"