We Were Giants

Chapter 33

"You look so handsome," Mom smiles at me as I enter the living room. Dad insisted on buying me a new suit for the judging tonight. I highly suspect I'm going to be extremely overdressed, but I'm grateful for it nonetheless.

I wish I had had something this nice for my gallery show. I wish I had been able to appreciate my dad's presence at the gallery show. It's almost hard to remember a time before Dad coming back. It's almost difficult to remember that there was a time before we were all shiny and gilded in gold. I've almost forgotten there was a time when we weren't giants.

"Is Isaiah coming here or is he meeting us there?" Mom asks as she inspects Thomas's clothes. She wants to make sure everything is perfect for the evening. I just want to make sure I don't barf everywhere

"He and his dad are going to meet us there. And Cameron, too."

I'm grateful she doesn't ask about Kayla. I think my parents have figured out that Kayla and I aren't the friends we used to be. Mom's stopped asking me about Kayla. Even Thomas hasn't mentioned her lately. I'm sad about how things have played out, but not as sad as I expected to be if something ever happened between us.

"That'll be nice," Mom smiles. "Can you believe this, Cole? Our son is all grown up."

I see her eyes start to sparkle with tears. I wish she wouldn't cry; it always makes me feel so uncomfortable.

"He's going to graduate soon," she smiles an off-center smile. "And go to college and move away from us and grow into this amazing man."

"Mom, stop," I smile. "I'm not grown, yet. I can't even tie my tie."

I wave my neon green cast around to indicate to my dad that I need help. I'm almost embarrassed that I have to ask him for help. Almost.

"I've got this," Dad laughs, standing in front of me to tie my tie.

Looking at him is odd; it's like looking into a mirror, only aged. It's like seeing a paler, older version of myself, all furled brow and serious face. I make a mental note to draw my dad. The last time I drew him was years ago, a lifetime ago. The last time I drew him, I didn't understand shadows or tonal value. The last time I drew him, his face was disproportionate. And he framed it anyway. The last time I drew my dad, he still supported me. Just like tonight.

"Are you ready?" Mom asks, fastening her pearl earrings.

"No," I shake my head. I feel sick. I've spent so much time and energy trying not to hope, not to expect, not to dream about winning. Now that the night has come, I'm willing to admit to myself that I have a shot.

Even though my original portfolio burnt down, I have amazing things hanging at the school. I have two photorealistic drawings of my family. I have incredible flip books. I have lifelike charcoals of the man of my dreams. I've seen my competition. I know what other students turned in. I know that there are good pieces of art, but I'm confident that mine is one of the best portfolios.

We load ourselves into Mom's car—it's much bigger and more comfortable than Dad's Porsche, even if it is less flashy—and I try to keep my mind off of the show. I try to quell my uncomfortable excitement by thinking about school and graduation. I try to think about the past and all of the awful things I've gone through. I try to think about Betty Rosenthal and how much I hate her.

But I'm also grateful for her. Before things fell apart, she gave me my start. She gave me my first big break. She opened the doors to my future. I don't know if it was out of guilt for breaking up my family, or because she wanted Isaiah's friends to be successful, but either way, I'm grateful.

I try to think about Kayla and the way things started out and the way things ended up. She was the best friend I thought I'd ever have. She helped me through some of the roughest times in my life. And even if our friendship did end up one-sided at the end, it hadn't always been that way.