Marc watched her working silently for a few minutes. Even though she wasn't saying much still, she at least had a smile on while she was working. He'd turned half of her playroom into an art studio—he'd wandered around an art store for over an hour trying to find things a six year old could use.
Watercolors, charcoal—which had already been smudged into the carpet—pads of papers in various sizes, as well as safe markers and better quality colored pencils were strewn everywhere. Marc tried to tell himself it was probably organized chaos to her, or had something to do with how an artists mind worked as he resisted the urge to clean it all up.
"What?" Ariel finally questioned when she noticed he was watching.
"Nothing." Marc uncrossed his arms from his chest and forced a smile. "What are you doing?"
At least she had changed some from focusing so much on her mother, too. Marc could only make out some character of a TV show that Ariel liked otherwise. She showed him the in-progress drawing with some pride. "Oh, Mr. Brendan said that the gallery opens up later this week. He says we should go, and that you should e-mail or call him for the information," she recited with some focus.
Marc nodded and hesitated before messing up her hair with his hand. She squealed and flailed around for a second before pulling away with a giggle. "Don't," she pleaded, smiling as she fixed her hair.
Marc snorted and stepped out to let her keep working. He went to his office and settled down at his desk, rubbing his hands over his face. He turned on his computer and wavered between trying to e-mail Brendan—it still felt strange to address a teacher by a first name, but apparently everyone did—and calling him.
Marc decided on the latter and keyed in Brendan's number on his cell phone. If he didn't answer, Marc would just e-mail him then.
Brendan did answer, sounding confused and answering rather formally. "This is Brendan," he said immediately, with garbled background noise flooding the phone.
"Brendan, It's Marc... Ariel's father," Marc muttered.
"Oh! Of course. Did she tell you about the gallery—oh sh—hold on, I need a second." There was a clatter of the phone and then a minute later some of the distracting background noise was gone. "Sorry, I'm back," Brendan said at the end.
"Yes, she was talking about the gallery... is it on at the school?" Marc wondered.
"No, it's at one of the public libraries. They'll be displaying all of the art there for about a month. So it's not really a gallery I guess, but they'll be setting everything up in a room and handing out some awards for pieces based on age groups between a couple different schools," Brendan explained. "I can e-mail you the address."
"That sounds good," Marc agreed, falling awkwardly silent then.
"How's Ariel doing at home?" Brendan filled in then.
"Fine. Better. I bought her some art supplies. Some of it seemed a lot more high end than what a six year old needs, but I got her some watercolors and what not." Marc paused. "You had mentioned printmaking before, hadn't you? What's that?"
"Not anything she'll be doing anytime soon," Brendan chuckled. "I'm trying to talk the school into getting a press for the art department, but it'll probably be for the high school level students."
"Yeah, but what is it? Like newspaper print?" Marc still didn't understand.
"No," Brendan hummed. "Well, yes. It's how newspapers were done back in the old days, but it also has a form of art to it. I'm sure you've seen prints; like that blue tidal wave from japan? That's a woodblock print," Brendan explained. "But printmaking is pretty hard to keep up with. I have to pay a fee just to use a printmaking studio in the area," he went on. "Because I don't just have a huge press sitting in my apartment, or acids."
"Acids?" Marc gawped. "You want to bring acid to the school—"
"No!" Brendan cut in, laughing. "No. I would just give them a type of plastic plate, they carve into it, ink, press and voila. But there are more advanced forms of printing that I do that involve nitric acid. You're welcome to come by the studio if you ever want to see."
Marc scowled to himself. Did parents and teachers make friends and hang out? Was that a thing? "Is that allowed?" he asked.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Brendan countered.
"Because you teach my daughter," Marc replied pointedly.
"Because the grading of art is so serious that if we make nice that I'll give her extra points," Brendan added sarcastically. "But we're both adults, and it's not like a teacher and a parent can't be friends. We have lives outside of school you know. We don't all just live in the break room, contrary to popular belief."
Marc still didn't know what to say to it. It still felt weird in his mind. It was great that Brendan was helping Ariel so much, but... "Maybe," Marc agreed, though he wasn't sure he'd ever follow through on it. If he ever wanted to learn something about printmaking, he could just look it up on the internet, couldn't he?
Brendan chuckled into the phone, almost like he knew what that 'maybe' meant anyways. "You could use to relax," he commented.
Marc felt himself flaring up defensively. "I do just fine."
"Tell me the last time you spent time with someone over the age of ten," Brendan challenged him. "That wasn't work related."
Marc opened his mouth to say something, but he drew a blank on it anyways. "Last week," he lied. Well, it was only a partial lie. Brendan never said it couldn't be family that he had spent time with, even if it was unpleasant.
"Well, I'll send you the info for the art show and I'll see you then. It's on Friday," Brendan said. "I have to get back inside before my paper dries out too much more. You called me right before I was going to make a print," he laughed.
Marc still wasn't sure what the process was there, but he was willing to take the out. He hung up and rubbed his eyes. He at least hoped Ariel had more friends than he did. Marc didn't have much outside of work; and maybe that was why his ex-wife had left to begin with.
***
Marc was half surprised, half not, when Ariel got the first place award for her artwork in the show in the second grade category. It was a little blue ribbon, but it made her grin like a maniac and he was sure it made them both proud. The judges had been impressed with her skill at the human face at such a young age.
Brendan wandered up to them afterwards, in another one of his fitted long sleeve sweaters. "Congrats," he said, patting Ariel briefly on the head. "Keep making me look good, okay?" he added.
She elbowed him in the thigh and clung tight to her ribbon. Someone with a camera came up asking for a picture of Marc and Ariel, so Brendan quickly stepped off to the side until they were gone. "You could not look any more awkward getting a picture done," Brendan commented afterwards.
"Can I go look at some of the other stuff?" Ariel asked, pointing around the walls with other art on display.
"Sure," Marc muttered and watched her run off, which actually worked out for him. "Does she have any friends at school?" he asked worriedly.
Brendan hummed and rocked back on his heels. "There's one boy that she hangs out with, but not in my class. I think his name is Aaron. They're both are pretty quiet and mostly just sit together on the playground when I peek outside."
"So not many," Marc grumbled. So maybe she was more like him.
"Hey, quality over quantity," Brendan corrected him. "Better she have one friend she's comfortable with rather than all the drama that goes with so-and-so said this about me and so on." He rolled his eyes in emphasis.
"True," Marc had to agree there. Though in that aspect, he wasn't even sure he had that. He kept more to himself than even Ariel did.
Brendan checked the time on his phone then, humming to himself. "Since it's all over now, I might stop in with a few other parents and then head out," he announced. "Unless you need anything else from me?"
"No," Marc muttered stiffly.
Brendan raised an eyebrow at him, not looking convinced. He pulled out his wallet then and flipped it open. It was worn and had some weird logo on the front as he pulled out a card. "This is the printmaking studio where I'm at a lot of the time. Get out of your house some." He handed the card over to Marc.
"Would it be safe to bring Ariel?" Marc remembered something about nitric acid being involved.
"Yeah, we'll just keep her away from certain areas," Brendan answered, which didn't really help Marc's uncertainty about it. "Toss me a text if you're ever wanting to stop by."
With that, Brendan wandered off towards some other set of parents. Marc frowned down at the card before sliding it into his pocket and going after Ariel. He caught her looking at some of the high school level artworks, frowning to herself. "I want to do that," she declared, pointing at something that was almost too colorful. "What is that?"
Marc leaned in to get a look at the label. "Oil pastel." That sounded like a huge mess waiting to happen, but it looked interesting. "Maybe Brendan can teach you something about using them." No way he was letting anything oil based get ground in the carpet at home. Maybe when she was older.
Ariel was only partially satisfied by that, but Marc guided her out of the lingering crowd as he tried to beat the rush.
They got home and Ariel puttered off to her art room, and Marc took off his tie in the kitchen. It took him a moment to realize there was a voicemail on the landline phone—he almost forgot that he still had the thing since cell phones were so popular. The only people who ever called the house phone were family.
He hit the play button for the voicemail and let it go while he walked around the kitchen for something to eat. It was the routine anymore before he dragged Ariel out to eat, after he dubbed there to be nothing in the kitchen.
"Hi, Marc. It's your dad," the voicemail began. "I was just wondering if maybe you and Ariel wanted to come by for dinner again sometime this week. She mentioned to me how you two have been eating out a lot, and I'd really like to see her on more than just holidays, you know..."
Marc frowned and hit the stop, then the delete on the answering machine. He gave up his search in the kitchen and went upstairs to find Ariel. "What do you want for dinner, Ariel? I'll take us out."