clementine
With people I care of, I never want to leave things off on a bad note.
If ever we're in a disagreement, I'll find a way to agree to disagree, or simply stand my ground but respect the other's opinion. If it's in the matter of who was wronged, it's useful to remind yourself that if you both care for each other, you wouldn't hurt the other-let go of your pride, apologise.
I was a stubborn little girl with a furrow in her brow, and still to this day, a heart that held a grudge. In my mind was a list of things anyone had ever done wrong towards me, that way I could carefully choose which ones deserve a cold shoulder and which ones I could forgive.
I was that way until I was ten when I'd cut off my best friend of two years and started to isolate. My mother approached me and told me what I was doing wasn't the best. Though I was ten and could not understand all the technical terms she used, she told me this was my way of coping and that it wasn't sustainable if I wanted to live happily.
She's a straight forward woman who never beat around the bush. If she felt something needed to be said, she said it - she's a woman of logical thinking, the cogs in her mind turning as if they've always been shiny and new.
So, under her eye, I learnt to stop counting all the wrongdoings and started apologising. It took a lot of my pride and ego but when I look back at it now, I'm glad all I had to sacrifice was my pride and ego instead of people.
I could face my fears, man up and confront Luke about what happened between us but I'm still much of a coward to do anything. All I could do was give him a kiss on the cheek and say that he could stay.
Ever since I got into my cab, all that's been in my mind is Luke. Luke and his blue eyes. Luke and his pretty laugh. Luke and the way he looked at me. If Helene hadn't called, would he really have kissed me?
My thoughts take up my time, and I don't notice it pass until the cab pulls up in front of Ackerman's Studios.
I give the driver the needed fare and I get out, quickly hopping up the steps and shoving my keys into the keyhole.
The studios are empty in the weekend and I admit, it's a little strange to see it so barren in the day, but at least I'll have the silence all to myself.
Quickly, I make my way to the rack room, where we keep all the finished paintings that are waiting to be shipped or collected. It's a wide room filled with, you guessed it, racks. Paintings standing in the spaces, arranged by who had painted them.
I make my way to my section and start to search for Mrs Richmar's requested painting.
When I finally find it, I pull it out, revealing the four by five scene of a beach with a lighthouse from afar.
I'd finished the painting over a month ago and it sat in the drying room for that long until about last week when I observed that it was fully dry.
I carry the painting to the wrapping room, laying the painting over the table with brown paper spread all across it.
As I start to gather the tape and scissors, my phone buzzes from my pocket and I take a second to step away and take the call. "Hello?" I say, not having read the caller name.
"Hey, Clem," My youngest brother's familiar voice fills the space and my heart lightens and the sound of it.
Every Saturday, my family and I take turns calling each other at around nine on my time and catch up. Last week, I was the one to call them, so that means that this Saturday, they are to call me.
"Everett! Hi!" I greeted, placing my phone on speaker as I continued to work.
"Dad, Clem's here!" He says and I hear a shuffle from his end.
"Clemmie, baby, hello!" He says, his voice a little loud. "We hope you're not busy, we called a little late, your mother was grading some papers. How are you?"
I hear the smile in his voice. "I'm okay, I'm just at the studio, you?"
"Been having some headaches lately but nothing else much. Why are you at the studio? It's a Saturday, hon, you don't work,"
I shake my head even though they can't see. "No, that's okay, dad. I'm actually kinda working right now, but it's also just wrapping some stuff up." I reply as I fold the brown paper over the painting, taping it on itself from the other side. "And what's up with the headaches?"
He chuckles and I can imagine a grin on his stubbly chin. "Nah, just headaches, I think I've been out way too long replanting. You know how those go. Your mom says I've been having too much coffee, though,"
I laugh. Mom's been trying to get him to stop drinking so much coffee since I was sixteen and we finally got a coffee machine. It's been six years, it's safe to say she still hasn't succeeded in convincing him.
"Ah, what's been happening in there? Anything new?" He asks and I hear Everett mumble something snarky from afar.
I hum, deciding whether I should talk about my drunken night and Luke. "I played in that September carnival I told you about, I played bass for Harish's band. His bassist is out of the city so I had to fill in,"
"Did you call her? Where's the phone?" My mom's accented voice rings from the background and I hear footsteps approaching.
Shuffling is all I hear after as, I assume, my dad passes the phone. "Here, darling. Say hi, Clem,"
I laugh, smiling over the fact that my dad remains to call mom 'darling'. I always found it the sweetest thing. "Hi, mom! I'm just working while we talk,"
"Working? It's the weekend, why are you working?" She tsks and I can imagine her shaking her head at me, the thick french accent coating her English words. "Clementine, you need to rest,"
I shake my head, closing off the spaces of the wrapping and cutting off the excess paper. "I know, mom. This is just a little emergency. The client needs to collect it today instead of the scheduled day later this week, so I'm just coming in to wrap the painting up and wait for them to collect it." I assure my mom and continue to put on the last piece of tape. "Don't worry, I have the rest of the day off,"
"Is it Clementine? I hear Madeline ask.
"Yes," Mom replies.
"Clem!" Madeline shouts into the phone. "Remember Emeric?"
I cock a brow at how she decides to start our conversation. "Yes..."
Madeline giggles like a schoolgirl, and I'm sure she's hiding something from me. "Well, he was asking if you're coming home for Christmas this year. He seemed really interested to get back in touch with you," I hear the excitement in her voice but the way I feel about the news doesn't seem to match.
Emeric Chagnon was my first boyfriend. We were together from when I was seventeen until I was eighteen, right before I had to fly off to New York for university. We broke things off two days before my departure since we figured things wouldn't work well if we tried long distancing.
It wasn't the problem of infidelity between us, everyone just kept saying it wouldn't work out since the odds were against us, plus the thousands of miles between.
Emeric was a great friend and a better boyfriend. When we broke up and until I met Aiden, I had lingering feelings for Emeric. It wasn't that he was the best boyfriend, I just shared too much of my past with him for me to easily forget him. I've known him since I was nine and it's hard to forget someone you've been through so much with.
I clear my throat. "Well, I still don't know if I can afford to spend Christmas there," I finish up the wrapping and take it off the table as well as my phone and start heading to the sitting room outside Helene's office.
Madeline scoffs. "Why's that what you're focusing on? Emeric might want to get back with you!" She squeals. "Then you can forget about that jackass Aiden,"
I gasp, never having heard her swear before.
"Madeline! Ne sacre pas!" Madeline! Don't swear! I hear mom scold from the background, only receiving Madeline's amused laughs.
"But you get it," She returns to me.
"Yeah I get it," I lean the painting on the bench and take a seat beside it. Now I just have to wait for Mrs Richmar's son to arrive.
"Would you ever get back with him, though?" She asks, sincerity in her tone.
I take a second to ponder upon it. Would I? If I went back home and worked it out with him, maybe we'd see a way to working long distance, but someone else would remain in my mind and it wouldn't be fair to either of them. "I don't know, Maddie," I sigh, leaning my head back on the wall. "There's kind of someone else in my mind right now,"
Madeline gasps then squeals before letting out a slew of unintelligible words. "Oh my god, tell me, tell me now,"
I laugh at her excitement. "Mads, can you pass the phone to dad? I need to talk to him,"
"No, no, no, tell me first,"
"Madeline, pass the phone,"
She groans, probably rolling her eyes as I hear her call out for our dad. "Dad! Clementine wants to talk to you!" She shouts and I hear dad's muttering from afar.
I wait a few seconds before I hear my dad's voice. "Yes, honey?" He tenderly greets me and I smile at the nickname.
"Hey, dad," I smile into my words. "I need help - well, not help, more like advice," I bite down on my lip, trying to rearrange the words in my head to form some sort of sentence.
It's nerve-wracking asking your dad for advice on boy troubles. I mean, I've done so before, but it was one time when I was sixteen and we barely even got deep into it.
It was awkward and all we really skimmed on was if he liked me and I liked him, we should go for it.
Now, probably having given advice to Oliver and Madeline, I feel as though somehow his advice now would be better. I know my mom's great at advice, but not on the concern of romance.
"What for?"
I start to shake my leg, the thought of Luke and I going all wrong being so unnerving to me. It's not that he's suddenly the world to me, but he is a part of it and right now, I don't want to leave things off awkwardly.
"Um... it's about a boy - or a guy - a man," I facepalm myself, embarrassed by the time it took me to form the sentence yet how it fell apart so easily once it escaped me.
My dad hums, that signature hum of his that meant that thoughts were currently running in her mind. "Oh, and you like this boy-guy-man?" He asks.
I chuckle, shrugging. "I don't know how I feel, dad,"
"Ah, but I think you do," He tells me, and I can see how he used to look at me, the sides of his lips creasing, one side more lifted than the other. "Tell me about him. What's he like?"
I shake my head. "I don't know where to start... um, his name is Luke, he's in a band, and..." I start to think about the night before, how he sobered me up before we walked to the studio, how he sang to me, and how he defended me from Aiden. "He's very kind, funny, and he treats me so much better, dad,"
He laughs from the other line, probably hearing how much I sound like a schoolgirl. "You're gushing,"
I nod. "I know,"
"You like him,"
It's just stupid for me to feel this way for him, but I'd be stupid if I didn't admit what I felt. It's probably obvious to everyone but me.
"I know,"
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happy update day to one of the longest chapters of pw!
just curious, what font do yall read in?
ily, stay safe
give love & tpwk