On Tuesday, I know Silas doesn't have work because the restaurant is closed. I spent most of the week on my own, exploring the town and sunbathing at the pool, only talking with Silas through text as he worked.
And today, it's my chance to see him. I'm not sure what we would do, or maybe we could just do nothing. I write out the text to invite him to come over at least five times, but I delete it all every time because I think it sounds too desperate.
I'm typing out my sixth attempt to Silas as a message pops up from him.
"Do you know who Marc Chagall is?" the message reads.
Already, I feel like I know where this is going. I do know who Marc Chagall is, and I also know that there is a museum dedicated to him in Nice, so my first assumption is that he's about to invite me to go to that museum with him today.
I don't want him to beat me to it, because I'd spent the past ten minutes trying to make my move and I was really proud of myself for getting myself to do it.
So before he can actually invite me anywhere, I message him back. "Yeah, I know who he is. Do you want to go to the museum today?"
"That's what I was going to ask you lol," he responds to me pretty quickly, and it's quickly followed by another. "When are you free?"
I've spent the past half an hour roaming around my hotel room after my shower, naked in only a white hotel bath towel, so all I have to do is get dressed. I tell him that I'll be ready in fifteen minutes.
It doesn't take me very long to get dressed, because I had been anticipating this day since the last time that I saw Silas. Even though I didn't know what we were going to do, the outfit that I'd picked out yesterday is pretty fitting for a museum trip. A light blue halter top and a flowing, floral skirt with matching blue colors and pinks. With a pair of comfortable white slip-on shoes, I also grab my sunglasses and decide to put on a gold bracelet. I'd actually bought it at a jewelry store in town to take home as a souvenir for my mom, but it's so cute and I think it goes well with the outfit that I decide I'll keep it for myself and get her something else.
I'm embarrassed at how long it takes me to get the bracelet latched around my wrist, and I don't have any time to put on any makeup. I just spray on some body spray in an attempt to smell like ocean mist, and I head out the door.
"You look beautiful," Silas tells me when we meet up at his small red car. He's wearing a white button up shirt and jean shorts that cut off right below his hairy knees.
I don't think I'll ever get over the fuzzy feeling that I get when he compliments me. "Thank you," I smile. "You're not looking so bad yourself."
Before we get into the car, he quickly leans toward me and kisses my lips. The kiss is so quick that I have no time to respond before it's over, and then he's opening the passenger side door for me. What a gentleman.
"So, does this count as a date?" I ask him boldly once we're both in the car and Silas starts driving toward Nice. I want to add to that statement that it's okay if this isn't a date, no pressure or anything, but I stop myself. I don't want to sound so insecure-- even if I am.
"Yeah, I'd say so," he agrees with me, nodding and then glancing over at me. "Is that good?"
"Yes," I confirm, probably way too quickly. I clear my throat and then rephrase it, "I mean, that does sound good to me, yes."
He laughs. "Good."
"Have you been to this museum before?" I change the subject.
"No, but I've heard good things," Silas tells me. "And there's a good restaurant nearby that we can go to afterward. Unless you're hungry now?"
"After is good," I confirm.
The drive to Nice is easy, and we talk about what other fun things there are to do in the city. We obviously won't get to do all of them today, but I still have two months here to explore wherever my heart's desires. Although, I'd rather spend those two months exploring Silas.
The museum is surrounded in bright greenery from tall trees with long leaves, to small shrubs and expanding grass that paints the entire yard.
Inside, Silas pays for our admission and we continue into the museum. As we enter the first tall white room full of paintings, Silas starts talking, "So Marc Chagall worked for a long time in Paris," he tells me. "He experienced modernism's golden age in Paris, where he synthesized the art forms of Cubism, Symbolism, and Fauvism, and the influence of Fauvism gave rise to Surrealism."
"Wow," I say with a small laugh, not really expecting him to barf out such a well-worded explanation of who this artist was. "I mean, I know that he's an expansive artist, but I don't really know that much about him. I didn't realize that you were such an expert."
"I memorized all of that from Wikipedia," he admits to me with a shy smile. "It sounded pretty impressive though, right?"
"Yeah, I was definitely impressed," I confirm. "Also, I don't know what Fauvism is. I'm not really that knowledgeable about the different eras or styles of painting. My grandpa was self taught, and really focused on impressionist paintings. And he taught me what he knew, and then I taught myself how to paint more realistically. I took a few classes when I could squeeze them in, but definitely nothing that I would consider formal training or anything."
"That makes me feel a lot less intimidated," Silas says as we walk in front of one large painting. "If you focus your attention to this painting here, you will see that he used a lot of blue."
"That is a lot of blue," I agree with him, laughing. "What else can you tell me about this painting?"
"There is also some yellow," he adds. "To symbolize sunflowers."
"No, those are yellow sunflowers. That's not symbolism, that's just painting flowers," I laugh at his description of the painting. "But please, continue."
"This painting is actually called Lovers and Sunflowers," he reads off of the plaque near the painting. "Because there is a couple, loving each other, and there's also sunflowers."
"Wow, I did not realize that you were such a talented art critic," I say jokingly.
"Oh yeah, I'm really good at it," he confirms sarcastically. "For example, this painting is about an orgy in a meadow."
I can read that the painting is called Daphnis and Lycenion, and there are two naked people cuddling in the grass of a meadow while two other people are laying in the meadow as well, one also naked and the other one clothed, looking like he was maybe praying.
"How scandalous."
"And because this is in a meadow," Silas continues to describe the painting with so much confidence, even though he clearly has no idea what he's talking about. "There are lots of greens in this painting."
These paintings look like something that my grandpa would have really enjoyed. The artist was alive and working while my grandpa was getting into painting, but I'm not sure how popular his work was at the time, or if my grandpa had ever seen it. I hope he had (maybe except for the orgy painting) seen them; I think they would have been a really good inspiration for him.
The paintings are all fairly large, and so colorful. The pictures are distorted and abstract with a lot of whimsical portrayal of humans and animals. And a lot of religious themes-- on the plaques, it mentions he was Jewish and liked to use that to inspire his work.
Halfway through exploring all of the interesting paintings, we sit down on a bench in front of one fairly interesting painting of a mermaid titled 'La Baie des Anges', which Silas translates for me to The Bay of Angels.
"I bet you could have a museum named after you some day," Silas tells me. "And everybody would pay money to come see your paintings, and analyze what they mean."
"I don't think I'm that good," I mumble.
"You could be," he says. "If you just keep getting better. You're already really good."
"I don't really think I'll get much better," I admit to him. "I mean, I want to. But after school starts in the fall, I don't think I'll have that much time to paint. And then there will be internships in the summers. And when I graduate, I'll start working for the family business and probably won't have that much time for painting then, either."
"That sounds stressful."
"Yeah," I sigh. "I'll always paint, I just don't think I'll paint enough to get this good."
"I won't lose hope," he says. "And I want free tickets to the Maisie Murphy museum when it opens."
"Okay," I laugh.
"I'll be first in line," Silas promises me. "And I hope that I'd be an inspiration to at least a few paintings."
"Yeah, I'm sure I could squeeze you in," I rest my head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around my waist. "People are the hardest to paint though. I don't think I'd do you justice."
"Paint me like one of your French girls," he laughs at his own joke.
"I've never done a nude painting before," I say before I can think about what I'm saying, and when I realize that I just suggested drawing him naked-- which would require seeing him naked-- my mouth goes dry. "I-I mean because, that's where the phrase comes from, she wanted Leonardo DiCaprio to draw her naked."
I try to explain the origin of the 'French girls' phrase from the Titanic, even though I'm sure he already knows that and I'm sure he's laughing to himself about how embarrassed I just made myself. I need to get it together.
"So I guess we found one of your boundaries," he sounds very amused.
"For now," I mumble quickly because although right now the idea makes me uncomfortable, I would cut off my own foot to see him naked. And to paint him, to just be able to stare at him for hours. I'm not ready for that level of intensity right now, but I would not take it off the table forever. Then again, I don't know how I'd be able to focus enough to paint for that long without losing my concentration.
"Good to know," Silas laughs and squeezes me closer to him.
Ready to change the subject before my mouth actually starts to water, I stand up from the bench that we're sitting on and grab his hand to pull him up with me. "Let's keep walking."
Silas continues to explain each painting around us in very basic terms, such as describing the colors or the types of flowers and species in the paintings. It's very amusing, and I enjoy his commentary along with enjoying the actual paintings. Although it isn't the style of painting that I like to paint, it is similar to the style that I grew up with.
"I just realized that I've never eaten at your restaurant," I tell Silas as we are getting a table at the restaurant nearby the museum after we were done exploring the art. By the end of our time there, I think I was basically dragging Silas along as he had gotten bored of the paintings whereas I liked to examine the meaning behind many of them.
"You can come anytime," he tells me. "I don't really eat there as a customer because I'm tasting all evening when I'm at work, so I don't like to eat it any more than I have to."
"Maybe I'll stop by sometime," I suggest. "But it'll be a secret, so you won't know I'm coming. Like Gordon Ramsay in Kitchen Nightmares."
"Oh, so you're going to try to critique my cooking?" he raises his eyebrows at me.
"No, I'm sure it's perfect," I assure him.
"You're correct," he nods in confirmation. "Everything that is cooked there is perfect. Especially when I am working."
"You should think about putting my mac and cheese on the menu," I say jokingly.
"I just said that our menu is perfect," Silas repeats himself. "I don't want to ruin that."
I lightly kick him under the table, which makes him laugh. Obviously, I know that he wouldn't change his menu just to add my mac and cheese, which is such a simple recipe. I haven't even seen the menu at the restaurant, and I'm not sure how fancy it is.
"Well, if you change your mind, I'm willing to sell you my recipe," I continue with my sarcastic offer. "But it comes at a hefty price."
"Your recipe- as in milk, cheese, pasta, and mushrooms? I'm sure I could figure it out."
"There is so much more to it than that," I insist. "You don't know any of the secret ingredients."
"I watched you make it, Maisie," he laughs.
"You didn't see everything," I continue to stand my ground. It just makes him laugh again. "But okay, I get it. Maybe your customers just aren't ready for my American palette."
"Yeah, that's it."
"Would you want to go swimming sometime?" I randomly change the subject. "The pool at the hotel is usually pretty empty, and swimming alone is getting kind of boring."
That's a lie. I actually really enjoy my time at the pool by myself. When I'm tanning on the day beds, I'm either reading my grandpa's journal or listening to an ebook. Although I don't do very much actual swimming other than to cool off between chapters of my book, I do swim laps sometimes just to keep my body moving if there's nobody else in the pool. I'm very introverted, so I feel comfortable spending all of that time by myself. And I've gotten through a lot of the books on my 'want to read' list.
I don't know why I lie to Silas, or why I feel like I need an excuse to invite him to go to the pool with me. Like I can't just ask him if he wants to go to the pool, but I had to make it clear that I am only asking him to join me because I need company.
"That's a lie," I correct myself before he can answer me, because I don't need an excuse. I just want to hang out with him. Not because I'm bored or because I feel lonely, just because I want to be around him. And that's a good thing, because I think that he wants to be around me too. "I'm actually not bored swimming by myself. But I think that it'd be fun if you'd join me."
"Okay." My flip flopping statements make him laugh. Even though I probably sounded a little ridiculous, I'm proud of myself for not hiding behind an excuse to invite him over. Even if it was such a small lie. "That sounds fun."
I smile at him and then some time passes before I add, "I'm a very good swimmer."
"Oh, are you?" he seems slightly surprised by that. Maybe it's because every time we do anything slightly physical outside, like walking up a hill, I get sweaty and slow. I don't really even look like a swimmer either, since I'm not that tall and my shoulders aren't that broad. Although they are pretty strong and flexible. I've always thought my thighs look too chubby to seem like I do very much exercise at all.
I nod in confirmation. "I was on the swim team in high school. It was just another thing my mom wanted me to do to add a line to my resume and college apps. I wasn't very good at it, compared to the people I competed against, but in the grand scheme of things, I'd say I'm a good swimmer."
"I played football on a community team for a while, but I was never too good at it either," Silas tells me. "Soccer, I mean. There were a lot of older guys that had way more practice than I did."
I'm listening to him tell me about his days playing soccer, very intently. But I keep getting distracted from his words by thinking about what a day at the pool would be like with him.
Shirtless.
I've never seen him shirtless, but I assume I would if we went swimming together. I remember that he told me that he has two tattoos and I have yet to see either one of those. I wonder if that'll change. I haven't thought about what's under his shirt that much, but I bet that it's nice. Maybe no abs, it's hard to tell, but I imagine that his skin is soft and smooth, at least a little bit muscular. I wonder if his torso is as tan as his beautiful face.
"Anyway, I quit after I finished school so that I had more time to help with the restaurant," Silas finishes talking about soccer as I snap back into the conversation. I feel bad for objectifying him in my mind, but I can't help it. He's so fucking beautiful and my mouth nearly starts watering. I take a drink from the glass on the table in front of me and pick up the menu to try and hide my face behind until I can cool off. I blame my absolute desperation for Silas both on his godly beauty, and also on the amount of time that it's been since the last time I've had any male attention.
I pretend my face isn't turning red, and I respond with, "So what's good to eat here? I'm starving."
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Song: I Think He Knows - Taylor Swift
Picture: Maisie's outfit