It rang twice before she picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice was hesitant like she somehow sensed it could only be me.
I cleared my throat. “Lexi.
It’s me.
I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it. I figured I owed you something better than… well, those other paintings.”
“You didn’t owe me anything, Lexi.
I wasn’t exactly fair to you, either.”
“You had every right to be upset.” Her voice was steadier now.
“What I painted — those were things I needed to get out of me, but they weren’t about you, really. You were just… there.
I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Lexi. I forgave you the moment I saw that painting.”
Her breath hitched.
“You did?”
“I did,” I said, and I meant it.
It wasn’t just the painting that had changed my mind, it was the gnawing feeling that I had let something meaningful slip through my fingers because I was too afraid to face my pain. “And… well, I’ve been thinking… maybe we could start over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe we could talk. Maybe over dinner?
If you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” she said.
“I’d really like that.”
We made arrangements to meet in a few days. Lexi told me she’d used the money I gave her to buy new clothes and get a job.
She was planning to move into an apartment when she received her first paycheck.
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having dinner with Lexi again.
