All of It (25 page)

Just as Dimitri finishes his lunch, Sunny returns. She walks in the room with two buckets of paint in each hand and her keychain in her mouth. Dimitri jumps up and takes the paint from her and sets the buckets on the table.

“Thanks D.,” she says as she takes the keys from her mouth. As she turns to close the door, she claps her hands in delight and gasps, her eyes wide with excitement. “The painting’s done!” She pushes past him and into the front room for the unveiling. “Let me see it! Let me see it!” Sunny is one of those rare people who never lost her childish innocence or wonderment. It’s one of her most endearing qualities.

Dimitri drags his feet to prolong her agony. Her unbridled pride in everything her sons do embarrasses him, but I know that deep down, he loves it, too.

“Close your eyes,” he orders Sunny. He unwraps the painting carefully, but the painstaking process drives his mother crazy.

She practically stomps her foot in anticipation. “Oh D., hurry! I can’t wait!”

I’m standing behind her, trying not to laugh at her impatience.

Dimitri does laugh, and says, “Okay, before you wet your pants, open your eyes.”

Sunny puts down her hands and gasps, “Oh, D. it’s beautiful. It’s just perfect.”

Dimitri rolls his eyes. “You say that every time, Mom.”

She kisses him on the cheek. “That’s because they always
are
beautiful and perfect, my talented boy.”

As she steps back, I finally catch a glimpse of the entire painting, and cannot help but gasp, myself. Dimitri reflexively reaches for my arm. “What’s wrong, Ronnie?”

I shake my head slowly. “Nothing … it
is
beautiful.” And it is. It’s an abstract painting. The black background is so soft it appears to glow. Black shouldn’t glow, but it does. It’s contrasted against sexy shades of purple and blue boldly applied in a deliberately haphazard fashion that lends to the overall highly sensuous vibe, the dominant versus the submissive. I’m at a loss for words. “It’s just … really … beautiful,” I say quietly.

Dimitri accepts the compliment humbly with a sincere nod of thanks.

The moment feels intimate, even with Sunny in the room. His paintings are so revealing, and the style so distinct and entirely his own. He pours his soul into each of them and it radiates back out at its audience—raw and unforgiving, yet somehow … pure.

The three of us stay in the office and work until the work is done, which is just after seven-thirty that evening. Sunny leaves after thanking me for the five-hundredth time. And then Dimitri and I are alone in her studio. The sun is beginning to set outside and though I’m a little hungry, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave
him
. Not even for a second. Time with him, especially alone, is precious. I’ll never take it for granted again.

As I put away the last of the paint buckets and brushes and am clearing off the worktable, Dimitri breaks the silence. He’s examining his painting on the other side of the room. “Do you really like the painting?”

I stop what I’m doing and rest my back against the table turning to face him. “Are you kidding?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m just asking for some honest criticism.”

“I don’t like it … I
love
it. Why do you even have to ask? You are so, so talented. Don’t you see that?”

He smiles half-heartedly. “Not every painting is a masterpiece, Ronnie. I think you’re a little biased.”

“Maybe I am, but you obviously have no idea how special they are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

It takes me a moment, but I close my eyes, push any internal censors aside, and speak from my heart. “I don’t know how to describe the way I feel when I look at your paintings,” I begin, trying to find the right words to continue. My eyes still closed as I bite my lip in thought. “They’re … provocative … verging on carnal. Not the subject necessarily, it’s just your tremendously passionate style. Something about the colors you choose. The way they work together … while fighting against each other. Harmony in the throes of agony. It’s always sexy … so much so that in a way you should feel somewhat violated when people are done viewing your paintings. Looking at your paintings is an almost interactive and highly personal experience that leaves one slightly out of breath, yet aching … just short … of fully satisfied.” I open one eye and risk a peek at him.

He’s standing directly in front of me. His eyes are burning, no hint of a smile. “That’s quite descriptive for a virgin.” He twines his fingers with mine, one hand and then the other. “Painting is very emotional and very … physical for me … the perfect outlet for pent-up desires.” He flexes his arms sharply and pulls my body abruptly against his.

I gasp; it takes my already shallow breath away. My face is against his chest. I inhale, taking in the faint scent of cologne on his shirt. As I look up he’s already looking down at me and our lips brush. My voice is low, rough. “Pent-up desires?” I’ve picked up his habit of making questions sound more like statements.

He’s pinned me against the long table in the center of the room. The heat of his body radiates through my clothes. His lips lightly graze mine as he answers, “In a sense, painting is quite … satisfying.” He reaches behind me and clears the table with a quick stroke of his forearm. Bolts of fabric roll off and across the floor. “You …” he starts to say as his strong, fast hands pick me up by the waist and place me on the table directly in front of him. His hands come to rest on my straddled thighs as his forehead touches mine, “… are mind-blowing.” We reach for each other’s faces at that exact moment and collide.

My head spins. He takes a commanding lead, but I enthusiastically keep up. The months apart have fueled an explosive reunion. We act without restraint. Clothing is removed ravenously piece by piece. Lips are hungry. Fingertips explore, one moment light as a feather and the next commanding and willful, finding places on my body that trigger spasms of pleasure—places that I’d never expect: the skin beneath my ear, the inside of my wrist, and crease of my thigh. Touch has never been so affecting.

In the end, virtue remains scarcely intact, but the moment is no less life changing and magical.

I dress quickly and sit down on the sofa. My heart is still flying, but my breathing has returned to normal. He’s buttoning his shirt slowly, watching me. A hint of his mischievous smile plays at the corners of his mouth. His face is flush and his hair is rumpled, but he looks beautiful in an entirely new way.

He kneels down silently on the floor in front of me, a look of undeniable adoration in his eyes. His voice sounds different too, more mature, older. “Ronnie, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” No truer words have ever been spoken.

Life is sometimes … mind-blowing.

Dimitri and I are virtually inseparable after that night. He visits me at Sunny’s office almost every afternoon, and we do homework together almost every evening. Well, I do homework while he sits with me. He says that homework is a waste of time and assures me that with his amazing memory he’s the ultimate test-taker. A passing grade is perfectly acceptable to him. He’s looking past high school to the real world that awaits us on the other side. For him, that means his art.

Dimitri has made the decision to forego college and pursue his blossoming career as an artist. Who can blame him? Galleries are beginning to request showings, his paintings are selling for thousands of dollars each, and clients are lining up at his door. I find all of this out from Sunny naturally; Dimitri though exceedingly confident is equally as humble. He doesn’t brag and even when I ask he downplays the degree of his success.

I, on the other hand—born with no innate and freakishly obvious talent—have decided college is my best avenue to success. At my parent’s urging, I’m all set to attend the University of Colorado at Boulder in the fall. I’m nervous, but I allow myself to feel some excitement as well. I’ve earned a partial scholarship and have saved up some extra money to help supplement the college fund my parent’s set up. As long as I can live at home and continue to work while I attend school, then financially everything should work out without the necessity of taking out any major student loans—at least for the first couple of years.

A week before graduation, Teagan moves out of our house to live with his aunt. She’s letting him use her extra car to commute back and forth to get to school and to his job. We’re sad to part ways, but we’re both relieved. Sharing a bathroom with him was utterly disgusting and I’m glad to have it back to myself. And his huge appetite meant that there was never anything left in the refrigerator worth eating. He wasn’t all bad though. I imagine it’s like losing a sibling. I’d grown so used to his snoring at night that it’s hard to fall asleep in silence now. I bought a fan and the white noise seems to help. Teagan is even beginning to treat Dimitri differently. The tense, ready-for-a-fight aura is gone and he’s much more relaxed around him. There’s a reason behind his behavior, though, and her name is Andi. She’s sweet and innocent and nice … and not at all Teagan’s type. Which means she’s
perfect
for him. They’ve been dating for a couple of weeks. He met her at a soccer clinic. He confided in me that he isn’t going to rush things with her, even though it’s killing him to be a gentleman. He
really
likes her. I think it’s changing him for the better. He’s still Teagan, but he seems more focused and gentler. I couldn’t be happier for him and I have to admit it’s a relief to have the focus taken off of me. We have a healthy friendship again.

Graduation isn’t as climatic as I’d always envisioned it would be. The ceremony is
long
—unnecessarily long—and the speeches sound methodical in both content and delivery. I imagine they’ve been regurgitated, with very little variation, by thousands of people, at thousands of schools throughout modern history. The only real gratification the afternoon holds is the look on my parents’ faces after I receive my diploma. I have no other family members, so my parents are my only relatives in attendance. My mom is crying, which is to be expected, and they both look as if they could, quite literally, burst with pride. I’ll remember the look on their faces—those looks of pure joy—for the rest of my life.

After the ceremony, my mom takes dozens of photos of me with friends and classmates in our black graduation gowns. We’re all there: Teagan and Tate, Monica, John, Piper, and of course, Dimitri.

Due to our lack of extended family, rather than hosting a graduation party for me, my mom conspired with Sunny to plan a joint party honoring me and Dimitri. The party is held at Sunny’s house. She claims she’s going to keep it simple, but I know better, simple is not in her vocabulary—it’s over-the-top. It looks more like a wedding than a graduation. A huge white tent is set up in the driveway with very formal looking decorations on the tables. Pedro’s restaurant caters the late afternoon lunch, turning me into an enthusiastic glutton.

At the party, there are over one hundred attendees: fellow graduates, Dimitri’s family from Wyoming and Texas, and a wild horde of Sebastian’s friends. My parents stay for a few hours, eating and mingling, before heading out on their vacation to the long awaited Cubs game in Chicago. They’re driving, rather than flying, and my dad wants to get a few hundred miles behind them tonight so that they’ll have more time to spend when they arrive in Chicago.

My parents depart just before twilight falls. And the adults begin moving into the house. That’s when the real fun begins. We clear all the tables to the outside perimeter of the tent and turn it into an impromptu dance floor. Sebastian acts as deejay and is quick to lure everyone out onto the dance floor. Predictably, someone has snuck in a bottle of booze. It’s a plastic bottle of Smirnoff, passed around freely in between swinging hips and clapping hands. When it comes to me, I take a discreet gulp, coughing as it burns down my throat. Dimitri holds up a hand to decline, and passes it along. Despite the liquor, no one gets belligerent and no one gets sick. Liquid courage does incite a few harmless dares, a few declarations of unrequited love, and a few stolen kisses. But for the most part there’s just a lot of silliness, a lot of laughing, and a lot of memories made.

As Dimitri drives me home I run the past several hours through my mind and can’t help but smile. Dimitri catches me and asks thoughtfully, “What are you thinking about?”

I turn my tired head that is nestled heavily against the headrest of what Dimitri affectionately refers to as “Ronnie’s seat” in his Porsche to face him. My mind is fuzzy, but not from the vodka (that buzz wore off an hour ago); just from a long, fun, happy day. He’s smiling through heavy, exhausted eyes.

“I was just thinking that this is one of those days that I will probably remember for the rest of my life. Not because I graduated, but because I got to spend it with all of the most important people in my life. It’s a rare moment in time when the planets align and your favorite people are all gathered in one place simultaneously experiencing pure happiness. I’ve been blessed, and I want to make sure I don’t forget the details. My life has taken incredible twists and turns these past few months, but now … now I would say it’s just about perfect.”

The smile widens and he laughs quietly.

“What? It was a really great night, right?”

He concedes with a nod. “It was. I’m not disagreeing. Leave it to you to get philosophical on me at four-thirty in the morning. I can barely focus on the road and you’re pondering life’s finer moments. That’s one of the things I love about you. You never stop thinking do you?”

“Nope, only when I sleep. Wait … no, not even then.” With that I let out a wide yawn.

He pulls into my driveway and leaves the car running while he gets out and comes around to open my door. He takes my hand and helps me out, and we walk slowly to the back door of my parent’s house. He strokes my hair as I rummage through my bag for my keys. With some effort I finally locate them.

His arms wind around my waist from behind as I open the door, effectively trapping me. I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck and it raises goose bumps all over my body.