“I’m here now, Mom. You wanted me to come home, and now I’m here.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t in my right mindset. You should have this time with your father.”

“He doesn’t want me.” I sat back in my chair and released a heavy sigh. “He told me he didn’t want me.”

“That’s a lie. He always wanted you. This is my fault,” she whispered, fidgeting with her fingers.

It didn’t matter anymore. He’d made his choice, and I’d made mine.

* * *

Later that night I had Denise drop me off at the cabin. I wanted to finally sleep in my own bed. She tried to talk me out of it, but she agreed after dropping off some groceries and things.

When I glanced at my cell phone, I saw new messages from Aria and opened them.

Aria: I wish I could’ve explained what you saw with James. He means nothing to me. I just want you to know that. You mean everything. I’m so sorry, Levi.

I knew that, and I knew Aria, but a part of me thought it would be easier to walk away than face the reasoning. I wouldn’t be back to Wisconsin any time soon, and it wasn’t really fair to ask her to wait around for me. Plus, she obviously had things to work out with James, and I was probably just getting in the way of that.

The distance was better for us, for her.

I was only clouding her judgment.

It was about time I awakened from the dream of Aria and me.

Aria: I – noun, often capitalized, often attributive \ˈī\ : Aria Lauren Watson.

Aria: Miss – verb \ˈmis\ : To feel the absence of.

Aria: You – pronoun | [yoo; unstressed yoo, yuh] : Levi Wesley Myers.

Miss you, too, Aria Lauren Watson.

But I couldn’t tell her that, even though it was true.

41 Aria

I texted Levi and waited. I took a shower, stared at my growing stomach, and I checked my phone. I practiced the air guitar, and then I checked my phone. I spoke to Mom and Dad about James, and then I checked my phone. I ate dinner, and then I checked my phone.

Over and over again, I checked my phone.

Over and over again, there was nothing to see.

My mind started wondering how much of Levi had been nothing more than a dream.

All I wanted to do was fall back asleep and find him again.

* * *

Thursday was my last visit to Dr. Ward before the New Year, and I really needed to sit across from him and talk about art. I hadn’t spoken to James since Christmas. I wasn’t even sure where to start. Mom told me I shouldn’t say anything to Keira and Paul until James and I spoke to one another.

Dr. Ward’s candy bowl was filled with red and green chocolate M&Ms, and I ate all of them within the first ten minutes.

“So what’s on your mind, Aria?”

It was funny how I’d come to love those words.

“Gustave Courbet. He was a French painter who pretty much led the beginning of the realism movement. When he was asked to paint angels, his response was, ‘I have never seen angels. Show me an angel, and I will paint one.’ Mr. Courbet and I had very different views when it came to art. He believed that one should only paint what they could see with their eyes, and I believed that art should be from the heart and soul.”

“Believed? Do you not believe that anymore?”

“I want to, but each passing day realism is showing me its appeal. It represents life truthfully, without hidden meanings, without doubt and questions being seen from any angle. It’s just real. It’s exactly what it needs to be. It makes me embarrassed a little that I’ve only focused on abstract. Maybe Gustave Courbet was right.”

“Bullshit,” Dr. Ward said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m calling bullshit.”

“What?”

“Why does it have to be one or the other? The opposite of real isn’t abstract. The opposite of real is fake. Abstract can be real, and it can hold more truth in it than anything else. You taught me that. Abstract art can be as true as realistic art, as long as it finds the courage to speak its colors into the world with genuine honesty.”

“But what if abstract’s truth hurts someone else in the process?” I asked.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. His fingers clasped together. “One truth stings far less than a thousand lies.”

42 Aria

“We can’t keep him, James.” I sat beside him on his porch swing, watching as my truth stung his soul.

He repeatedly tapped his fingers against his jeans. “We can do this, Aria. I know it will be hard, but we can do this.”

I shook my head. “That’s not true.”

“Why? Why can’t we do this? Why can’t we have him?”

“We don’t get what we want anymore. We don’t make choices for ourselves. Everything we do is for him. Every choice we make is to give him a better life. So, we don’t get to keep the baby.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would mean we were going after our own selfish wants and needs. For him we have to be selfless. For him, we have to let go. You and I would never be a couple, James. If we were, we would hate each other. Do you really want to raise a kid like that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Keira and Paul are already amazing parents. It’s not like the baby is going to someone we don’t know. I’ve known them my whole life, and they are good people. They’ll love him. He’ll be safe and loved.”

The porch swing squeaked as he and I swayed back and forth on it. The chilled night sky was sprinkled with stars, and he stared at them as if trying to make a wish on each one.