Between Two Lungs

The evening of the gala had finally arrived. Mae was holed up in Jordan's guest room attempting to get ready on her own.

"Ugh, you'd think that since I'm so good at painting, I'd be able to decently do my own makeup," she groaned in frustration, wiping a squiggled line from her eye yet again. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Vero's number for backup.

In a matter of minutes, Mae heard a knock at the front door. Jordan got up, knowing that Mae wanted her appearance to be kept a surprise, and answered the door. Unlike Mae, he didn't need an extra-long time to get ready. All he needed to do was put on his suit and walk out the door.

"Where's the patient?" Vero inquired, poking her head into the apartment.

"Bathroom, down the hall to the right," Jordan told her, returning to the couch to watch Dexter. Ever since he'd seen the show for the first time at Mae's apartment, he was hooked.

Marc-André followed behind Vero and sat next to Jordan on the couch holding two garments in their protective zippered bags.

"What's up, Flower?" Jordan asked. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."

Marc-André shrugged. "Well, you know, Vero thought that since we're going to be cutting it pretty close time-wise, we should all just get ready here."

"Fine by me," Jordan nodded. He reached over and held out a plastic bowl. "Want some chips?"

Meanwhile, Vero headed over to the bathroom and threw the door open. "Ma petite, put down the lid on the toilet and have a seat," she commanded. Mae did as she was told and sat down as Vero rifled through the makeup bag she brought with her. "What colour do you want for your eyes?"

Mae shrugged. "Blue maybe?"

"Blue would look good with the colour of your irises," Vero agreed. "But first, we must start with the base. Foundation, powder, blush. Maybe even bronzer. You're kind of paper-like."

"Foundation, powder, blush, bronzer?" Mae repeated. "In that order?"

Vero laughed. "Maybe it would be better if I just did your makeup and explained later."

Soon Mae's makeup was all finished and Vero moved on to her hair. She took the time to curl it and added a few bejeweled berets to one side to give it an asymmetrical look.

"My work here is done," she said at last. "Look at yourself in the mirror."

Mae got up and walked over to meet her reflection. She was amazed at herself. Her already ashen face looked even more like porcelain than before, and Vero gave her a smokey-eyed look, matched with bright red lipstick.

"Wow," she breathed. "Vero, you're a miracle worker."

"Oh, please," she grinned. "Go put on your dress. It's my turn to get ready."

Mae left the bathroom and went back to her own quarters to put on the dress that had been waiting for her sprawled out on her bed. She quickly changed into it and even managed to zip herself up on her own. Then she took a deep breath and walked out into the living room where she found Jordan and Marc-André already in their suits.

The moment Jordan saw Mae, he was breathless. He rose to his feet and walked over to her, gently pecking her on the lips so that he didn't smudge her makeup.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he whispered into her ear.

She smiled up at him and adjusted his tie. "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

"I told you I clean up pretty well," he announced proudly. Mae just rolled her eyes as Vero emerged all dolled up and fabulous. They all left the apartment together and headed over to the gala.

* * * * *

The banquet hall where the charity event was being hosted looked more like a palace than a modern building. Mae was at a complete loss for words as she and Jordan set foot inside. Mae had sent her art pieces to Dan Bylsma, who helped set up and organize the art show for her.

There was a separate room with pure white walls and a lower ceiling and special spotlights where Mae's artwork was on display. Jordan kissed her on the cheek and said, "I have to go be with the team for publicity stuff. I'll meet you back here later?"

"Yeah," she nodded as he waved and went to the other room where there was a man giving a speech up by a fancy glass podium.

Mae went into the room where her artwork was being kept and beamed with pride. People were filtering in and out, examining each piece closely and whispering comments to themselves. She was approached by several people, a few of them inquiring about sales.

"How much is that one?" an elderly lady asked, pointing to one of the close-up portraits of Gabe. "The one of the little boy with the light in his eyes."

"Three hundred," Mae replied shortly. She tried to sound as courteous as she could, but even though she had made all of those pieces to sell, she still felt attached to anything that reminded her of her little brother.

"I'll take it," she said, pulling a cheque book out of her purse. "Who do I write this out to?"

"Mae Bennett," Mae answered. "M-a-e, B-e-n-n-e-t-t."

"Thank you, sweetheart," the old lady smiled, the wrinkles around the corners of her eyes becoming much more prominent. "I'll cherish this just as you did."

Mae took the check from her hands and put it in her own purse. "Thank you so much. You can come pick it up after the show."

The woman nodded and wandered off somewhere. Mae took one of the pens that was being used to sign the guestbook and wrote on the card next to Gabe's large portrait, 'SOLD'.

"How is everything going?" Vero asked, popping into the room.

"Great," Mae said enthusiastically. "I never expected my first art show to be so...posh. And not to mention the fact that I've already sold five paintings and two drawings."

Vero smiled and nodded her head. Then she asked, "Do you ever feel sad? Selling your work?"

Mae sighed, wondering how it was that Vero could read her mind the way she did. "I always do." Mae looked around the white room, at all the people who were looking at her paintings and framed drawings. How they would squint their eyes at the brush strokes, or marvel at the array of colours on the canvas. "My artwork is my rawest form. Every time I produce something, it becomes a part of me. And every time I sell one of my paintings or drawings, it's like I'm letting a little piece of me go."

"How old were you when you started selling your work?"

"Eighteen."

"And how old are you now?"

"Twenty-one."

"Three years of giving pieces of yourself away," Vero commented. "No wonder Jordan said that you were broken."

Mae looked over at Vero curiously. "Jordan told you about my past?"

"He had to," she explained. "He wanted me to help you. He told me about your situation with your parents. How you never really had a mom. And even though I'm not that much older than you," she joked, "I figured I could help you out."

In the past, Mae would have gotten angry that Jordan had told someone her secrets. But now, all she felt was relief. Relief that she could let people know without feeling ashamed because it was those moments that had helped her exist.

"Thanks for everything, Vero," Mae said quietly. "Thanks for understanding."

"No problem," she replied, giving Mae a sideways hug. "I'm going to go check on Marc-André. I'll see you in a little bit."

They said their brief goodbyes and Mae went back to overseeing her art show. As the evening progressed, people started leaving the gala. Mae had sold over half of her pieces, leaving only ten remaining in her possession. She was about to start taking her work down from the walls when she heard a voice call from behind her.

"Pretty impressive art show."

Mae turned to see who it was. She felt a lump form in her throat and managed to stutter out, "M-Marc?"

Marc walked up to Mae with his hands in his pockets. She still couldn't believe that he was standing in front of her, dressed for the occasion. Immediately, she ignored the painting hanging on the wall and engulfed Marc in a huge hug. She didn't want to let him go.

"What are you doing in Pittsburgh?" she asked when she finally backed away from him.

He looked down at the little girl who had transformed into a woman seemingly overnight. "Jordan called me," he explained. "He told me that you were going to be having your own art show at a charity even hosted by the Pittsburgh Penguins. I couldn't miss that."

Mae bit her lip. "Can I ask why?"

Marc titled his head to the side. "To tell you the truth, back home, I was lonely," he confessed. "Being at my apartment by myself, knowing that I couldn't go over to your place to talk or watch cartoons, it just made me...sad. Don't get me wrong, I'm still upset about what happened with you and Jordan, but I guess...I guess that I just care more about us being friends again than trying to ignore you for the rest of my life."

Mae smiled. "Learning to let go?"

"Slowly but surely," he answered.

Mae giggled a bit. "That's one of the first things they teach you at Narcotics Anonymous," she told him. "Let the past be in the past. Take life one day at a time."

"Good advice," he concurred. Marc ran a hand through his hair. "So, how long has it been since you've given up the drugs?"

"Closing in on eighty days," Mae smiled. "I know it doesn't seem like that much, but--"

"Don't be ridiculous," Marc cut her off. "Eighty days is huge."

Mae smiled. "Thanks, Marc."

Just then, Jordan walked over, his tie undone, hanging loosely from his collar. "Hey, guys," he greeted, giving his brother a hug. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"I did," Marc confirmed. "It was nice to finally see Mae's work getting appreciated in a public setting."

Mae looked between the two brothers a few times. She couldn't wipe the smile off of her face for a second. "Does this mean that we're all good?"

Marc chuckled and Jordan smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Yeah," Marc concluded. "I think so."

Mae's smile grew even wider and she pulled both boys in for a group hug. Squished between the two giant brothers, she let out a genuine laugh. "Thank you both so much," she said.

"For what?" Jordan asked.

"For helping me let go."