Between Two Lungs

"So, what do you do for a living?" Jordan asked Mae as all three of them sat together at a local coffee shop in downtown Manhattan. "Marc talks about you a lot, but he never really explained to me what it is that you do."

Mae shrugged, tapping her fingers against the wooden table. "I'm an artist."

Jordan nodded, looking extremely interested. "What kind of an artist? Like a commercial artist, graphic designer...?"

"Nothing like that," she laughed, shaking her head. "I don't think that my artwork is the kind of stuff that people would want to use for advertisements. I just sell my paintings to whoever is willing to buy them for ridiculous prices. And I'm trying to open a gallery with a few friends."

"She's really good," Marc confirmed. "You should see the kind of portraits she paints, Jord. They're just like photographs."

"Impressive," he grinned. "Would there ever be a chance that I'd get to see them?"

Mae sipped her latte and gave a nod. "I don't see why not. We can swing by my apartment if you want, once we're all done here."

"Yeah, let's drag Jordan over to your dark abyss," Marc declared in a chipper tone. "Maybe he'll agree with me that you live in a coffin and it'll give you incentive to move somewhere nicer."

"I have a sliding metal door," Mae responded very seriously. "What more could you possibly want?"

"Windows that don't have metal caging on them?" he offered. Mae just rolled her eyes.

"That's so I won't get robbed."

"If you lived somewhere classier, then you wouldn't have to worry about getting robbed."

"Oh, please, Marc. We live in New York City."

"Um," Jordan spoke up. "I'm done with my coffee. I'd really like to see your stuff, if that's still okay..."

Mae sent Marc a smug look. "Not a problem."

* * * * *

Marc parked his car in front of Mae's apartment building and she fished through her pocket for her keys. She felt extremely little compared to the two six-foot-plus brothers, standing at five-two, but managed to hide her awkwardness as she unlocked the front door to the building.

"Be careful, this entrance is a bit low. You might hit your head," she warned as she stepped inside. Jordan and Marc both ducked their heads as they followed after her. The elevator, which had probably never worked in the building's entire lifetime, still carried the "Out of Order" sign with great pride. Mae chuckled at it and motioned for the brothers to follow her up the two flights of stairs.

The apartment building that Mae lived in was made in a very peculiar way. It used to be an industrial building for the manufacturing of something that she wasn't aware of, but she was thankful for all the space. She walked over to the sliding metal door and unlocked it before pulling on the handle and to make way for Jordan and Marc.

"Well, this is it," she declared, ushering them inside.

"It's bigger than I thought it would be," Jordan commented. "Cool."

"It's a loft apartment," she explained. "Used to be an industrial building, but then it was renovated into an apartment building. There's only five floors and every floor has one apartment. I'm pretty close with my neighbours, needless to say."

Jordan nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets. He wandered about, looking at the paintings an drawings that Mae had strewn all over the place. He walked over to something in particular that caught his eye. "What's this?"

Mae blushed deeply and let her scarlet hair fall in front of her face. "That's my quote wall."

"Quote wall?" he repeated, looking at the giant tack board with different things pinned to it. There were cue cards, scraps of paper, folded origami pieces, and even napkins and cardboard chunks that had quotes written all over them. "Do you gather quotes from famous people and put them on the wall?"

"Sometimes," she said quietly, running a hand along the tack board's wooden frame. "And sometimes I just write down things that people around me say. Like this one, from my homeless friend down on Avenue A."

She unstuck one of the quotes that was written on a napkin.

"'Never forget that life is beautiful.' I wrote it on a napkin because that's all I could find. But just think about it...for a homeless man, a destitute person living on the streets, to say that life is still beautiful...it's just incredible." She looked up at Jordan and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I guess it's sort of dumb, right?"

"That's not dumb at all," he responded softly. She looked up into his blue eyes and felt her cheeks heat up again. From a few feet away, Marc cleared his throat.

"Hey Jordan, maybe we should get going," he called. "Won't your team be looking for you?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, probably."

"Oh," Mae said, sounding a bit hurt. "Well, I'll be seeing you around then, I guess."

He gave her a smile and nodded. Then it looked like an idea dawned on his face. "Hey, would you mind if I bought one of your pieces for my apartment back in Pittsburgh?" he asked. "The walls are looking kind of bare."

Mae laughed. "Uh, yeah, of course," she agreed. "Pick out whichever one you want."

Jordan looked around the room again as Marc leaned against the door looking slightly impatient. Mae wouldn't make eye contact with him. Finally, he stopped roaming and held up a canvas with a painting of a little boy with scruffy black hair holding a red balloon. "How much for this one?"

Mae felt her eyes water slightly when she saw it, but quickly regained composure and cleared her throat. "Well, that one took me two weeks to finish," she said mostly to herself as she made the calculations in her head. "And I really love that piece...would two fifty be okay?"

"I was expecting you to say more than that, so sure," Jordan laughed. "I think I might actually have that much cash on me right now."

"Man, you're a target for a robbery," Marc joked as Jordan pulled out two one hundred dollar bills and two twenties and a ten from his wallet. "What would Mom say if all that cash got stolen?"

"Good thing Mom's not here, isn't it?" Jordan smirked, handing Mae the cash. "Thanks, Mae."

"No, thank you," she smiled. "Have a safe trip back to Pittsburgh."

"I'm going to warm up the car, okay, Jord?" Marc said. "I'll meet you downstairs." Jordan nodded and Marc disappeared. He turned to face Mae again and looked around a bit awkwardly.

"So, hey..." he started, holding the medium-sized canvas in one hand. "Do you think maybe...I could get your number? So that next time I'm in New York, we can maybe hang out?"

Mae nibbled on her lip for a second, but then finally agreed. "Okay." She scribbled down her number on a piece of scrap notebook paper and handed it to him. "Don't be a stranger."

"Thanks," he smiled, walking towards the door. "And thanks again for the painting. It really is amazing."

"Don't mention it," she replied, waving sightly. "Just take good care of it, okay?"

"Absolutely," Jordan said. He pulled on the sliding door and called out, "Bye, Mae."

The door closed and stared at the spot where he once stood. Speaking to the wind, she mumbled, "Bye, Jordan." She looked down at the wad of cash in her hand. Ordinarily, when she would sell a painting, she would save a certain amount for groceries, some for art supplies, and the rest would go to feed her addiction. But for some reason, it didn't seem right to spend Jordan's money on a fix.

She walked to her room and placed the money in her grandmother's old jewelry case. There was something about Jordan that she couldn't quite place; something about the intensity in his eyes that both frightened and intrigued her at the same time.

Her cell phone buzzing on the night stand by her bed made her shake the thoughts of Jordan out of her mind, but not for long. She picked it up and saw that she had an unread message from a number she didn't know. She flipped it open and read the message in her inbox.

Is it strange that I miss you already?

Thirty seconds later, another one came.

It's Jordan, by the way.

Mae laughed as her thumbs flew over the keypad as she replied to his message.

You don't have to miss me. I'm not the one who's going anywhere anytime soon.