Between Two Lungs

Two weeks later, Mae was barely getting any sleep. She kept waking up in the night from the terrors, falling into a habit of laying awake on her couch, watching the ceiling with a small tablet of E sitting on the tip of her tongue. She didn't know why the nightmares kept on coming back. The moment kept replaying in her mind, the look in Gabriel's eyes as the headlights drew closer.

She decided that she needed to get out of her apartment. She rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and put her paints and brushes away before snatching up her phone and heading out the door. She walked the fifteen minutes to Marc's apartment building and buzzed him through the intercom.

"Hello?"

"It's me," she said into the speaker. "Can I come up?"

"Sure, one second," he responded. She heard a click and a buzz, and the door became unlocked and she headed inside. It didn't take long for her to find herself in front of Marc's door.

He opened it and moved aside so she could come in. "Thanks," she said, scratching at the back of her head.

"Any reason why you're here?" he asked as they both shuffled across the carpeted floor to the living room. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," she said reassuringly. "I just needed to get out for a while."

Marc nodded. "How's the whole art show plan going so far?"

Mae plopped down on the leather sofa and glanced out the big picture window. "It's going pretty well," she shrugged. "Each of us have to pay eighty dollars to rent the space for two weeks to promote our work. But Gary says we need to each have thirty or more pieces to show or else we're going to scrap the whole idea."

"Thirty pieces?" Marc exclaimed. "Isn't that a bit...excessive?"

Mae let out a small yawn and felt her eyelids droop. She was exhausted, even though it was only two in the afternoon. "Well, a little bit, but Gary just wants to fill the entire floor, you know? And there's only five of us, and some of our work is smaller than others, so it won't be that much."

"How many pieces do you have so far?"

"Well," she thought, wracking her brain for a number. "I have a lot lying around in my apartment for sure, but not that many that I want to display. I think out of everything I have so far, I'd only want to show about twelve."

Marc smirked. "You'd better get a move on, then. When do they want to have the show?"

"I think March," Mae remarked. "Tourist season, you know?"

Marc nodded. Then Mae's cell phone was set off, the ring echoing through the large apartment. Mae grumbled slightly and pulled the phone out of her pocket, holding it up to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Sweetheart!" a delicate voice beamed from the other line. Mae groaned inwardly. "How's my baby?"

"Fine, Mom," she mumbled. Marc shot her a suspicious look and mouthed the word, 'What' to her. She just shrugged her shoulders with wide eyes. "Why are you calling? This is kind of...unexpected."

"Just wondering when you wanted to come home for Christmas," she replied. "You realize that it'll be December in a week."

"Who says I'm coming home for Christmas?" she said, sounding a bit defiant. "I don't want to have to take a bus all the way to Ohio just to be miserable for a week."

"You won't be miserable," she snapped. "You know that Christmas time is family time. It means a lot to your father and I for you to be there with us. You know that."

Mae bit her lip and let out a sigh. "I know Mom, but--"

"No buts," she interrupted. "Your father and I expect you to be home for Christmas. End of story."

"But I have so much to do here in New York!" she stammered. "Mom, I'm finally getting an art show ready with my friends and I need the time to finish all of my pieces!"

"When will you accept that being an...artist...has no place in the real world?" her mother sighed loudly. "You barely have enough money to pay for food, let alone the expensive supplies you need to do whatever it is that you do. And no one wants to buy paintings from some starving artist in New York City. There are hundreds of people in Manhattan just like you who want to make it big. What makes you so special that differentiates you from all the rest?"

Mae bit her lip and hugged her knees to her chest. "Mom, you're being unfair."

"I'm being realistic," she corrected. "Honey, I know it's not what you want to hear, but being an artist won't be able to give you the financial support that you need, especially in today's economy. Now, maybe if you went back to school--"

"Do not bring that up with me again or I will block your phone calls and you'll never hear back from me or see me ever again," Mae threatened. "I told you and Dad before. I don't want to be a doctor or a lawyer! And besides, I couldn't even if I wanted to! I didn't take the prerequisites that I needed in high school and I'm not about to start taking night courses when I've fully dedicated my time to my art show."

"Well, I can't control what you do," she said softly. "Just come home for Christmas. Your father misses you." And with that, she ended the call. Mae pulled the phone away from her ear and snapped it shut, tossing it across the room. It landed on the carpeted ground with a small thud.

"What was that all about?" Marc asked, playing with a loose thread in his shirt. "Problems with your parents?"

Mae exhaled shakily and ran a hand through her hair. "It's fine, my mom is just being her usual self," she explained. "It's not a big deal."

Marc looked her in the eye. "Are you sure?"

She looked up at him and forced a smile. "Yeah."

Then her cell phone rang again.

"I swear to God, if that's my mother," she seethed. "I'm gonna--"

Marc went over and picked the phone up off the floor. With an eyebrow cocked, he grinned and said, "It's not your mom. It's Jordan."

Mae narrowed her eyes and took the phone from Marc's outstretched hand. "Hello?"

"Guess where I am."

"You're not in the city, are you?"

"I am," he replied. She could just imagine his grin coming through from the other end of the line. "Can we meet up for coffee somewhere?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," she agreed, trying her best not to smile in front of Marc. "I'll meet you at the coffee shop on Avenue B, down the street from my apartment building. You remember where that is, right?"

"Is it...on Avenue B?" he asked, sounding unsure.

Mae laughed. "Yeah. Sorry, I know, I mentioned it before. I'll see you soon, I'm over at Marc's right now."

"Oh," Jordan said quietly. "Would you mind...not bringing him?"

"Uh," she glanced over at Marc, who just sat there with a smug look on his face. "Yeah, okay."

"Sounds good then," he replied. "See you soon?"

"Fifteen minutes," she confirmed. "Bye."

She pressed the 'End' button on her phone and slid it back into her pocket. Mae rose from her seat and played with a lock of her hair.

"I'll see you later, Marc," she waved before heading to the front door. "I've gotta go."

"Fine by me," he hollered as she was leaving, his smile unfaltering. "Give my best to my little brother."