Pictures and Some Memories

I closed my MacBook Pro with a satisfied smile on my face, unable to contain my excitement. "It's done," I told Carly, turning in my desk chair to face her. She was currently reviewing her bank statement, a look of annoyance on her face as she carefully went over every purchase.

"You're no longer allowed to let me spend five hundred bucks at Anthropologie in one trip again," she said dryly, ignoring my smiling face.

"You have a point, but, you now have the best velvet duvet cover and a matching armchair, so I think that purchase was worth the money."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "What's done?" She finally addressed me, changing the subject from her lowered savings.

"I bought my tickets for California!" I squealed. "God, I can't wait to go back!"

"How does Loverboy feel about that?" She asked, smirking when I glared at the nickname her own boyfriend had given Larkin.

"He, uh, doesn't know yet..." I murmured softly, avoiding her eyes.

"Andi!" she exclaims in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, don't you dare give me that look! It's not like I've waited until a week before or anything."

"No, you've just fucked around for an entire month instead of telling him," she muttered. "Why do you keep shit like this from him? This is why he obsesses over you, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "We've both been busy lately, Carly... But, we're going out tonight. I'll tell him then."

"You better," she urged. "Jesus, this is almost as bad as when you were trying to tell you parents you wouldn't be home for Christmas."

I started to snicker, and she finally joined, the memory a hilarious moment during one of the most awkward periods of my life. It'd been right after I had formed my friendship with Carly and Alex, right before the first tour we all embarked on. I had been pacing around our dorm room for hours, trying to gain the courage to call my father and stepmother. Finally, the last possible day to notify them of my absence at the dinner table the 25th arrived, and I hadn't called. So, what does Carly do? As soon as she caught the moment, she grabbed my cell phone off of my nightstand, dials their number, then thrusts the phone into my hand as soon as my father answered, forcing the call to occur. Years later, I was obviously grateful for her intervention-- however, I still couldn't believe I was so nervous about telling them something so simple, which, still hadn't changed.

"You always need a little bit of a push," she giggled. "It's a good thing I'm happy to help you, though. Do you want me to write you a few cue cards? I have some killer lines I've been wanting you to say to him lately."

Now, it was time to roll my eyes, but my reaction was nothing more than playful. "No, but, thank you. I'm just going to his place to see tonight. I can just tell him there."

"If you say so," she replied. "But if you come through that door without telling him, I'm grounding you myself."

I snorted as I emerged into our shared loft space upstairs from the small room we used as our office. Her keyboard, acoustic, and favorite electric guitars were all neatly against her side of the space, and her desk was free of any clutter, or any sign of songwriting that she'd been doing lately. Meanwhile, I could see the chaos that was my side. The mess was mainly supplies that were strewn around the room-- an empty coffee holding paintbrushes, another filled with pencils and pens, a number of boxes filled to the max with paints of various kinds. Only a couple of pieces remained in here, soon to be hung up and critiqued by myself and Larkin in assessing if I needed to work more or if they were complete. Still, my space looked like a disaster, while Carly's was neat and organized.

Maybe it has something to do with our personalities, I thought for a second. Carly had her life pretty much figured out; she already knew that she would marry Alex someday, that one day soon she'd move in with him in Baltimore and only visit New York on tour; she knew that she would soon start her own label and open a recording studio, perhaps even go as far as having her own solo career.

Meanwhile, I had no idea what I was really doing with my life anymore. Obviously, I was touring and maintaining my art career, but... I felt stuck, like I had maybe gotten a little bit too used to my routine. I craved change, but I also craved simplicity. I didn't know where my future with Larkin was headed, either. One day, we'd be smiling and loving, the next we'd be at each other's throats over something so ridiculous and small that it was always an embarrassing thought afterward. It wasn't as if I didn't picture a long life with him, either. I could picture eventually moving in with him, adopting a dog, all of the simple things. But those daydreams were so fuzzy and temporary that I wasn't sure if anything was right.

I was, however, kicking myself for not telling him sooner. My stomach absolutely hummed with anxiety and anticipation all because I'd procrastinated. I knew he trusted me, and I also learned that he wanted to meet my friends and family back on the West Coast, so what was I afraid of? I hadn't had a clue.

"Number 234," the man working the rickety register at my favorite hole in the wall restaurant called. His wrinkled face brightened a bit when he noticed that it was me, and not another snotty brat that frequented the place.

"Andi, my girl! Long time, no see!" He says, giving me a paternal smile. Ezra had worked at this place longer than my father had been alive-- and my dad was pushing into his fifties now. "Where has my favorite customer been?"

"Touring this beautiful country, as always," I replied brightly, the bundle of nerves in my stomach loosening. "I actually got you something!"

I opened my large white Betsey Johnson fringe purse and pulled out the small glass tulip figurine delicately, passing it over the counter to him. "To remember your father," I said quietly as he admired the work of art. I'd gotten it in the UK at a studio that I had visited on one of our days off, where I found an old woman who was sculpting red tulips out of colored glass in remembrance of soldiers whose lives were taken by the cruelty of war. I remembered Ezra telling me one day during a harsh snowstorm that he lost his father when he was 17 years old, right after they'd just opened the restaurant, his lifelong dream. It was end of World War II, and he hadn't heard a word from James in months. Ever since they found out the horrible news, Ezra worked to keep this business open, whether it was fighting the city for his small, cramped location, or working through the recessions that plagued America. No matter what, Ezra kept his father's dream alive, with the help of his family and friends. It was only him, his brother, Matthew, and Ezra's wife Julia left, but the three worked together like a strong unit nonetheless.

Anyway, I had admired Ezra for all of the work that he had out in to keep his father's legacy alive, so I made sure to purchase one for him as well as myself and my grandmother. They may have been a hefty 75 bucks, but it was worth it already just by seeing the gratitude on Ezra's face.

"Andria, I can't believe this..." He murmured, tears in his eyes. Suddenly, he walks around the counter and pulls me into a warm embrace, startling the line of customers behind me. "You're a beautiful human being, did you know that? Thank you."

I chuckled. "You're very welcome, Ezra. I'm glad you like it."

"So, what'll it be? It's on me tonight," he says as he returns to the register.

"Ezra--"I began to protest, but he shushed me instead.

"I insist," he says sternly, and I finally gave in.

"I just need my usual order of your marvelous shrimp scampi and an order of the Bolognese pasta for my boyfriend," I told him, giving a small smile of gratitude.

"Ah, is that why you're all dressed up?" He asked with a sly grin. "Julia, come look at Andi, she's got a hot date tonight!"

I rolled my eyes as his wife raced in from the kitchen, and she gave me a once over. "I swear, she gets more beautiful as time passes. Andi, how are you, dear?"

"I'm great, and you?" I asked as I walked away from the register, afraid to hold up the line any longer.

"Just taking care of that old man over there." She nodded in the direction of Ezra, who now went into double time in order to make his next customer happy. "What's with the outfit?Is Larkin taking you out someplace nice?"

I looked down at my simple black skater dress, boots, and leather jacket and shrugged. "If you call discussing my next gallery someplace nice, then, yes."

"Oooh! Be sure to tell us as soon as you set a date! I'm sure Ezra will want another one of your works," she says with a smile. "Oh, it's so great to see you again!"

"You, too, Julia," I said softly as Matthew finished my order. She retrieved it and wrapped everything carefully before she delivered it to my waiting hands.

"Have a good night, Andi! Don't be afraid to drop by!" She called after me.

I sighed. I could only hope I'd be getting the better side of Larkin tonight. I quickly flagged down a cab and chewed on my lip as I endured the traffic ridden ride to Manhattan from my neighborhood in Brooklyn.

"Hey, miss..." the driver says as I start to collect my things after paying the fare. "I don't want to sound rude or anything, but, I think your lipstick is messed up.."

I catch my reflection in the screen of my iPhone and sigh. Yep, the Pink Mocha lipcolor I was wearing had been smudged due to my nervousness. I quietly thanked him with cheeks as red as my hair and fixed it before I walked into Larkin's building, nearly bumping into a tall blonde woman in the process. I let out another sigh and hoped I could pull some grace out of my ass soon, because I was 0-2 right now.

"Andi!" Larkin greeted me brightly, placing a hungry kiss onto my lips. I noticed that he'd just gotten out of the shower, since his hair was still wet and a few droplets had gotten onto his crisp white vneck t-shirt. "Did you get dressed up for me?"

"Maybe," I replied with a smirk. Maybe this won't be so bad, since he's in a good mood, I thought as I followed him inside, our fingers tangled together. He pulled me against him as soon as I had the food settled onto the counter again, and kissed me for so long that he left me gasping for air, like a teenager. I couldn't help but giggle at his boyish expression on his face.

"Eager much?" I asked after another peck.

"It's been a while," he said simply, "and I've missed you."

"I've been back for a month," I reminded him, pulling away just as my stomach started to growl.

"And I've only seen you three times! That has to change," he said, placing his arms around my waist from behind and resting his chin on my head. "Smells good. Is that from the place you like?"

I nodded. "We're sharing the loaf of bread, okay? But, here you go."

I carefully handed him the large sandwich from Ezra's, then pulled out my favorite dish I'd ever eaten in New York-- a steaming, comforting helping of Matthew's famous shrimp scampi. My mouth watered at the smell, and my stomach rumbled.

"Hungry much?" He says with a small chuckle, using my same mocking tone from moments before. "Here, I'll get you some wine while you get settled."

Thirty minutes later, he was finished with his pasta and I was only halfway there, and had no sign of finishing anytime soon. The bottle of wine between us was already half empty, too, and it seemed that he didn't have an intention on stopping anytime soon, either. He just held his wine glass in his hand and looked me over, long enough to make me blush profusely.

"What?" I finally dared to ask, causing him to chuckle.

"Nothing, you're just..." he started to say, then shrugged. "You're just incredibly gorgeous, babe."

I smiled, my confidence level through the roof. "Thank you."

Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the counter beside me, and I quickly picked it up to read the message that came through. Fortunately, it was just an email from Flyzik relaying the message from the band that our time at home was extended by two more months due to negotiations still being made with Interscope on recording their next album.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asks after a few moments of silence.

I handed him my phone and saw his eyes light up in satisfaction. "I get you to myself for nearly a year? I can get used to that," he said with a large smile, linking our hands together across the small island we were sitting at.

"Well, you're gonna have to share me for some of that time," I began, "because my friends Cara and Jimmy are getting married in October and I may have already made the arrangements for the both of us to go."

"Oh yeah?" he asked as he poured himself another glass of wine. I nodded solemnly, trying to get a read on his body language, but I was failing. "Is he--"

"Obviously," I interrupted before he could finish the damn sentence. Of course that's his first concern, I thought to myself. "But that's not going to be a big deal because we'll hardly see him," I added, a steel edge to my voice. "I'll make sure of it."

"I'll sure as hell make sure of it," he grumbles, then muttered something under his breath.

And although he had happily agreed that it was time to meet my friends, my skin still crawled. I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, but I could've sworn that he said, "because you're mine," moments before. And, not for the first time, I wasn't sure if I liked the sound of that.