Chapter 6 Ninety Miles

• EMMA’s POV :
• Tristan looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher and let out a small sigh.
• “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
• “E, I said love, not loved,”
• “… I probably just misheard you,” I mumbled.
• “Come on now, it’s me you’re talking to. You don’t have to lie,”
• I looked at Tristan’s face and I knew he was right. It was just pathetic and sad to admit it out loud, that I was still hopelessly in love with a guy that left me almost two years ago.
• “T, what am I gonna do? I’m gonna lose regardless…” I sighed in exasperation, “If I say no to Elliott, it might be the end for us. But if I say yes, I know I’m lying to myself and to him too, and that’s not fair… And it’s not that I don’t love Elliott. But I’ve been hurt so bad before, I’m scared of ever loving someone the way I love Ian. I want to love Elliott the way he deserves to be loved, but I just need some time to get there,”
• “So, you want more time with Elliott to figure things out? To see if you can love him the way you do Ian?” he deduced.
• “Yeah… pretty much. Does that sound bad?” I asked.
• “I don’t know, E. What if you never get there?” he asked back. “What if you could never love him as much as you do Ian?”
• “That’s the thing I’m afraid of…” I admitted.
• Tristan didn’t have a comeback for that. We were quiet for a while now, we just continued walking aimlessly while our thoughts were flying around our heads.
• “Hey, T, will you do me a favor?” I said after a while of silence.
• “Anything,” he said quickly.
• “Can you take Elliott home? He’s alone in a foreign place, he doesn’t have any friends. Can you call him and keep him company tonight? I just need to take a walk and reorganize my thoughts, alone, but I’ll be back later,”
• Tristan nodded reassuringly, “Sure, of course,”
• “Thanks, T,”
• Tristan turned to his heels, but before he ran towards the direction that Elliott took, he turned back to me and said, “Hey, you’ll make the right decision. I know you will,”
• We smiled knowingly at each other, another telepathic moment type of thing. I nodded and he nodded back. And the next second, Tristan was gone. Just as I had asked for, I was left alone with my loud, rambling thoughts.
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• I was walking about fifteen blocks north. I wasn’t counting or anything, but when I looked up at the street sign, I realized I was in 63rd street already. Fifteen blocks didn't seem like much when your mind was clouded with uncertainties.
• I was back to my old ritual of making a pros and cons list. I didn’t write it down or anything, but it was all in my head. To be honest, there were a lot more pros than cons to saying yes to Elliott.
• Pros: He is genuinely a really good guy and he loves me a bunch. He’s got a stable job. He’s willing to relocate for me. He’s always supportive of everything I do. He can cook very well and he’s clean, so he’ll make a great roommate…
• Cons: I’m not sure if I love him enough… He has given up so much for me, and I’m afraid I might not be able to do the same for him.
• Would all the pros outweigh the cons? Was this enough reason to marry someone? How will I ever know?
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• At this point, my feet were killing me. I was certain my heels and toes were covered in blisters. I decided to take a break from all the walking. Looking around, I tried to find a bench or a cozy spot where I could rest for a while.
• Suddenly, my eyes caught sight of this black and white building with huge windows on the front. It had a bright red awning on the front door that said, New York School of the Arts.
• Under the red awning were several posters plastered on the wall. I gasped instantly when I read what was written on the poster in bold black letters.
• Her: A Contemporary Art Exhibition Featuring Ian Hayes
• “Wait, what? Ian Hayes? My Ian Hayes?” my brain immediately went to overdrive.
• My feet instinctively crossed the street to get a closer look. The front door was open wide and people were coming in and out, but I didn’t go inside. I chose to stand in front of a poster next to a large window. I just wanted to read what it was about.
• Ian Hayes is one of the founders of World Gallery NYC and is now a lecturer at the New York School of the Arts. His latest collection of contemporary art paintings and installations are currently on display in the school for the duration of the month of May. Opening hours are from 10 AM to 4 PM.
• Checking my watch, I saw that it was a few minutes before 4 PM. I didn’t know what I was thinking, but the next thing I knew, I had stepped inside the building. My hands and feet were moving on their own accord at this point.
• I followed the sign that read ‘Her: Exhibition’ and arrived in this big room with tall ceilings and clear white walls. On the walls were paintings after paintings and in the middle of the room was a big installation piece made out of glass bottles.
• I was in complete awe at what I was seeing. Stepping closer towards one of the paintings, I saw that it was titled ‘Ninety Miles’. It was an abstract painting consisting of two dots and a long stretch of line in the middle. My lips twitched into a smile. This painting was about us… about the stupid long distance between us.
• My eyes then darted to the next art piece next to it. There were some study cards stacked on a canvas and it was covered in splashes of watercolor. It took me a second to know that those were my study cards! I used those when I was studying for my finals at Ian’s apartment.
• My eyes were starting to get blurry, but I pushed through it. I wanted to see more. Walking to the next art piece, I saw this big black painting with slashes of bright red paint. When I got a closer look at it, I noticed that there was something else on that canvas other than paint. There was a piece of red lace underwear, all torn up, but it sat beautifully in the middle of the painting. It was trash, but it became an art piece.
• Isn’t that my red underwear? The one I wore that night when I met him and we…
• “You like this one? It’s one of my favorites,” I heard a familiar voice and my head whipped around automatically.
• Ian was standing right before me. Wearing an all black attire, his dark brown hair was pushed back and his facial hair was neatly trimmed. He looked as cool and as fierce as ever.
• “Ian?” I gaped.
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• - - - - - To Be Continued - - - - -