I shook my head and stepped toward her again to explain to her that I wasn’t going to say that at all. I mean, I did have some excuses up my sleeve, but not for why she shouldn’t love me. They were for why I couldn’t find it in me to trust what we had.

“And don’t say it back, either,” she said staring at me. Say what? What wasn’t I supposed to say? “Don’t tell me you love me,” she ordered and the words cut through me like a knife. Why wouldn’t she want me to say that to her? Wait, did I want to say that to her?

I watched this amazing girl, who’d captured my attention for years before she captured my heart this season. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her, and I had an overwhelming urge to prove to her how special she was to me every day for the rest of my life.

“Don’t,” she whispered, and I cursed under my breath at the sincerity of her words. I might really have ruined this. Dread washed over me so quickly I could barely stand. “Just go,” she said, “please.” I shook my head to protest, but the air in the room felt like it would choke me at any minute. What had I done? I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t.

I turned toward her with renewed purpose and stalked her way, but she put her hands up to stop me. “I mean it, Wes.” Her bottom lip trembled.

“Dude, I think that’s enough for today.” August stepped between us and damn, I had forgotten he was here. I understood, though. She was breaking because of me. Again.

“Meet you at the truck.” I nodded and turned from her silently vowing this wasn’t it for us. I was going to make this right.

“That was a lie.” I heard August speak to her.

“I don’t want to hear it, August. I want to know it,” she said back, and I swore my feet kicked up in their steps. Challenge accepted.

“These are really something,” my mom said holding up one of my paintings.

“They’re okay,” I said still not satisfied with using so few colors, and I probably never would be.

“Sweetheart,” she rolled up the picture I’d painted for fun of a dog’s paw smashing into the sand at the dog beach and put it into a box, “clearly they are more than okay. That hotel bigwig bought a few, and the gallery extended your showing for another month. That’s not okay. My little girl is brilliant.”

I smiled at her and rolled the packing tape across the box I’d just filled. Brilliant was a stretch, but I had to admit I was pretty proud of myself. It was a week after the bachelorette party that I got the phone call. I knew that because it was the first day I had left the house since Wes had broken my heart. It was also the day I gave up on waiting for him to call or come by.

Bia called that day saying the owner of The Bay purchased three of my paintings. It might not sound like a lot, but I’d just become the richest I’d ever been. I finally felt validated. Being colorblind could not, and would not, stop me from creating art people wanted to both see and purchase. It was after that phone call that I packed my Wes portfolio into the car and took it down to the gallery to ask about a showing. Bia instantly approved it, and after a month of increased foot traffic through my section of the gallery, she extended the showing.

The small purchase the owner of The Bay made had given me enough money for the first two months’ rent on an apartment in Mission Bay. It was a tiny place, but it was all mine. The complex was even just minutes away from SYC where I was officially employed as the new art director. Not long after August had the reopening, his funding came through for an art program.

So much had changed in such a short amount of time, all positive changes. I should be optimistic about the forward momentum my life had suddenly taken, but I couldn’t help feeling saddened that I wasn’t sharing it with the one person who helped me get here.

“How have you been feeling lately?” My mom eyed me as she stacked one box on top of another. When they’d returned from their Mexico trip and saw my heartbreak covering the house in tissues and dirty dishes, she stayed home with me until I got back on my feet again.

“Better.” I shrugged a shoulder and folded up a new box. It was a little true anyway. I mean, I was exiting the house and eating normally again. I still found myself crying some nights as I fell asleep or letting tears fall in the shower, but I didn’t sit in the sadness for much longer than those moments.

“You know sweetie, I really do believe this will be one of his biggest regrets in his life.” My mom sat down on the bed next to me, obviously wanting to talk, but I kept myself busy filling boxes.

“Sucks for him,” I said tossing my sketchbook in quickly avoiding its memories.

“Not if he realizes soon enough that he made a mistake. Some people know immediately, but others, unfortunately, can’t see where they went wrong until much later in life, if ever.”

“And what if he sees that he’s made a mistake?” I asked taping up another box.

“You forgive him.”

“And what if he never realizes he messed up?” I blew a piece of hair from my eyes and sat on the bed next to her.

“You still forgive him.” She took the tape gun from my hands and set it aside.

“That’s dumb, Mom,” I told her, and she laughed.

“It’s not dumb. You forgive him regardless for yourself so you can move on to whatever direction your life goes. Whether it’s with him or not.”

I huffed out a sigh and looked around my room. What once was filled with the emptiness of the color white truly was empty now. If I hadn’t had been so fearful, I wonder if I ever would have been brave enough to add some color to the space even if only in one I could see? I guess that might turn out to be one of my regrets, spending years hiding myself behind insecurity rather than living in uniqueness.

“Do you have any regrets, Mom?” I asked her pulling a pillow onto my lap.

“So many.” She laughed and got a far-off look in her eyes. “I regret the time I quit flag team in high school to play soccer so I could be around the boys more.”

“Oh, Mom.” I scrunched my face in disgusted amusement.

“I know.” She smiled at me. “I regret the time I took your dad to see Bob Dylan for his birthday.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell Lennon, but I slept through most the show.” I giggled at that and made a mental note to tell Lennon as soon as I saw her next. “And I regret not discussing your colorblindness with you more often.” She reached over taking one of my hands and giving it a squeeze.

“Mom.” I pulled her in for a hug. “You don’t have to regret that,” I said over her shoulder then pulled away.

“If we’d been more open about it, with you and everyone, I think you wouldn’t have felt so insecure. To know what we thought was protecting you may have hurt you is something I will always regret.” My mom reached up and tucked that pesky piece of hair back behind my ear.

“Maybe,” I said to her. “Maybe talking about it more would have changed how I felt, or maybe not. At the end of the day, I’m an adult now, and I’m not going to blame what happened as a kid on how I am today. I made the choice to continue hiding, and that’s all on me.”

“You’re incredible,” my mom said tapping away the tears lodged in the corners of her eyes. “Some man one day will see that, too,” my mom said patting my leg as she stood from my bed. Some man, but not Wes, I suppose.

I taped up the last of the boxes and took in my cardboard room. This was it. I was leaving home, but it was so much more. I was stepping away from my comfort zone, my sanctuary, my hideout, and my self-imposed prison. Still, I felt so much more in control of my life at this second than I had the entire time I struggled to control it.