Picture Perfect

I don’t really like the color orange. but a quick scroll through the photos I’d taken of the bright, beautiful wildflowers confirmed what I thought-I’m getting pretty good at this. 

I’m not really photogenic, and I’d never been interested in photography. I once faked a fever, stealing the thermometer, warming it in water and presenting it to Mom to skip Spring Picture Day. Of course, she sniffed out my chicanery and sent me to school in the ugliest orange and lime dress, which she loved and I detested. Somehow, I took the best photo of elementary school, and it graced our mantle until my 8th grade graduation photo replaced it a few years later. I have never liked the way I look, and it’s worse, now that the meds have bloated me. Carly tells me my rounder face looks great, that I finally look normal again, but I don’t believe her. 

I set Mom’s digital camera on the table and stretched a bit, having been at it since before dawn before the light changed. I’d found her camera when I sorted through her belongings upstairs, when I could do it without falling apart. Mom loved art, especially photography, and I think she would appreciate the way I’ve captured her garden. I don’t really know what I’m doing, other than to point, remain as steady as possible, and shoot. Yet, for some reason, I want to learn more. I’ve flipped through books on photography at the library, trying to grasp composition and perspective, though I doubt if my photos reflect any of this knowledge. I enjoy the process of looking for really interesting angles and colors that pop to capture the essence of whatever I’m photographing. And I love being outdoors-the breezes on my face and the insect sounds have made me feel the best I’ve felt in months. Sarah’s been pleased with my progress, and she encouraged me to arrange my photos into a collection of some kind.

“Mar, don’t you want some lunch?” Carly’s volume has two levels-high and higher.

I slid open the door. “Couldn’t you just tap the glass?”

“Didn’t think you’d hear me. Come on in and have something, babe.” She carried a serving bowl, a plume of steam rising with the scent of herbs wafting over us. My sister’s cooking had always been something to avoid, but I had to admit, her dishes had improved. My snug waistband was a testament to that fact. 

“Where are the ones you took today, babe?”

I placed the napkin in my lap. “I’ll show you later, the camera’s out there.”

Carly waved her hand. “Serve yourself, and not just a little. I’ll be right back.”

She’d made my favorite broccoli rice casserole, with a basil and Gruyere topping. I hulled a moderate piece and plopped it on my plate. She returned, and her eyes widened as she scrolled through the recent images. We'd had some unusually cool, wet weather, which continued into Spring, and I’d captured the rich hues of the bountiful blooms better than I expected.

“Seriously, you should think about entering these somewhere.” Carly placed the camera at my elbow and nodded as she passed. “Very good, and don’t think about eating a few bites and telling me you’ve had enough."

I took another small bite and wiped the corners of my mouth. “This is very good, my dear baby sister. You should think about culinary school again.” 

“Oh no, don’t try to change the subject, Mary.” The corners of her lips twitched upward. “Flattery will get you another portion and a slice of tart.”

I shook my head. “ Do you really think these are good?”

“Yes, and maybe you need to think about courses and pursuing this, if you-”

“ They won’t let me come back?”

Carly groaned. “Mary, all you have to do is continue with Sarah, have her evaluate you, and from what I can tell, you are. They didn’t fire you.”

“Might as well have.”

Carly rested her palm on my hand. “They just want to make sure you’re OK, your job is stressful enough, you said so yourself.”

“But I miss my students.” 

“So jump through their hoops and get your life back, unless you can’t admit that you really want something else.”

Even though she’s nearly five years younger, sometimes a flake, and a pain in my ass, Carly has a perfect way of seeing through me, understanding me better than I do.

“Speaking of getting your life back, your better half called me while you were outside. Says he’ll bring dinner later this evening.” Carly grinned and winked.

I ignored the butterflies circling inside me at the mention of my beloved spouse. After my hospitalization, we agreed that I would remain here with Carly at our mother’s house, and Miguel would visit often while I recovered.

“I don’t know if I’m ready, Carly.”

“Why?” I balled up my napkin and tossed it at her.

“What was that for?!”

“Just because. Stop, ok?”

Carly laid the cloth on the table. “Why won’t you go back, Mary? The real reason?” 

I shrugged and picked up my plate. “This was great, and I’ll promise I’ll finish it if I get hungry. I want to go up to Second Avenue before the rain they predicted, shoot the square garden again.”

I covered my plate with wrap and found a spot above the produce drawer, then grabbed an apple for the trip.

“Thanks for lunch, babe.” I grabbed my keys from the rack beside the door and doubled back to pick up the camera. I could feel Carly’s eyes on me. 

“He won’t wait forever, Mary. Keep this up, and you will lose him, if you’re not careful.” 

“I know.” I waved to her and continued out the door.

Ten minutes later, I donned my hat to shoot the small garden of pale pink roses and daylilies in the town square. I tried low angles and higher ones to capture the beautiful contrast of the blooms. About an hour later, I had the perfect photo when a butterfly hovered above one of the lilies. A few neighbors stopped to ask what magazine I worked for. 

“These are really good, you know.” An older woman in a hat similar to mine smiled as she viewed the wildflowers.

“Thanks, but I'm not a professional. I teach literature at the university, or at least I did, until my illness earlier this year.”

She nodded. “I hope you’re feeling better. Perhaps you should think about a career change, my dear.” 

First Carly, now this lady? I only started to do this when I couldn’t sit inside the house anymore, but I guess having a sideline isn’t a bad idea. When the low battery signal flashed, I headed to the car. As I was preparing to back out of the space, I spotted him across the street carrying a large shopping bag. My hands stilled on the steering wheel. My throat went dry, and my heart raced. Shit.

Miguel leaned down into the window, his lovely brown eyes scanned me. “Is everything OK? Did Carly tell you I called?” 

I exhaled. “Yes, she told me you planned to stop by later. I’ll come to you so we can talk. You don’t have to make me dinner.”

Miguel scoffed. “Get out of the car.”

On quivering calves, I exited the car. “See, I’m perfectly fine, no worries.”

“But I do worry. You’re my wife, Mary.”

He pulled off my shades and tossed them inside the car. Blood rushed through my ears and my breath hitched at his citrus scent, his body warm and familiar pressed against mine.

“You mean your crazy, suicidal spouse?” I chuckled and leaned back against the door.

“You know I hate when you do that.”

I nodded and smiled. “OK, I’ll stop. I’ll see you later.”

I pecked his cheek, to which he responded by kissing me hard, his lips as soft and sweet as ever. 

Miguel released me, and kissed my forehead. “You will definitely see me later. And yes, we will talk, and I hope that’s not all.”

 Breathless and reeling. I watched him walk away. The image of him, his steely jaw, the muscles in his arm, his miles-long stride, was as mesmerizing as the first time I saw him, when I followed him into my mother’s home. The whole thing began for me at that moment, though I ignored my feelings for months. It's what I do, until the denial of what I feel overwhelms me to the point of desperation, which has landed me in this current precarious position.

Somehow, I dragged myself back inside the car. I thought about leaving him a message that I wasn’t feeling well later, but I knew that lie wouldn’t work, just like it didn’t with Mom on that long ago Picture Day. 

Carly had cleaned up and left when I returned, so I set up my laptop on the deck table after I placed the camera on its charger. 

An hour later, I was deleting a few of the older images on my page when his text chimed: You looked incredibly sexy earlier. I’m not sure what you’re doing, but it looks great on you. I really can’t wait to see you later, and I want to stay over. OK. I love you, Mary.

I quickly typed, Yes, dear. I want to see you, too.❤️ Have a great afternoon, before I set aside my phone and unplugged the fully charged camera. I checked for comments, after I uploaded the photos, and found one from a user, MS_1976: Your work is awesome. Mary. The wildflower photo is my favorite.🌼💗 Ha! 

I headed upstairs for a shower. If he wanted to stay, I wouldn’t refuse. It had been a few weeks since we’d been together, because I really had a cold and didn’t feel like much other than his delicious chicken soup. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in him, I just didn’t really miss it, which was probably due more to the meds I was taking. Sarah had suggested I find a new prescription without those side effects when we discussed what my relationship with Miguel might look like now. I’m still in love with him, and I really want all of our relationship, though I fear that Miguel has this idea of us, of me, that I can no longer be. And, if it means he wants someone else who’s not a mess, I understand. I feel lucky I found him at all.

My head hit the tile behind me, and tears leaked down my chin onto my chest. A few minutes later, I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes. An image surfaced of Miguel holding me that night under the fireworks, that Fourth of July night in the backyard. He whispered to me, “I wish we could stay here, like this, forever”, his breath tickling my ear, my entire body feeling lit on fire from deep within. 

When I opened my eyes again, Miguel’s lips brushed mine, his warm scent drifted over me.

“Didn’t you promise me dinner first?”

“I did, and I ordered in, all your favorites.” 

I stuck out my lip. “I was looking forward to a home-cooked meal.”

“Hold out until breakfast then.” His fingertips were whisper soft on my skin, I kissed him again, and his tongue grazed mine as he settled onto me. I decided not to hold back this time, as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Miguel didn’t wait much longer to push inside, and my reality became our lips pressed together, my hands gripping his shoulder, our hearts beating wildly together. 

Afterwards, he kissed my cheek, his fingertips caressing my back the way I loved. “I miss you so much, Mary.”

“I miss you, too.”

Miguel nodded, then kissed my ear. “I don’t want to do this arrangement anymore. I need you to come home.”

“Really?”

He pulled back to look at me. ”Mary, is there something you’re not telling me? Have you met someone?”

“Of course not! It’s whatever you want, Miguel.”

“I want you.”

 “OK, if you’re sure.”

Miguel kissed me again. “Your photos are really beautiful, you know.”

I sat up. “How did you find out about that?”

“Are you angry?”

I pulled the duvet back, and retrieved my t-shirt and sweats from the carpet. 

“It was supposed to be my escape, just for me!”

“But you posted your photographs.”

Miguel was standing in front of me, his hands on my arms. “Mary, what’s going on?”

I couldn’t leave the bedroom fast enough, and I bounded down the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

I opened my laptop and logged onto my page.

“Is this you?” I angled the screen so he could see the comment.

Miguel nodded. “Was I not supposed to know about your photography?”

“Why did you post anything? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I just did, and with my comment. I thought your pictures were great, and I wanted you to know I liked them. You didn’t want me to know?”

I closed the device and paced the floor. I needed to be alone, I needed to think, and I couldn’t hold it inside anymore.

“It was supposed to be just for me, Miguel. Mine. I’ve lost everything, I just needed it to be for me!”

“But you haven’t lost anything, Mary.”

Everything went hazy, and I needed it all to just stop.

“But I have. The school doesn’t want me back, they think I’m nuts, won’t let me teach again, and-”

“But you’re not crazy, Mary.”

“I tried to kill myself, I am crazy.”

“No, Mary, you’re driving yourself crazy, because you think you have to control everything to make it perfect, and you can’t! You don’t need to. And I’m here for you, if you’ll have me.”

I ignored the hot tears on my face. “Why do you want me?”

“If you have to ask that, I don’t know what to tell you. Except this. You need to find a way to love yourself.”

Sobs wracked through me, and I could no longer stand, so I waited for the whisper click of the front door when Miguel left, finally done with my insanity and self loathing.

Instead, his smooth hand reached down and lifted me up, as his other hand held a gold framed photograph. Carly towered over all of us, in her blue maid of honor dress, and Mom stood on the opposite end, glowing in her silver sheath. 

Miguel pressed the photo into my hands. “If she were a stranger, would you want to kill her?” 

He looked exquisite in his simple navy blue suit beside my mother, his white silk tie a perfect match to my gown. I thought the color was wrong, for my advanced age, but they’d taken turns at the fitting giving me reasons why I deserved to wear it. Mom had insisted on paying for it herself, her gift to me.

“Look at how happy she looks.” His voice was breaking, and tears drifted down his cheek. “If you could only see yourself, and value yourself the way you do everyone else, Mary. I wish you would.” 

I set the frame on the end table. 

“Do you love me, Mary?”

I nodded, but my eyes remained fixed on the mirror shine of his boots.

“No, look in my eyes, Mary. You have to say the words.”

“Yes, I love you, and I’ve loved you since the first day we met.”

Miguel smiled and pulled me closer. “As long as you want, you have me, and I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you. And I’m never letting you go, OK?”

“Thank you for saying that, and putting up with me.”

“I appreciate that, but you don’t need to thank me. Please, Mary, find a way back to yourself, back to us. It doesn’t have to be picture perfect, it just needs to be you and me.”

Miguel kissed my forehead. My breathing returned to normal, and I glanced at our wedding photo again. I always looked like a blob in light colors, which I hated almost as bright ones.

Yet, somehow, for once, it worked.