To Get Her To Smile Like That

We sat at the dinner table, eating the pasta I cooked, silently. The air in the room felt off, you could feel the tension squeezing your own body. It didn’t make sense, we were never this quiet. Maggie always had something to share about her day and I always had something to complain about. But here we were, not talking. I slurped up a noodle, something I knew Maggie hated, in hopes she would scold me just so the uncomfortable silence would be lifted, but I had no such luck. She just stared at her spaghetti, playing with a meatball with her fork. 

I exhaled loudly before saying, “Okay, what’s going on?” Maggie’s head shot up as she looked at me with confusion. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie?” she sang with her sing-song voice. She only used that voice when she was trying to hide something. Or when she knew something she wanted to say wasn’t going to go well with me. 

“What’s going on?” I repeated, hoping she would just tell me what was on her mind, because something definitely was. We shared everything and it bothered me that she wasn’t telling me whatever was going on in her head. 

She sighed, “Jules, I just…” 

When she didn’t finish, I said, “Yeah?”

She slammed her fork onto her plate, creating a loud SMACK noise. I was surprised the plate didn’t break. “Why won’t you just paint with me?!” The anger that escalated from her body came at an alarming rate, and it startled me for a second before I realized the reason why she was so mad, and I rolled my eyes. 

I put my fork down and wiped my face with my napkin, “That’s is what this is about?”

Maggie was a painter, and a good one. (She had even sold a few of her paintings, not for a lot but she didn’t care. She was just proud someone wanted to give her money exchange for one of her pieces.) She had been painting for a good few years now, and had always wanted me to paint with her. She would go on and on about how much fun it was and how I would love it. I always said no, because I just wasn’t creative. That was Maggie. She was the one who had a vision in her mind and could create masterpieces on a blank canvas. I was the one who worked behind a desk all day. I didn’t have a creative bone in my body. 

Last week, I thought I finally made it clear that I didn’t want her to ask me again about the painting stuff. I was starting to get annoyed with her asking me all the time and I told her never to ask me again, because it wasn’t going to happen. It just wasn’t me, it wasn’t something I could picture myself doing and enjoying in the slightest. 

“Please, hon, it’s worth it. You don’t have to be good at it, it’s just for fun! It’s something we could do together!” she pleaded. I hated when she whined like this. I wanted to roll my eyes again. Why did she care so much? 

“We do plenty of things together,” I mentioned, because it was true. We did almost everything else together; we had a lot of the same interests and that’s why we worked so well as a couple. 

“But painting is my biggest passion. I don’t think you get it. It’s like you with biking! I biked with you, remember? And I hate biking,” Maggie exclaimed, gesturing her hands up in the air. 

I narrowed my eyes, “You only hate biking because you ran into a tree that one time.” 

“That’s not the point. Just please, try painting with me. It’s so fulfilling when you create something. Think of it, like, I don’t know… an escape. It’s a great escape from the world. It reminds me there’s still beauty in life, you know?” 

I rubbed my forehead and sighed. She was never going to let this go, was she? I understood it was her most favorite thing to do in this world, but does that mean it had to be my favorite, too? 

“It doesn’t have to be your favorite thing, Jules. I’m not asking you to marry it. I’m just asking you to give it a shot,” she said, reading my mind. The side of my lip twitched a bit upwards. Damn she knew me too well. 

I sighed, again. I made a mental pro and con list in my head, because lists were something I was good at. It would make my girlfriend happy for one thing, but I would have to indulge in an afternoon of trying to ‘create’ something. I would only embarrass myself and it’d be a waste of time. However, what if Maggie was right? Was it worth it? 

I groaned and looked up at the ceiling, “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll try it. But if I hate it, you have to go biking with me again.” 

Even though I wasn’t looking at her, I could feel her happiness sore from the other side of the table, “Yay! Okay, deal!” I didn’t have to look to know a big, goofy smile was on her face and maybe that did make it worth it. A joyful feeling started to spread through my chest as I looked back at her smiling face. She was giving me the same smile she gave me when I asked her to be my girlfriend, the same smile I got when we moved in together, the same smile that made my insides feel warm and bubbly.

Maggie reached over and grabbed my hand. Even though we’ve been together for two years, her touch still created sparks in my eyes and butterflies in my stomach. “Love you, Jules,” she whispered. 

A half smile inched its way onto my face and a blush spread across my cheeks. “Okay, yeah, fine, whatever.” I flipped my hand over so I could squeeze hers and feel her soft skin. She smiled at me even bigger and squeezed my hand back. 

Yeah, I should’ve painted with her ages ago if she was going to smile at me like that.