Finding August

Chapter Fourteen

August ran a hand over the collar of his dress shirt as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom's mirror. He could hear the voice of the guests, critics, fellow artists and observers that had come for the second part of the exhibition. He let himself grip the bathroom sink until his knuckles turned white. He was trying to calm himself down so he could wander back into the exhibition halls.

What his father said had really gotten to him. He couldn't concentrate on the present and his mind kept wandering to what his father said he was going to do.

"You'll regret this."

August's father's voice rang in his head. He turned on the tap before drenching his face with water and followed it with taking deep breaths. When he calmed down he dried his face off with a towel before leaving the bathroom for the crowded hallway.

He walked about, trying to enjoy himself. He stopped periodically to answer questions from curious artists and observers. The practiced smile he'd been perfecting in the mirror earlier in the day was plastered on his lips. He retreated to a corner to massage his aching face from time to time — pretending was tough.

It was during one of these retreats that he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. He shook his head, convinced that he was seeing things, before gasping in surprise when he still saw the face of his mother after trying to clear his mind. He was sure it was her. How could he mistake someone that he was a replica of as someone else?

He started fumbling with his collar as he wondered what she was doing at the exhibit. He started to wonder if his father was somewhere in sight. As he stared on he watched her turn towards him, her eyes landing on him as a sly smile took form on her rose painted lips like a predator that had locked gaze with its prey, and August was well aware that he was the target.

What's happening? What is she doing here? He thought as he watched as his mother slipped through the crowd to approach him. She was soon out in open space in her pale yellow dress and white sandal heels. Her curly dark hair was pulled in a puff atop her head.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she laughed as she made her way to August. He blinked, not realizing how long his eyes had been following her.

"What, no greeting? Aren't you glad to see me?" she asked, placing her hand on August's shoulder. August was taller than her, but her heels made her stand on the same level as him.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked in a mutter, taking his mother's hand away from his shoulder. He could see the brief glint of hurt in her eyes but it was quickly replaced with an irritated look.

"What kind of question is that? You run off for over a year, and you're wondering what I'm doing here?" his mother said as a frown found its way on her face. Her thick filled in eyebrows made it more evident than it should be.

"You told me you disowned me, so of course I'm wondering what you're doing here. What happened to you letting me live my life?" August asked as he watched his mother look away from him. Did they really think he would have forgotten about that?

"It was done in the heat of the situation. If you'd been reasonable—"

"I'm still not being reasonable; I'm still doing arts aren't I?" August asked, cutting his mother short. Her mouth hung open like she wanted to say something before she closed it and let out a sigh instead.

August watched his mother massage her forehead with an irritated expression on her face. "God, I'm seeing why your father refused to come and asked me to come and talk to you instead. You're unbearable."

"I'm just trying to understand you, people," August chuckled with obvious strain. "Why come now that I'm getting some form of success? You always said I wouldn't make it, that it was a horrible decision to pursue art. Heck, you disowned me for it, why this sudden change of heart?"

He watched his mother look at anything but him as her grip on her jewel covered purse tightened. "We were only trying to push you to attain the best."

"Look around," August said, spreading his hands out. "This was the best for me and you didn't support that. You didn't want the best for me. You wanted the best for yourselves. Father called me prior to this and he was still talking business. Do you really want me to believe you're on my side? I'm my own person, I'm supposed to fulfill my own dreams, not yours."

"Don't you understand that family comes before everything else?" his mother yelled, drawing some attention to them. She quieted down, settling for a whispered tone.

"That's how things work in the business world. That's why you're even alive," she whispered, jabbing the tip of her index finger against his chest. "Can't you see that? Why are you so selfish? Fine, you've made your point by rebelling, now come back home and do what you're supposed to."

August took hold of his mother's hand. It was soft and obviously recently moisturized. "I don't want to be a Maxwell anymore, can't you see that?"

"I'm tired of trying to live up to expectations. I'm tired of trying to please you guys..." He trailed, letting go of his mother's hand. "I just want to paint and live peacefully with my boyfriend. Is that too much to ask?"

"Your boyfriend?" August's mother muttered as her brows knitted into a confused frown. August's eyes widened briefly when he realized that his parents didn't know about Vincent. He'd meet him a while after they'd stopped contacting him completely.

"Yes," August mumbled, even though he wasn't exactly sure what he was to Vincent at the moment. "We've been living together for the past year."

August's mother looked like she was about to faint or have a panic attack. Her eyes were wide with shock, and her jaw set in disappointed as she mumbled simultaneous 'nos' as she shook her head.

"Oh I see," she chuckled, shaking her head. "So you're trying so hard to embarrass us. Is that what you're set on doing?" she asked, looking straight at August, making him stare into the face that was a replica of his own.

August shook his head. "No, it's not that," he started looking into his mother's hurt face, "I just want to be happy."

His mother stared at him before letting out a long sad sigh. "We fed you, clothed you, and this is how you want to repay us, by making a careless decision?" she asked, staring at August.

August looked away, letting his gaze fall to the tiled floor. Why was he feeling guilty for trying to be happy?

"I don't want to live the way you think I should..." August trailed with a choked voice. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

His mother looked taken aback by his tone. Her frown softened but her disapproving look remained. "You know what your father can do, don't you?"

August stared at her, watching her for a while before muttering a small yes.

"You won't have the life you're trying to live after he's done with you. You know that, don't you?" his mother asked, watching August with expectant eyes.

August looked away from her, looking beyond her and into the crowd. "I understand," he finally muttered.

"If that's what you choose for yourself so be it," he heard his mother say. He looked towards her to find a sad smile on her lips.

"You'll regret this," she chuckled casually, not giving August a chance to reply before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

August couldn't pay much attention to anything during the rest of the exhibit. He was thinking about his parents — his father. He wondered what his father was going to do. To say he was scared was, to say the least — he was terrified.

At the end of the exhibit, he opted out of the after-party and took a taxi to his apartment. He retreated to his room to try and calm himself, changing out of the suit and into more comfortable clothes. He could finally let the fake smile he'd had on for the last few hours fall. His mother had stayed back for the questions and answers section, and her gaze had made him uncomfortable throughout. It had seemed like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when the crowd had emptied out.

August could feel tears sting his eyes as he curled up on his bed. He was confused, scared and exhausted. All his negative feelings since he'd left Detroit were starting to take their toll on him.

He wasn't sure why he reached out for his phone, but he soon found himself calling Vincent's number. The lack of response further frustrated him. He was about to toss his phone and cry into his pillow but he paused, staring at the bright screen for a while before deciding to message Vincent.

August, 7:32 PM:

Vincent, I'm scared. Please come and get me... I miss you.

He sent before locking his phone and putting it aside. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep afterward, but the grievance of what his father could do hunted him throughout the night.