Chapter Text
🎶 theme: Parfum d’etoiles by Ichiko Aoba 🎶
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Clyde is in his art room again. He has paint on his clothes and on his skin, he has even gotten some on his left cheek; it’s an orange color, more of a peachy orange. He knows Claira will tell him to clean himself up before bed. Claira is his wife; she has been officially his for eleven years now. Clyde is now 47 while Claira is 33.
It is almost midnight and Clyde is still painting. Claira stands behind him, watching him paint while also cleaning things he has left. She takes his empty tea cup and dish that were from the morning and takes away his other things, “Will you come to bed? It’s nearly twelve.” Claira says.
“Yes, I will come to bed.” Clyde keeps painting. She knows that he doesn’t mean it. Being married to him for eleven years, she knew everything about him. She caught all the small details. If he answers her questions while still studying his art, it means he is only half listening. It annoyed her near the beginning of their marriage but by now she has gotten used to it. She is just glad he is distracted by his art over a sports game on the television.
“I will take your dishes down then we will go to bed.”
“Yes, darling, I’ll come to bed.”
The house they share together is two stories. The kitchen and main rooms are on the first floor while upstairs is mostly taken up by their master bedroom and Clyde’s art and supply room. A balcony faces off to the backyard. The balcony connects the bedroom and the art room together. Claira loves to garden and that is obvious once one sees the backyard. There are flowers and plants nearly everywhere. Clyde’s favorite is the cucumber plant, cucumbers from the garden are his favorite. Claira plants his favorite every year although she doesn’t like how prickly they could sometimes be.
When Claira comes back up from the kitchen and is not surprised when he is not in the bedroom. He is still on his stool painting away. “Clyde, you have to clean yourself and come to bed. You will be tired in the morning.” Clyde often is fussy when he does not get enough sleep, that’s another thing she has learned about him after marrying him.
He finally puts down his brush, “Yes, okay, I will come now.”
Outside of art, Clyde is a university professor, teaching Art History. He teaches the course through the fall and winter. He enjoys having his weekends, summers, and holidays off. He enjoys having more time to spend with his wife and likes that he has a lot of days and hours to work on his own pieces. He likes spending time with Claira, but sometimes he can be in that art room for hours and hours without even realizing how long it’s been. Claira does not mind, she says she does not need his attention to know that she is loved. She knows he loves her. Clyde loves Claira so much, he is just not the type to overgo anything. He is more of a quiet presenter. He tells her all the time that he loves her, that he has no idea what he would become without her. He needs her. She takes care of him like no one else can. Clyde has loving parents, but their love is a different kind of love. What Claira gives to him is different.
Claira knows that he would never hurt her. Even when he paints for hours on end, she is not hurt by it. She thinks it’s beautiful how passionate he is. Clyde paints and she waters her flowers or makes a meal for her and Clyde. And if she is not doing one of those two things and not with Clyde, she is usually at work. A bakery is right next door, sitting at the corner of a quieter street. It’s a small bakery, only a couple of sitting areas are inside. Inside there is the main counter, shelves with baked goods, and a back room where the kitchen and ingredients sit. It is Claira’s own bakery, her own business. The city they live in is small which means that the customers Claira gets are usually always the same ones. It’s open Monday through Friday from eight a.m. to four p.m. A lot of people don’t know how she does it, but Claira actually works all on her own at the bakery. She bakes the goods in the early morning, preps her bakery at least an hour before opening, works the cashier, and cleans when it closes and gets everything ready for tomorrow. Like her husband, she is a very hard and focused worker. They are both very passionate about what they do.
Clyde enters the bedroom while Claira is wetting a face cloth in the bedroom’s washroom, “Come here.” She says to Clyde. He enters the washroom and she takes the face cloth and wipes the paint off his skin. She starts with the spot on his cheek then moves down to the spots on his hands, “You’ve got some on your clothes again.”
“Yes, I know. It’s impossible not to get my clothes dirty. Don’t fret, it will come out in the wash, it always does.”
“Only after I give it a good scrub does it come out.”
“Maybe I will paint naked then.”
“No, just wear your painting clothes more often.”
“I don’t like my painting clothes, I feel like a dirty old canvas that got wasted for useless splatter art.”
“Did you finish your painting?”
“Not yet. I couldn’t find the right colors.” Claira begins to unbutton his shirt, knowing that she will have to scrub away at the paint spots when laundry day comes, “Will you make more of your apple cinnamon muffins?”
“Yes, I will make another couple of batches tomorrow.” Once his shirt is off, she folds it and walks out of the room to put it in the laundry hamper then gets into bed. She has her bedside lamp on and reads her book, waiting until Clyde is finished cleaning himself up and joining her in bed.
Once he joins her she still reads, wanting to finish her page. Clyde sits up next to her, interrupting her without meaning to, “I am going to need to go out tomorrow and buy more paint.” Claira just hums as a response. Now it is she who is only half listening, “I may go in the morning, unless you wanted to come with?”
She closes her book now, “No, you go in the morning. I don’t need to go out for anything.”
“Okay, I’ll go in the morning then. Goodnight Claira.” He lifts her hand and gives it a small kiss before switching his lamp off and shuffling into a comfy sleep position. Claira says goodnight back to him and turns her own light off.
In the morning, Claira wakes up early and starts her main routine. Getting herself ready to head down to the kitchen and soon the bakery while Clyde sleeps. She makes herself a coffee, something she has nearly every morning so that she can keep herself awake. It’s too early to make Clyde his tea. He won’t wake up for another couple of hours. She goes to the bakery before making his tea, getting everything set up. She takes out all the old pastries that were ‘no good’ anymore to be sold and then begins to prepare things in the back, rolling and cutting out doughs, and mixing ingredients together.
Just before opening hour, that’s when she goes back home and makes Clyde his breakfast tea. She serves him tea with some sort of side. She often serves him one of the bakery treats that had to be taken out due to food safety rules. They are a bit dry when they have to be taken out, Claira is aware of this, but Clyde says it's ‘nonsense’ and eats the dried pastry anyway, ‘As long as there is no mold and no funny smell, it is perfectly fine.’, he’d say.
She makes him his tea and today she serves it with two oatmeal raisin cookies that were taken out of the bakery. She brings it up the stairs for him and sets it down on his bedside table. He is still asleep, like he usually is, and Claira gives him a light kiss on the side of his head before walking off to open her bakery.
As she waits for customers, she freshens the bakery up, sweeping the floors, wiping down counters, and straightening out her husband’s paintings that are for sale. His painting sat in one of the bakery's corners. Some hung up on the wall, while others stood against the wall. Clyde tells her how much he wants to sell them for and if they don’t sell within two weeks, she lowers the price. Sometimes Claira loves the painting too much to sell, but Clyde says he wants it to be sold. He paints so beautifully then is eager to get rid of it. Claira doesn’t understand that part of art, she understands the money portion of it, but she doesn’t understand how Clyde can just want to get rid of it so easily. Claira usually holds onto things and finds it hard to let go of them. ‘They have stories behind them’.
The whole day, Clyde sits in his art room and Claira runs the bakery. It’s a Friday, usually the busiest day for the bakery. While Claira helps customer after customer, Clyde stares at his blank canvas. He has left his one from yesterday unfinished, needing a break from that one. He does not know what to paint next. He wants to create something so beautiful, something nobody has ever seen before, but he just can’t seem to think. He needs Claira to help. He needs her to play music on the piano like she often does, he needs some sort of affirmation from her. And so, he makes his way down to the bakery, putting on his favorite hat before heading out.
There’s a few customers that are in there, he notices that not one of them is looking at his art. ‘I must paint something beautiful for everyone to see.’
“Clyde.” Says Claira, “What do you need?”
“Darling I, well, I think I just need to rest my head. Have you got fresh bread made? Maybe a cinnamon bun?”
“The cinnamon buns have got raisins.”
“That’s just fine.”
“Have you got a headache?”
“I don’t know what to paint next.”
“I think you should take a break. Read one of your novels, sit out on the porch and do a puzzle. It’s a very beautiful day out today.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I really want to paint something.”
“Well, just take a break for now, Clyde, don’t make your own head hurt.” Claira hands him the fresh cinnamon bun and he takes it. And thanks her, “I can’t give you too many things for free.”
“Yes, I know, I’m sorry.” The bakery is empty now, it is just Claira and Clyde. Clyde sits down at one of the tables and looks over at his works, “None have been bought.”
“Yes, a few days ago, one was sold.”
“Which one?”
“The painting of the pear. I quite liked that one.”
“Oh. And who bought it?”
“Park.”
Oh, how Clyde despises Park. Park is the delivery boy, a young boy who drives a big truck and delivers Claira the bakery supplies she orders every two weeks. Clyde does not like the eyes the boy has. A pale blue color, the color Clyde does not like to paint with. His eyes always look at Claira in a way that Clyde is not very fond of. Park is polite to her, a little too polite if you will. Claira does not seem to notice and just thinks he is a polite and hard-working young man. Claira thinks that her husband is just in his delusions about Park.
“You let that truck driver buy one of my paintings?” Clyde asks.
“Oh, don’t be like that. He is a nice boy, he really liked your pear. He offered to buy it for a little extra. I think it is very sweet of him.”
“Well, I don’t appreciate you selling it to him. I don’t like to think of him getting his dirty truck hands on my work.”
“Clyde, enough nonsense.”
He takes a bite of the cinnamon bun, “That’s it, I know what I will paint. I will paint another pear.”
“Another?”
“I will paint another pear and it will be better than the last. The greens will be better this time. I never ended up going to the paint shop, I will go there now. I will go there and I will buy some more paint.”
“Wipe your face will you Clyde? You’ve got cinnamon bun remains all over your lips.”
“I will paint a pear. Park will not buy this pear.”
Claira wets some paper towel then walks over to her husband and wipes his lips, “Will you just leave that poor boy alone?”
Clyde picks his cinnamon bun up, “I will finish this later dear. I’ve got to get painting.” He kisses her on the cheek and he is out the door.
By four o’clock, Claira has closed the bakery and is cleaning everything up before leaving. Well she does so, Clyde is back home, mixing different green colors in his art room. He has only started out with the penciled outline, no paint is on the canvas yet.
Claira is now home. It is four thirty. She is ready to have a very short rest before she will make dinner. Before her rest, she checks on her husband, making sure he is still acting positive and not being stubborn with himself. Clyde is often very stubborn when things don’t turn out the way he wants.
He sees his wife walk in the room in the corner of his eye, “It’s already four?”
“Yes, half past four.”
“I didn’t know it was already so late. What will we have for dinner?”
“Leftovers.”
“Oh.” Says Clyde.
“What, you don’t want leftovers?”
“No, I don’t mind. I was just hoping for that tomato vegetable soup you make.”
“Well, I don’t have the ingredients. We need to eat the leftovers.”
“Yes, okay. Will you have a rest now?” Clyde begins to paint.
“Yes.” Claira sighs, a little relieved to be able to have a small rest. She opened the doors to the balcony, “You’ve got to get some fresh air in here.” She steps out to the balcony, leaving the door open, and she rests on one of the chairs. She closes her eyes for about three minutes until she hears her husband grumble. She tries to ignore the small grumble, but he does another shortly after, “What Clyde? What are you grumbling about?”
“My green, I need this one to be just a little more vibrant..”
Claira gets up and walks into the room again to look at the green he is talking about. There is a small amount painted on the canvas, “I think that looks just fine.”
“I don’t know. Would you maybe play something on the piano, just one song?”
“I don’t know if I’m in the playing mood.”
He grabs her hands and holds them in his as he looks up at her, “Please darling, you play so beautifully. It will help me focus.”
“Perhaps I can play you one song. One small song.”
“Yes, please and thank you. One song and then I will let you rest in the sun.”
Claira walks over to the piano and flips through one of her music books, looking at what she wants to play. She soon begins to play and Clyde begins to paint his pear. The sound of her playing her music lets Clyde allow himself to ease into the painting without thinking too much.
Claira has been playing the piano ever since the age of ten. It is how the two lovers met; Claira was playing the piano at the university they both attended. A piano sat just outside the band room. It sat there so anyone could play if they wanted. Claira only got brave to try it out once and Clyde could hear it echo through the hallways. He found where the music was coming from and he sat and watched her play. After she had finished her song, he got up to greet her and that’s how it all began.
When she finishes the song, she looks over at Clyde and he is painting on a coat of green. Claira walks over to stand behind him and watches for a moment before kissing him on the head. She walks back out to the balcony and she can finally have her rest in the sun. She rests for about fifteen minutes before getting up to get dinner heated up and ready to eat.
She finds out that her husband is no longer painting, he has finally let himself take a break. The undertone of the pear is painted, but that doesn’t mean he is close to finishing, he says he always has to add in more and more detail and more finishing touches before he considers it good enough to be sold. His paint pallet is full of different colors. Yellow, blue, white, black, green. It looks like a mess that Claira would be happy to clean, but she knows best not to touch his things like his paint palette. She doesn’t want to mess his colors up.
Clyde is sitting out on the front porch, sitting on the wooden porch swing and reading one of his novels. Claira comes out onto the porch with him and sits next to him, “Those butter garlic potatoes and carrots are all the leftovers we have. The salmon is all eaten. I could make up a salad to go with it.”
“Yes, a salad sounds good.” Clyde is still reading.
“It would go well with some other meat. A steak of some kind would be nice.”
“Well, dear, you and I both know that neither of us are capable of cooking a steak. We’d burn the kitchen, I'm afraid.”
“Yes, I know. How about you try barbecuing someday? We could buy you a barbecue for the backyard.”
“Then the backyard would burn.”
“Not if you learn how to do it properly. Just like your paintings, Clyde, you practice and you get better.”
“I don’t think I want to be practicing when fire is involved. I do not like the pink, raw meat either. It’s like touching slimy goop”
“Maybe one day we could invite Park over for dinner. He tells me he barbecues all the time in the summer. He has been a good help with the bakery, we could do something nice in return. He could teach you, us, he could teach us how to barbecue.”
Clyde closes his book, “We are not inviting that boy for dinner. And we are not letting him teach us how to cook a steak.”
“Clyde, don’t be crude now.”
“The family next door cooks on the barbecue, I can smell it and I can see the smoke come up, we could invite them over instead. I don’t want that young boy teaching you anything.”
“I would just like for you to learn is all, I don’t think it would hurt to learn something new. And I’d like for you to get along with Park too.”
“He may be able to cook you a good steak, but I can,” He pauses for a moment, “well, I can- I can paint you a good steak.”
Claira gives him a soft laugh, “I’m not sure how good acrylic paint tastes.”
Clyde rests his head on her shoulder and pouts a little, “Oh, how I wish I could cook for you, dear. I can learn by myself. I can learn things for you.”
“I know, but it doesn’t hurt to have a little help, does it?”
“I don’t need help. I can figure things out. I want to be better for you.”
“Clyde, no need to be ‘better’ for me. I like you how you are. We can help each other out with cooking.”
“I like that idea much better. No Park in the picture, just us. You helping me and me helping you.”
“It’s not really cooking, but you can help me make the salad.”
“I can help with that. Surely, that can’t be too hard.”
“It isn’t hard at all, you just add ingredients into one big bowl and mix it around.”
“Let’s go make our salad then.”
“Yes, let’s go make our salad.”