The Namesake

She admired the portrait from a distance, through the glass, just like everyone else. But not everyone could say it was their namesake. Mona Lisa Geller wondered what her parents ever saw in the thing. Or why they ever named her after it. Through the years of schooling and learning, she had suffered through bouts of annoyances. No one picked on her because of her name but they usually commented on how pretty it was. Or how it suited her.

Looking at the canvas, Mona did not return the smirk that had been so delicately layered by repeated brush strokes and colored oils.

Thomas, her boyfriend, did have a wide grin on his face when he caught up to her.

“Like looking in a mirror, right?” he said as he leaned in and pecked her on the cheek.

Mona didn’t meet his gaze but she did feel a slight tug begin to pull at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know what anyone sees in her. And I don’t even have black hair. Mine’s blond.”

Thomas exchanged glances between both Mona Lisas. “Maybe you had black hair when you were born. Lots of babies do, I think.”

She shrugged. “You’re right. I did.” Mona recalled dozens of baby pictures that her parents flaunted over. She knew there were so many because she was their only child but she indulged them whenever she could. “But our lips don’t match. I rarely—”

“Who cares if your lips match?” he exclaimed, just before he leaned in again and put his lips to hers. “They match up to mine.” His grin broadened and Mona couldn’t help but mirror the gesture.

“They sure do.” She returned the kiss, ever aware that there were people all around, admiring exhibits in the Louvre. Mona didn’t really care too much about them. The only pair of eyes that she felt might really be looking at her in judgment was those of Mona Lisa.

Mona broke the kiss and looked around. Her ears heated up and she couldn’t stop showing her teeth. Thomas held her and rested his chin on top of her head, an easy feat since he was a head taller than her. Mona embraced him and turned her face against his chest to look back into the face of the prized portrayal.

Memories floated up, reminding her that there were rumors that the image was even speculated to be Da Vinci himself, but altered to look more appealing.

Mona felt her lips tighten as she smirked, thinking about what her parents had jokingly told her one day when she asked what they would’ve named her if she’d been a boy. “Leonardo” they had said in unison, and then they had both laughed.

“I would’ve gone by Leo,” she muttered aloud.

“What?” Thomas asked, pulling away to look into her eyes.

Mona smirked again and kissed him. “Nothing. Come on. We’ve got more stuff to see. We’re only in Paris a week, and—”

“And this is the first day we’ve been out of the hotel room.”

They kissed again and, for Mona, it was perfect and passionate.

She let him lead her to another part of the famed museum, but not before giving one last glance to her namesake. Somehow, the famous, subtle grin held an air of approval and Mona nodded as reply before turning her attention to where Thomas was taking her, never to see the canvas again.

Word Count: 576