Painting Sage

by Rachael K Hannah

  “You’ve definitely been talking to Connor, haven’t you? You sound just like him.”

  “Who knows you better than we do, Julia? He told me about a friend of his who wanted to meet you. You didn’t even bother to talk with the guy?”

  “Connor is in no position to comment.”

  “He’s not my daughter’s mother. The mother of my daughter should be happy. And Connor is a smart guy. He supports my decision. He sees this marriage for what it is and supports me getting away from its toxicity.”

  I wanted Dad to be happy, but what if Mom was right? What if he got all tangled up with Sheila but then left her three or four years from now? I’d be in college by that point, but Miles? Finn? It had hurt so much all those years back when Dad left for good, and I wasn’t even sure if I’d see him again. Why was it that adults always felt the need to tell kids like me what to do, but they never seemed to have things sorted out for themselves?

  “I apologize for not throwing my blind support behind you, Mike, but I’m biased. We have a fifteen-year-old daughter to think about.”

  Dad shook his head. “I am thinking about her. I didn’t expect you to understand. Look, why don’t we hold off on enrolling Sage for another day? I was hoping to take her down to the office tomorrow. She spent the entire weekend holed up in that room, and I barely got a chance to speak with her. This way, I can tell her about the school and some of these new changes coming up.”

  “Take her to work tomorrow? Are you kidding me? She’s coming home with me tonight.”

  “Are you really going to drive home on the Merritt and Hutch tonight? Be reasonable, Julia. You shouldn’t have come up in the first place; it’s dangerous out there. Stay over tonight. The three of us can take the train downtown tomorrow, and she’ll stay with me while you head to work. It’s just one day.”

  “Mike, I don’t know.”

  “It’s just one day. Please. Let me do this. I need to talk with her in person. You shouldn’t be the one to tell her about all this.”

  Deciding I’d had enough for the moment, I quickly tiptoed out of the dining room and headed back upstairs. For once, would it be too much to ask for a normal day? Now everything made sense: Abby’s odd behavior, the unnecessary presents from Dad, the longer-than-normal conversations between Mom and Connor on the phone. How was I ever supposed to find my way when the adults in my life were so clearly lost? Shaking my head, I returned to my room—possibly for the last time. Grabbing my laptop, I threw myself onto the bed and decided to get to work. Dad was keeping me in the dark until tomorrow, but I needed answers immediately.

  If these were the choices the adults in my life would make for me, then I’d just have to do a bit of sleuthing on my own.

  *

  The next morning, Mom and Dad practically dragged me out of the house (while I was still half asleep) so we could catch the 6:12 leaving the Westport station. If that wasn’t bad enough, I wanted to bang my head against the window of Dad’s car, repeatedly, as the two of them bickered over whether there was enough time to grab coffee. Whatever ceasefire they had managed to reach together the night before had clearly dissipated completely. There was non-stop squabbling over nonsense between the two of them as we drove all the way to the train station’s commuter parking lot.

  And while Dad insisted he should be the one to purchase my ticket from the kiosk.

  And while we waited on the platform.

  When our train finally arrived, I somehow managed to stumble onboard and instantly grab the best seat in our car. It was one those fold-out seats designed specifically for single riders. Finally, I could listen to my music in peace.

  As far as I was concerned, the two of them could deal with each other. I fumbled in my coat pocket for my sunglasses, then pulled the collar up so that it nearly covered my face. Our train car was pretty empty. It must have been a bit too early in the morning even for the New Haven crew. Unfortunately for me, though, Mom and Dad took the two available seats across from me.

  “Sage,” Mom hissed.

  I turned my music up a little bit louder.

  “Mike, will you get her attention?”

  Dad leaned over and playfully swatted me on the arm. “Hey, the warden’s talking to you. Can you take off your headphones, please?”

  Groaning, I pressed the pause button but left my headphones stay put. Once I took those off, I’d have to acknowledge hearing everything they said. “What?” I asked.

  “Take off your sunglasses. We’re indoors,” Mom said.

  I looked at her blankly.

  “It’s January,” Mom snapped. Then she gave me that look, the one that said I should know better.

  “So?” I shrugged.

  “So? So, you’re not on drugs. Take them off. It looks bad.”

  “Just leave it be, Julia.” Dad made the mistake of trying to step in.

  “This is okay with you?” she demanded, her voice reaching an uncomfortably high pitch. I didn’t get what the problem was, but Mom was being incredibly nitpicky. It wasn’t even 6:30 in the morning! I didn’t understand what I had done to annoy her.

  “Uh, yeah.” Dad smirked as he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out his tablet. “It’s a train. No one cares.” He then pressed the tablet’s power button and brought his full attention to the screen. With just a few swipes, I could see that he had pulled up the digital edition of the morning paper. Then, letting out a low whistle under his breath, he began to read.

  I turned to Mom. “Maybe if you hadn’t woken me up at such an ungodly hour, I wouldn’t feel like my eyes are being repeatedly stabbed—”

  “The sun isn’t even out yet; your eyes are fine,” Mom snapped. “Forget it. It is too early for this.”

  “I’m guessing we should’ve stopped for that coffee,” Dad muttered under his breath.

  “We had five minutes! We would have been late!” Mom fired back.

  “Oh, my God, you two!” I sunk further into my seat, my eyes still hidden by the sunglasses I was refusing to take off, and sighed heavily. “I’m barely awake.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave you to your music,” Mom snipped. Then she glared at Dad. “And you to your toy.”

  “What are you even talking about? You use a tablet all the time!” he exclaimed defensively, drawing the attention of some of our fellow commuters. “Besides, I’m using it to read the paper. You make it sound like I’m sitting here playing video games.”

  “Fine.” Mom pulled out her phone and, from what I could see, began sorting through emails, her fingers vigorously swiping all over the screen. “Let’s just all sit here and play with our tech, pretending we don’t know each other,” she added.

  Feeling somewhat satisfied over my win, as small as it may have been, I leaned against the window and closed my eyes. Breathing a long and heavy sigh, I turned up my music as loud as it could go and let myself relax, giving in to the gentle sway of the train. Secretly, I was mentally preparing myself for Dad’s news and the inevitable meeting with Sheila Van Nest. From last night’s Internet investigation, I had managed to learn quite a few pertinent details about this Sheila person.

  For one, Sheila was an advertorial writer for FEADURHEDZ, Dad’s site, and he had recently been promoted to head of that division, which meant that he was her boss. That was just gross, plain and simple. To make matters worse, Sheila was only twenty-four years old. Those were all the details I mentally filed under the category I called Negative.

  But, admittedly, I had also learned a few facts in Sheila’s favor. She was originally from Washington State and had moved to New York City a few years back to pursue her dream of turning writing into a career. Based on some of the work I had managed to find in the HEDZ archives, it was apparent that Sheila was extraordinarily talented for someone her age. Of course, I had no intention of letting her know I felt that way, should I actually meet her.

  And then, after a simple image search, I found her pictures all over, seemingly throughout the entire social network st
ratosphere. Judging by those photographs, Sheila had that tall, willowy, blond I-ride-horses-because-they’re-majestic look about her. She seemed very laid-back, very creative, very chill.

  If Abby was the anti-Julia Brody, this girl was most certainly the anti-Abigail Sloane—or whatever Abby’s maiden name was.

  I had also included The Tillman School in my research the night before and had to admit it did seem like the type of place I’d actually want to attend. From what I could see, Tillman was very small, located in two adjacent brownstones, and had everything I could ever ask for in one place. Most of the day was purely devoted to academics, but the last two hours were completely recreational. It offered cooking, acting, creative writing, STEM club, and my favorite—photography.

  The possibilities for me there seemed endless. Plus, as Dad had mentioned, I wouldn’t even have to wear a uniform! Sure, after everything, I was over green hair… but what about bubblegum pink? Now that could be a fun color to play around with.

  Somewhere between Greenwich and the Port Chester station, I drifted off into a brief and blissful sleep.

  It wasn’t until we reached 125th Street, Mom’s transfer, that I found my eyes open once again. Still hiding behind my sunglasses, I watched sleepily as she stood up and gathered her belongings, ready for departure. As the train pulled to a stop and its doors pulled open, Mom turned to Dad and warned him, “So help me if you two come home tonight with a drum set. Or a third gerbil.”

  “Oh, come on. Owen and Henry need a buddy,” Dad quipped, not missing a beat. Then his eyes returned to his tablet, taking in the editorial section of that morning’s paper.

  “I mean it, Mike. Take good care of her.” She looked over at me and smiled.

  Then she waved, bidding goodbye to us both, before stepping through the train’s opening doors and onto the Harlem platform.

  Chapter 8

  Conference Room North Side

  Sage

  “Morning, Mike. I left the papers for the debrief on LICENSE in your office. J.D. called to postpone the conference call. Now they’re having it at noon. And Amanda from editorial needs you to stop by before lunch. Accounts will be there—heads up. Oh! And Gavin has asked to move this Friday’s meeting up to either Wednesday or Thursday, but preferably Wednesday because he’s leaving for Chicago this Thursday evening. I made a fresh pot for you because I know you prefer it to the pods, by the way, but really, it’s Jack’s turn… But mostly everyone’s using the pods anyway, so I guess it’s not that big of a deal. And, before I forget, check your email. I forwarded that piece you asked for about—”

  “Read it already on the train, Jessa,” Dad interrupted. “Nice work. Tell Gavin we can meet Thursday. He won’t like it, but I’m swamped.”

  “Thursday? But, Mike, he specifically said—”

  “Jessa, don’t worry. I’m confident you’ll find a way to smooth it over. Oh, and round up the team up in five. We need to get a jump on this project. We’ve fallen behind, and the client is going to walk soon if we don’t produce — the whole team. That’s Maliek, Sheila, and Tuyen—

  “Tuyen’s on the project?” The young woman Dad had called Jessa frantically searched her tablet, swiping away furiously through what I guess were her noted. “Tuyen… no… I have here that it’s Ally.”

  “No, Ally is off the project. She was switched over to work on SPED. She has a contact over at their digital social media department, and Amy thought she’d be a better fit for it. This happened last week, Jessa. You need to fix that.” Dad paused, then looked at me as if for the first time remembering I was even there. “Wait a minute. Jessa’s new. You two haven’t met before. Jessa, this is Sage, my daughter. Sage, this is Jessa, my assistant.”

  After a few more seconds of tapping away at her tablet (most likely taking note of all the schedule changes and the Ally/Tuyen switcheroo), Jessa held out her hand to me. “Nice to meet you, Sage,” she said. “Heard so much about you.”

  Heard so much about me? Just how well did this person know Dad, enough that he felt comfortable talking about me? I gave Jessa the rather obvious once-over with my eyes, scrutinizing every detail—from her oversized ruby red glasses (worn ironically) to her incredibly short violet and gray plaid miniskirt (how was that even appropriate at the workplace?), right down to her black platform combat boots adorned with dozens of clunky silver buckles. Her appearance instantly made me think of some of Mom’s earlier comments about how I needed to look more polished, more professional. I hesitantly took Jessa’s hand into my own and gave it a single firm shake.

  We had only been in the building for about fifteen minutes, and my mind was already reeling from sensory overload, which I blamed on my father’s co-workers who had way, way too much energy for 8 a.m. It seemed as if we couldn’t walk five feet without bumping into someone who knew Dad, or had some very important information that just needed to be shared with him specifically. I thought things might calm down a bit once we were inside his actual office, but the mayhem just seemingly continued. Now, it started to make sense as to why Dad’s heart had been set on that cup of coffee. After a few minutes strolling about this place, Dad could probably down a full bucket of it.

  “Would you mind showing Sage around while I get settled?” Dad asked Jessa, but I could tell from his tone that it was more of a statement than an actual question.

  “Can’t I stay for the meeting with you?” I asked hopefully. The thought of doing another several laps around the place was too intense for my liking.

  Jessa shot Dad a rather odd look as if imploring him to change his mind. I think Jessa was hoping Dad would agree to take me off her hands, too. Something told me the task of babysitting high schoolers wasn’t something she was particularly interested in. Exactly how would that help her any with building her brand?

  But Dad shook his head. “This is business. Sage, I—”

  “I won’t cause trouble!” I promised. “I’ll just sit in the back; it’ll be like I’m not even there.” I clasped my hands together, as if almost in prayer. “I won’t bother you. I won’t act funny. I’ll be completely and total respectful the entire time. I promise. The creative process will remain unaffected, and I will try not to steal anyone’s intellectual property.”

  Dad folded his arms across his chest, a pose that had been all too perfected by Mom. His silence told me he needed to take just a few moments to accurately evaluate my sincerity. “All right,” he agreed finally. “But you’re not here to cause any distractions, Sage. Do you understand? We’re already behind on this project, and that can become a problem if we don’t fix it—today.”

  “I’ll cooperate,” I promised again, then began hopping up and down a bit on one foot like a little kid. I was curious about getting to see how everything worked and for once wanted to feel like I was being included.

  “Fine then,” Dad relented. “Jessa, in the meantime, can you show Sage where the staff lounge is? She must be starving. We never stopped for anything on the way in.”

  Jessa smiled, probably a bit relieved that her task had been simplified. “Sure thing. Can I bring you back anything?”

  “I’ll order from the diner in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Just show Sage where the food is and worry about getting the team ready.”

  “You got it, Mike. I’m sending Maliek a text right now.”

  “Tell him we’ll be in Conference Room North Side; East Side is already taken. And call if he doesn’t text back in two minutes,” Dad said before retreating to his office, shutting the door behind him and leaving me alone with Jessa.

  With Dad no longer in our field of vision, Jessa turned to me and laughed. “Awkward much?” she joked.

  I raised my eyebrow back at her in response. Exactly who did this girl think she was? Why was she making jokes about her boss—my dad—in front of me? Why was Dad ordering food from a diner if there was plenty of free stuff here? And who texts people to get ready for a conference? It was scary. Somehow, Mom had obviously found a way to su
ccessfully invade my mental processes, because I was starting to think more like her.

  “Well, anyway, didn’t eat anything yet, huh?” Jessa continued. Then she fiddled around a bit with a few bangles that hung from her tiny wrists.

  Furthermore, why did Dad abruptly leave so I’d be stuck in this awkward conversation with this person? Why couldn’t he order me something from the diner? Work Dad was starting to look and sound really different than Regular Dad. I rolled my eyes and responded dryly, “No, Mom and Dad were too busy fighting in the car this morning. I haven’t eaten.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll just pick something up in the lounge. There’s a ton to eat—”

  “Mom being Julia, his first wife. Not to be confused with his second wife, Abby, who, you know, he’s still married to,” I added, quite unnecessarily. I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but I didn’t like her. And the fact that she seemed so comfortable around my father, like a friend, well, bothered me.

  Jessa nibbled on the nail of her index finger and looked off somewhat sheepishly to the side. “Do you like donuts?” she asked, clearly attempting to change the subject. “Or are you more of an organic food junkie?”

  “Both,” I stated simply, realizing how contradictory of an answer that was on my part. Shrugging her shoulders, Jessa turned and began walking down the hallway, motioning for me to come follow.

  We walked down to another hallway that seemed to wind about strangely, and there were all these framed photographs hanging from the wall. Still following Jessa, I found myself grow lost within those images. Each was more colorful, rawer, more provocative than the one before. Quietly, I pulled out my cell phone and quickly scrolled through my own photo album. I looked up at the hanging photographs, then back down at my own, and wondered if my own work could ever measure up.

  Soon I was stepping into their rather impressive staff lounge, which—I had to admit— surprised me with the copious amount of options laid out before us: assorted bagels, butter croissants, donuts, baked breads, health bars, accompanied by a variety of fresh organic fruits and artisanal cheeses, smoked salmon, ample amounts of spreads (both vegan and non), tiny sandwich wraps… none of which even included what was inside the humungous stainless steel refrigerator. It was crazy to think about just how much free food this place had to offer.