by Beck, Jamie
Lauren squirms. My gut tightens with enmity that might never subside, but my daughter’s courage inspires me to rise above it. “Hello, Lauren. Thanks for coming to support Katy.”
“It’s a big thing she’s done.” Lauren nods, clutching Richard’s arm.
“It is.” I turn toward my family. “Dad, Gram, this is Lauren. Lauren, this is my father and grandmother, Robert and Marie.”
Gram is quiet, Dad is polite, and I’m glad that part is over.
“So where’s your project?” Richard asks.
“Downstairs, outside the cafeteria.” Katy tugs at his arm. “Come on.”
Gram can’t navigate this crowd quickly, so I wave them on, having already seen Katy’s work when I helped set up the exhibit last weekend. “You guys go ahead. We’ll catch up.”
Richard and Lauren exchange a look. “Are you sure?”
I nod, having no wish to extend a conversation with my not-yet ex and his lover.
As soon as they are out of earshot, my father grumbles, “He’s an idiot.”
I can’t help it. I laugh aloud. It’s great to shed the sorrow and self-pity. To not feel like as much of a pathetic reject. Somehow in the midst of all the chaos these past few months, I’ve turned a corner. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I saw a new painting in Mom’s room when I picked her up,” he says as we begin our slow march through the halls, Gram in between us.
“I’ve been playing around a bit. The canvas is a great place to unload my feelings.”
“That’s great, Anne.” He smiles. “Your mother would’ve loved your work. I wish she were around to see how you’ve grown, and to meet Katy.”
My eyes get dewy. “So do I, Dad. But you’re here, and Gram. I really appreciate the effort, and Katy does, too.”
He nods. “Will you sell your work again?”
“I submitted something to the local art gallery for its December local artist exhibit.” I smile, conjuring the abstract painting of my house, done in warm shades of gold and rose and plum. “I’ve been getting to know the owner, Trudy. She’s savvy and witty. I really like her.” Of course, that makes me think of Dan, who’d encouraged me to meet her.
“Mom!” Katy calls over the crowd inside the cafeteria. When I see her, she’s holding a bouquet of vibrant gerbera daisies.
“Where did those come from?” I ask when we catch up to her. Then I see Tomás behind her. “They’re gorgeous.”
I give Tomás a quick hug, careful not to be too “weird” and embarrass Katy. He’s been at the house several times this past month. The mutual attraction between them is obvious to me, but I suspect Katy is too afraid to risk ruining the friendship. I don’t blame her. In fact, I understand exactly how she feels.
Truthfully, I half hope I’ll bump into Dan here tonight, which would spare me the discomfort of making a surprise phone call. He knows so many people in the community—he could show up. It’s why I’ve worn makeup.
“You guys did such a good job with this.” She and Tomás turned their work into a collage, although it isn’t as intricate as her original idea. This piece involves a simple line drawing of her profile. Outside the profile are images from her social media accounts—happy faces, friends, soccer games, vacations. The “good life” images we all post to trumpet our “success” to friends and frenemies alike. Inside the profile are the images of her stitches, the other scar, the rubber band, and an honest selfie of her scarred arm beneath her chin.
I don’t know how many teens will see themselves in this work, but I certainly see elements of my own life represented. The brave face I wear in public. The private battles and losses. Maybe I did one thing right as a parent, because my daughter sure is more astute about human nature than I was at her age.
Tomás gestures to Katy. “I can hardly take credit. It was all her idea. I just took the pictures.”
“Well, they came out great. Time to bid!” It’s so hard to say that because seeing the close-ups of her stitches and scars is like a stab to the gut. But it’s a heroic piece of art, and I will bid an outrageous sum because I want it for us. A symbol of our triumph over adversity. Of the rainbow after the storm. I whip out my phone and use the app to make a bid.
Gram points at the collage. “Katy, this is good work.”
Finally, she’s with us. It makes my heart lurch.
“Who’s this young man?” she asks, looking at Tomás.
He extends his hand. “Hi. I’m Tomás London, Katy’s friend. I helped with the collage.”
“Very nice.” Gram pats my dad on the wrist and makes a very motherly motion for him to scoot. She turns to me. “Annie, keep an eye on Katy. Young hearts break easy.”
Knowing her history sheds new light on this statement and much of her past advice. “I will, Gram. Don’t worry. What do you think of all the artwork tonight?”
My auction app pings, letting me know I’ve been outbid. I quickly ante up and resubmit the new bid.
Gram says, “We never had anything this grand at my high school.”
How different her life might’ve turned out if she’d been born in this generation.
My dad is asking Katy something when a voice behind me makes me bristle.
“Anne, weren’t you on the setup committee?” Tori asks.
I step away from my family to minimize the fallout of whatever might be coming. My best guess is that she’ll dress me down because she doesn’t like the placement of her stepson’s work. “Yes. Why?”
She glances at Katy’s collage with bug eyes and then back to me. “Why would you let her put that up?”
At first, my body goes hot and cold. But Katy’s bold public move has robbed bullies like Tori of the ability to make her ashamed. When I realize that Katy has coated herself in Teflon, it’s all I can do to unclench my fist and stop myself from clocking Tori. “Katy wanted to make a social statement, and I support her.”
Tori smugly raises her hands. “Well, it doesn’t reflect well on either of you.”
Insults crowd my mouth. It would take two seconds to call out her bullshit and level her fragile ego. But there’s no point. I’m not that cruel, nor would I do anything to ruin Katy’s big night. Tori is a nonentity in my life, and what will bother her most is seeing that she’s lost all power over me. The app pings again, as if to punctuate my insight. I quickly up my bid before facing off with Tori.
“Actually, you couldn’t be more wrong. Now, go support your stepson and let me enjoy my daughter tonight.” I walk away before she gets another dig in, certain she won’t make a scene in front of all these people.
The truth is she’s the one who’s most concerned with public opinion. If I’d been smarter at twelve—or even more recently—it would’ve spared me a lot of tears.
Katy glances over her shoulder at me and wiggles her eyebrows before her hand shoots up in the air again. “Dan! Over here!”
Tonight is living up to the gauntlet I expected. But I’m still standing. That’s a win.
My gaze follows hers through a cluster of people to Dan. My heart fills until I see that he’s here with an attractive woman about his age, maybe a few years older. The app pings again, but I’m too crushed by this unexpected reality to move. Dan’s head swivels toward us. The hand covering my stomach doesn’t stop the somersaults. There’s no way to blow out my breath without everyone noticing, so it’s trapped in my lungs.
He smiles at my daughter before excusing himself from his companion to come to greet us. “Hey, Katy.” He glances at me. “Anne.”
Richard extends his hand, surprising Dan and me. “You must be the contractor. I’m Richard, Katy’s father.”
“Nice to meet you. You’ve got a great kid.” Dan then turns to the rest of us.
After quick introductions to everyone, Dan says to Katy, “I saw your collage. Looks like you’re putting the shed to good use.”
“We are.” She gestures between herself and Tomás. “So is Mom.”
“That’s good.” He then s
lides another look at me.
“I wasn’t sure we’d see you tonight,” I blurt.
His hands are clasped behind his back. “I never miss the big events in our small town.”
I’m almost glad for the horde around us because my mind is blank, although half-formed thoughts race through my head—like how much I miss talking to him, and how sorry I am that I didn’t realize that before he met someone new.
“Dan!” The woman he came with is waving him back.
“Well, you all enjoy your evening.” He nods. “Great job, Katy.”
And just like that, he’s absorbed by the crowd and disappears.
Jealousy is unfair. I told him not to wait around. He deserves happiness, and that woman looks nice enough. Still, my chest feels bruised.
“Maybe we should look at some of the other students’ work,” I say, hoping no one can tell how hard I’m trying not to frown.
“Sure,” Katy says. “There’s some cool stuff in the atrium. This way.”
We follow her like a ragtag band of groupies. Lauren is offering compliments but otherwise staying very much in the background. Someday we might coexist without my gut simmering with bitterness. I’m not quite there yet, but with time and determination, I will be. Striking a new balance with Katy and investing in my art is already helping.
Before I remember to update my bid, the auction closes.
“Oh no!” I gasp.
Richard turns, brows tight. “What’s wrong?”
My shoulders drop. “Someone outbid me for Katy’s piece.”
A slow smile spreads across his face as he raises his phone. “Sorry, but you know how much I like to win. If you want, we can share it.”
I bark a laugh because it is both absurd and perfect. Katy will beam when she learns that her father wanted her work enough to outmaneuver me. “Deal.”
“Well, we’d best get home to relieve the babysitter,” he says. He grabs Katy and murmurs something to her that makes her smile; then he and Lauren wave goodbye.
“I’m looking forward to your chestnut stuffing next week,” Dad says. I’m grateful for the distraction because, despite my progress, a tiny part of me will always regret that my family is split in two.
“Yes. Can’t believe Thanksgiving is almost here. You’ll bring Gram?”
He nods.
Gram takes my arm, leaning close. “I’m glad you came back, Annie. Martin would be happy that you’re in the house.”
That makes my eyes mist, and I hug her. “I’m glad, too. Isn’t it funny? You gave me a sanctuary when I was little, and once again your home is my haven.”
“Life is strange.” She makes a face, all her wrinkles gathering together.
“And wonderful.” Even when it isn’t perfect.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ANNE
“Why can’t I have a glass of champagne?” Katy asks as another tray goes by. Finch Street Studio’s lights are so bright tonight it feels like a Hollywood premiere, especially with the festivities and holiday lights all around town for its annual Holiday Stroll celebration. “You let me at home.”
“We’re not at home.” Two weeks ago we celebrated Katy’s show, and tonight it’s my turn. I fiddle with my jacket sleeves while she sighs. Black velvet with bell sleeves and ribbon lacing running up the back, paired with flared black silk slacks and a scoop-neck camisole. I added silver and turquoise jewelry for flair. It’s the most dressed I’ve been since before Richard announced our divorce.
It feels surprisingly good, even if a small part of me has to look great in case I run into Dan and his new girlfriend tonight. Between his friendship with Trudy and his sociable attitude about town events, chances are high we’ll cross paths. I wonder if that woman at the school has become very important to him, or if she is still relegated to the casual zone. If he comes alone, I will find the nerve to test the waters between us.
“Are you mad at Pop-Pop for not coming?” Katy asks.
“No.” I wipe the frown from my face. “I don’t want him on the highway. It’s supposed to snow a little this evening, and his night vision isn’t great.”
Outside the plate glass window of Trudy’s gallery, silvery clouds move against the dark sky. The snow hasn’t started yet, but a metallic tang hangs in the air.
Despite expecting to dread my first holiday season as a divorcée, I don’t. Thanksgiving went well. Katy will be with me on Christmas Eve and morning, and then join her father for dinner Christmas night. When she leaves, I’ll soak in my tub, treat Gram to a homemade dinner, and be grateful that my daughter and I are finding our way forward with less drama and more optimism. The new year will kick off nicely now that Jackie’s invited me to her annual New Year’s Eve party. She’s determined to play matchmaker, but maybe Dan will be free.
“I still think you should’ve let me bring Gram,” Katy says.
I put an arm around her. “I wanted us to be able to relax and enjoy the night without having to keep a close eye on her. The crowds overwhelm her, and I worry she could get jostled or worse at the stroll.”
Katy nods just as Trudy stops by.
“Anne, I’m really excited about your piece.” She touches my arm. “I thought you might show up with Dan, since he introduced us and is such a fan of yours.”
Katy’s brows rise even as she looks at her feet. When we got home from her school’s art show, she’d asked me if I was upset about Dan being there with someone else. I’d brushed it off as a mild disappointment, but she’s too perceptive to have believed me.
“Thank you, Trudy.” I let the remark about Dan go. “I love where you placed it.”
My painting is one of very few that hangs on its own short wall.
“It works. And it’s deserving of extra attention. I’m sure it will sell quickly.” She smiles and turns to Katy. “You must be Anne’s daughter.”
“Hi.” Katy shakes her hand. “I’m Katy.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Trudy.” She crosses her arms. “Do you share your mom’s talent?”
Katy shakes her head. “I don’t paint much, but I draw and take photographs.”
“She’s got great vision, especially with photography and collage.” I can’t help but brag. It’s what mothers do, I suppose.
Katy blushes.
“Next year you should contribute something here. You see it’s a mishmash in December, everything from photography to metalwork.”
“It’s cool,” Katy says.
Trudy laughs. “Teens don’t often accuse me of being cool, so I’ll take the praise.” Then she gives a little wave. “Well, I must mingle. Enjoy the night. When you leave, you should visit the other shops. The Holiday Stroll is lovely. Most shop owners serve hors d’oeuvres and beverages . . . Cocoa and salted chocolates are popular.”
“Sounds delightful,” I say.
“Have fun. Ciao!” Trudy moves on to the next small crowd, leaving us alone again.
“I’m not surprised she gave you your own wall. Yours is one of the better paintings, Mom.” Katy points over her shoulder to a remarkably intricate and delicate paper sculpture of snowflakes. “But I like that piece, too.”
“I can’t imagine the tedious hours of cutting and layering it required.” We walk closer to inspect it. The price tag reads $2,800.
“Buy it. It’d look great on that empty wall in your bathroom.”
It would, although the moisture from the tub and shower might damage it over time. “That’s pricey for bathroom art.”
Katy wrinkles her nose. “Why’d you put such a low price on yours?”
Five hundred dollars doesn’t seem low to me, considering I haven’t painted in years and have no name to speak of. “I calculated a twenty-dollar-per-hour rate on top of the cost of materials, which seems fair. It’s not about the money, though. Putting myself out there is a huge step for me. That’s the win.”
“Do you feel better seeing how good it is compared with most of the other art?”
My nose wrink
les. I won’t get close to my best work until I regain my old confidence and take risks. But it is a competent step back into this world. I throw an arm around her shoulders and give a squeeze. “Thank you, but you are biased.”
She cocks her head. “Dr. Grant says we should accept compliments instead of deflecting.”
Katy isn’t wearing any rubber bands tonight, so I will adhere to whatever Dr. Grant says. “You’re right. Thank you. I’m glad you like my work.”
Katy tips her head side to side, glancing around while tapping her toe against the floor. It’s not a shock she’s bored among all the adults. “Tomás is working at Sugar Momma’s tonight. Can I go say hi?”
I glance at my watch. We’ve been here only fifteen minutes, but I remember being young and don’t want to force her to hang out with me. “Okay. Keep your phone on. I’ll text you when I decide to sneak out of here and catch up with you.”
“Cool. See you later.” She gives me a quick hug. “Good luck!”
Her smile and breezy joy are the best gifts I could receive this season.
When the champagne tray passes by, I take a flute and head to the back of the gallery to take a slow stroll past all the artwork. I’m standing in front of a pastel impressionist oil of the bay. It’s a decent amateur attempt, though not particularly evocative. But with practice, this artist will improve.
“Anne?” Dan says from behind me.
I turn suddenly, nearly spilling my champagne. He looks even more handsome than he did at the high school show, dressed in nice jeans and a lightweight sweater, much like the night of our ill-fated date. “Dan. Hi!”
I’m too bright. I can tell because my cheeks hurt from holding my grin in place. The woman he was with at the high school is right behind him. My lungs deflate, but I extend my hand. “Hi, I’m Anne Sullivan. Dan did work on my house this summer.”
When I say it like that, it sounds distant and impersonal. So unlike the truth.
“Hi, Anne. He’s mentioned your project.” She smiles. “I’m his sister, Melissa.”
His sister. The relief that floods my system makes me feel faint.
