It started out as a dare from my mother. She pushed and pushed me to display my work until I eventually applied to have my own booth. Now, five years later, I look forward to it like a kid on Christmas morning. And to be honest, even if I don’t sell one single piece during the course of the two days I work this event, I’ll still be over the moon ecstatic to be considered a part of the community of artists who come from all over the area to participate in it.
“Are you almost ready, Mom?” Josie calls out from the front door. “We’re burning daylight here.”
“Very funny!” I shout back.
I’m studying the last few pieces I completed recently to see if they are worth taking. There is one piece in particular that I’m not sure about yet. But in the end, I decide to grab it and place it in my portfolio just in case I change my mind.
It doesn’t take long to get to the event, and with Josie’s help, which she does every year, I’m set up in no time and waiting for the so-called doors to open so that the patrons can walk up and down the closed off road and peruse everyone’s work.
About ten minutes to start time, Josie asks, “Mom, is it okay if I walk right over there to get something to drink?”
I follow the finger she’s pointing to my left and down the block to a Starbucks that’s already bustling with customers.
“Yes,” I answer and start to dig into my purse. “Can you pick me up a coffee too?”
She smiles and takes the twenty-dollar bill I hand her and then bounces off. I keep my eyes trained on her and her swinging ponytail until she’s well inside the store.
While she’s gone, I open my portfolio and look over the sketch I’m uncertain about. Sometimes I name my pieces, depending on my mood at creation or if it’s directly inspired by something I saw or read. In this particular case, I had just finished watching, of all things, Maleficent. Afterward, it left me thinking about the phrase “true love’s kiss.” To the point that I became a bit obsessed with it.
True love’s kiss . . .
It sounds so innocent and hopeful, and taken at face value it’s a chaste promise of romance and never-ending, undying love brought on by a simple kiss between two people. However, when you think about it, at least as much as I have, when exactly would you know with all the certainty in your heart that a kiss is the true love’s kiss? Does it exist merely in fairy tales? Or, if the right man comes along, does his love for you and all the passion in his heart somehow flow through that barely there brush of lips against yours, until your own heart is overflowing with an emotion that you’ve never felt before? And as a result of this one little kiss, will you fall head over heels and madly in love with this person, forsaking all others for the rest of your life and vice versa?
The dreamer in me loves the allure of the fantasy. However, the realist in me has a hard time wrapping my head around the whole idea because, really? One kiss could have that much power? I highly doubt it.
But the dreamer side won out and I decided to bring the phrase to life, so to speak, in my own interpretation of it within this sketch. However, every time I look at it, I feel as if there is something missing. The more I look at it, the more puzzled I feel, and I end up putting it away again until I can study it further.
“Here you go, Mom,” Josie says, breaking me out of my thoughts and handing me my coffee.
“Thanks, kid.”
“Oh, I like that one,” she says in admiration. “Where are you going to display it?”
I take a sip of my coffee before answering, “I’m not sure I am.”
“Why not? It’s beautiful.”
“You think so?” I ask. “I’m not sure it’s even done.”
“Yeah, I love it. Especially the red highlights around the lips for the couple. You usually never use any color other than black for a sketch, so it really stands out to me.”
Josie carefully takes the sketch off of my worktable and holds it up to eye level. She gazes at it for a few seconds before looking over the edge of the paper with a beaming smile. “It’s romantic.”
Laughing a little, I say, “It’s supposed to be. I called it True Love’s Kiss.”
“I think you should display it right over . . . there,” she says, pointing at a spot at the front section of the booth.
Josie then takes the sketch and, after some minor rearranging, places it alongside another one of my favorites. “There, that’s perfect,” she announces proudly.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say to her. “If you’re able to sell that one, I’ll split the profits with you.”
She rubs the palm of her right hand against the denim shorts she’s wearing, then offers it up to me to shake, which she does with surprising strength and certainty in her eyes. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” she says.
For the next couple of hours, there’s a steady stream of attendees. Some stop in their straw hats with drinks in hand or a makeshift fan to ward off the heat, thoughtfully browsing until moseying down to the next artist’s booth. Others stroll by with friends, simply enjoying the gorgeous warm weather that we’re blessed with during the fall months. And then there are the true art aficionados that I see year after year who come by to chat about what I’ve been up to and look over my work, usually buying a piece or two.
I’m in the middle of talking to Elizabeth, a regular attendee who always ends up taking a couple of my pieces, when I look over her shoulder and notice Josie talking to a man and a woman. Their backs are to me, but at first glance, it looks like they’re a couple who clearly know each other well, enjoying the day, as evidenced by their obvious closeness when the woman places her hand gently on the man’s back and then pats him in a loving manner. Josie’s face breaks out into a tooth-bearing grin as she moves past them, and they follow her a few short steps toward the far corner of the booth.
A few long, wavy, dark-blonde strands have escaped my ponytail, so I tuck them behind my ear and try not to seem too distracted by Josie and the couple. I notice that she’s purposely directing their attention to True Love’s Kiss.
She’s really trying to make good on that deal.
I try to hide my laughter, but Elizabeth notices and asks, “What’s so funny, Vanessa?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” I tell her. “It’s just that Josie is trying to make some money for herself.”
Elizabeth spins around to see Josie showing the couple the artwork in question. “She’s a natural-born salesperson,” she says and hands me the money for her own selections. “Looks like she’s made a sale for you. Good for her.”
The couple, actually the man, is going through his wallet and taking out a few bills, which he hands to Josie, who smiles like a cat that ate the whole canary. It’s then that I see the profile of the man in question, and to my surprise, it’s Mr. Thomas, Josie’s science teacher. And to my ever-loving dismay and embarrassment, my heart starts to pound in my chest like a bass drum in a marching band.
Josie catches me staring at the exchange and excitedly waves me over. Which just makes my heart palpitate that much more, and for what exactly? Am I feeling this way because he looks the way he does? His khaki shorts and checkered polo shirt with the sleeves rolled up showcase his tanned and toned forearms and athletic legs. Or is it because I’m jealous of the woman he’s keeping company with? I don’t know him well enough to feel either way, but I can’t just ignore him either.
“Excuse me, Elizabeth,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
“Of course, of course,” she answers as I’m already starting to reluctantly walk away.
Mr. Thomas and his girlfriend both turn around to watch me walk toward them, and with every step that brings me closer, my palms begin to sweat more and more before my anxiety hits an all-time high. Because the way he’s looking at me isn’t quite right, to put it mildly. It’s . . . it’s like he’s appreciating me. And that can’t be right, especially with the girlfriend standing next to him.
“Mr. Thomas,” I say by way of introduction. “I would have nev
er pegged you for an art lover.”
He smiles, but Josie cuts in before he can answer. “Mom, I sold your True Love’s Kiss piece!”
“Is that what it’s called?” Mr. Thomas asks me. “And please, call me Cameron.”
“Yes, I thought Josie would have mentioned that to you before you bought it.”
The girlfriend speaks up finally. “She never got around to that. Cameron here,” she says with a grin and pointing an accusatory finger at him, “didn’t need much convincing once your daughter showed it to him.”
“My apologies on behalf of my sister,” Mr. Thomas says in slight embarrassment.
Oh, she’s his sister. Interesting.
“I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Natalie, Cameron’s always teasing older sister.”
She puts out her hand and I take it in mine, trying very hard not to let my face betray that I’m pleasantly surprised by this development.
“So, Mr. Thomas—”
“Cameron, please,” he says, cutting me off politely.
“Sorry, Cameron.” The name rolls off my tongue with a bit of hesitation. “You’re an art lover then?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He pauses and looks over the sketch thoughtfully. When he turns his eyes to mine again, he quietly says, “But I certainly can appreciate beauty when I see it.”
Is he talking about the painting still? I like to think that I’m fairly intelligent, but even I don’t know if he means his appreciation of my work or . . . oh my God, is he actually flirting with me?
No, don’t even think it, Vanessa, I tell myself before smiling at his praise.
My eyes latch on to Josie’s for a brief moment, and hers quickly switch over to look at Cameron, who’s watching me closely. Then she switches back to me and then back to him again. All the while, the corners of her lips are curling up in a devious smile. I frown a little in confusion, and with my eyes try to ask her why she’s so amused.
Cameron’s sister, Natalie, clears her throat dramatically to break the silence and says, “I was just telling Josie how Cameron never buys stuff like this. He’s usually buying another Death Star or something for his Geeks-R-Us collection.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Natalie,” he says under his breath.
“Yeah, right,” she says dismissively, then turns back to me and starts talking a mile a minute. “So, we were walking along enjoying the day and bumped into your beautiful daughter, Josie, here, who turns out is a student of my brother’s.” Natalie takes a quick breath, then keeps on going. “But you already knew that. Anyway, she showed us this piece, which is beautiful by the way, and my brother was entranced with it. So I said to him . . .”
Natalie keeps talking about how Cameron came to buy it, but I can’t help but sneak another peek at the man while she’s droning on and on. His head is down and he’s running a hand through his hair in exasperation over his sister’s storytelling capabilities, and if I had to guess, it’s not the first time she’s so blatantly thrown him under the bus. It reminds me of the way my own brother and I do this to each other, so I smile, and with that little smile, some of the tension and embarrassment eases off his face with a welcoming smile of his own.
“. . . and that’s because he never got over Darth Vader being Luke’s father when we were kids,” Natalie finishes finally.
“Huh?” I ask.
“You know,” she says, then goes on to do a pretty bad imitation of Darth Vader’s infamous line of outing himself as Luke Skywalker’s father.
“Oh yeah,” Josie chimes in. “That moment was, like, epic!”
“Right?!” Natalie agrees enthusiastically. “What about when . . .”
With Natalie absorbing Josie’s attention, Cameron tells me, “I wish I could say she’s not normally like this, but she’s always like this.”
I laugh because the poor guy has this very gregarious sister who must steal the show every time he tries to get a word in edgewise. “It’s okay, really,” I say. “She’s pretty funny, and clearly you guys are very close. My brother and I are like that when we don’t want to rip each other’s heads off.”
He relaxes a little more and nods his head, almost as if to thank me for understanding. When Josie and Natalie are done with their discussion about whatever they were going on about, Natalie announces that it’s time to get moving.
“We’re supposed to be meeting up with some friends later at Rok Burger,” she says. “Why don’t you guys meet us there?”
Josie’s face lights up, and she is about to say yes before I cut her off. “Thank you, but I don’t think we’d be able to make it.” And for the life of me, I don’t know why I say what I say next, because I don’t mean it, but it’s one of those things people just say to end a conversation. “Maybe another time?”
“Yes.” This from Natalie and Cameron at the same time. Then her head whips to see her brother giving her a look that only someone with a sibling could interpret as Don’t you dare say another word or I’ll kill you.
On that awkward note, Cameron and his sister say their good-byes, leaving me with an obviously disappointed Josie.
“Why couldn’t we go hang out with them later?” she asks.
Honestly, I don’t really know. I feel like it was the right answer only for the sake of not being social with one of my daughter’s teachers. Even if it is just a burger. But I would hate for any gossip to start and for Josie to have to deal with the fallout at school. Maybe I’m overthinking it. I probably am. Either way, I’m not changing my mind.
“Sweetie, don’t you think it would be weird to hang out with your science teacher?”
She gnaws on her bottom lip for a second or two. I swear, with the amount of times she does that, it’s a miracle she has any lip left to chew on.
“I guess, maybe,” she says reluctantly. “But . . .”
“But what?”
“Do you think that . . .” She trails off as she looks down the street to where Cameron and his sister are still within sight. “Never mind.”
I have no clue what she’s thinking, but I let it go and change the subject. “Soooo, you sold the piece, huh?”
Josie’s bright smile replaces whatever she’s been mulling over. “That’s right!”
She takes out the wad of bills that were stuffed in her front pocket. At first glance, the crinkly bills are an indistinguishable pile of green in the palm of her hand. Carefully, she untangles them until she counts off a total of five twenty-dollar bills.
“One hundred bucks?” I ask her in complete astonishment.
She juts out her chin proudly. “Yep. And my cut is fifty, so cough it up, Chompers.”
Laughing, I hand her two twenty-dollar bills and then fish out ten dollars from change I have in my pocket. I watch as she has a mini-celebration with her newfound cash, and then I put my arm around her shoulder, bringing her in for a half hug.
“Looks like dinner’s on you, kid,” I say to her.
I release her and walk back to Elizabeth, who’s still browsing my artwork in the back of the booth.
I can’t help but double over with laughter when Josie shouts, “That’s not fair!”
“You get what you get, and you don’t get upset,” I shout back with a huge grin.
And with that, I have the final say . . . for now, because of course I’m not going to let her pay for dinner. She earned her share fair and square, even if the owner of the sketch is someone I’m not too sure how I feel about just yet.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m enjoying the ’80s on 8 satellite radio station on the morning drive to drop Josie off at school the following week, bopping my head, singing along, appreciating the day, when she asks me something so out of the blue and unexpected, I almost veer off the road.
“Mom, are you all right?”
“Yeah, sweetie.” I’m not. I’m totally lying to her right now. “Why do you ask?”
“Well.” She pivots in her seat to face me. “I was just wondering why you never go o
ut on a date. Because I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and trying to remember the last time you went out with a guy.”
The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” playing in the background is quickly forgotten about. She actually reaches across the console to turn the volume down to ensure that she has my undivided attention.
“I mean, you’re kind of hot, you know, for a mom,” she adds almost as an afterthought.
Shooting her the stink eye, I say, “Gee, thanks for that.”
“Mom, I’m serious.”
“I see that, kid.”
I don’t know what the protocol here is. I feel completely and utterly out of my depth with this topic since it’s never been breached before. How do I tell her that it never was in the equation to begin with? How do I explain that dating a man, or a variety of men, wasn’t in the cards for me? That it was just something that I forgot about, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Because it really was a conscious decision I made a long time ago when Josie was just a baby.
“I don’t really know how to answer that, Josie,” I say, which isn’t a lie. “I’m happy just doing what I’ve been doing.”
I can feel her eyes boring holes into my profile, so I add, “Plus, I’m really busy.”
Josie stays quiet a moment longer. “Busy doing what exactly?”
“What do you mean, ‘busy doing what exactly’?”
She mumbles something unintelligible under her breath and then pivots back so that she’s staring out the passenger-side window.
“What are you saying over there?” I ask.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“I don’t understand why you’re getting upset about this, Josie,” I tell her. “I mean, it doesn’t affect you in the slightest.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Mom,” she says angrily. “Because I think you’re using me as an excuse not to date.”
What the hell? This escalated quickly.
Taking a moment to try to deflate the heaviness suddenly surrounding us, I approach a red light and turn to face Josie, who’s still looking out her window.
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