Love, Life, and the List

by Kasie West

  “Thank you,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

  “I know. Sometimes I just want to protect you, and it’s hard for me to remember you’re not a child anymore.”

  “I know. I’m glad I have a dad who wants to protect me, but let’s wait for me to call for help first, okay?”

  “So I don’t need to beat up Cooper when I get home?”

  He knew what happened with Cooper too. I looked at my mom with narrow eyes, and she acted innocent.

  “No. I took care of that on my own.”

  “You beat him up?” he asked.

  I laughed, but then stopped. “Yes, Dad. I think maybe I did.”

  “I found something for you out here.”

  “You did?”

  “I was going to wait until I got home to show you, but when we hang up, I’ll email you a picture.”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you, kid.”

  “Love you too.”

  We hung up, and I waited two minutes to log onto my email. My dad was true to his word—he’d sent an email. The only thing it contained was an attached picture. I clicked on the image. A small gray stone resting on the palm of his hand filled the screen. It formed a lopsided heart. He’d found a heart rock, after all. I swallowed hard and smiled.

  After throwing away, filing away, and rehanging my piles, I knew I could no longer avoid work and Mr. Wallace if I wanted to keep my job.

  He was in his office when I arrived at the museum. He had done some cleaning of his own and the room looked bare.

  “Hi,” I said, trying to be as humble as possible.

  “Abby, are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, for a while now, actually. I’ve been avoiding you.”

  He shook his head, but a smile took over his face. “You’re always very honest.”

  “I’m sorry for how I behaved last Sunday night. And I’m sorry my dad bullied you into letting me be in the show.”

  He sighed and stood. “Come in. Have a seat.”

  I did as he asked.

  “He didn’t bully me into it. I was already on the verge. And your paintings showed amazing growth.”

  “You think?”

  “You still have things to learn, but yes. I hope you haven’t decided to leave us. I really value your work here.”

  “I don’t want to leave. I love being surrounded by art.”

  “Good. I have you on the schedule for tomorrow. Are you going to be able to make it?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. And do you think . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I want to go to a winter art program. Do you think you can write me a letter of recommendation?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Thank you.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  There were four weeks left of summer, and those weeks stretched before me like an undeserved prison sentence. With Rachel and Justin still gone, I was worried I’d have nothing but time to think about this. To think about Cooper and the failed art show and my still-strained relationship with my mom and grandpa. I wondered if Cooper had told Rachel or Justin what had happened. I wondered if we’d have to split up our friend group when school started or if I’d be able to get through these feelings of hurt and anger. My life was a mess.

  But at least Lacey kept true to her word. She said she’d be there for me, and she was. She invited me to parties and perspective-shifting outings and late-night food runs. Plus, Mr. Wallace put me back on the schedule, and I worked well past my scheduled hours.

  Two weeks had passed and the gaping hole in my life wasn’t getting any smaller, but it was easier to walk around it these days. I wondered if Cooper had a hole in his life too. He hadn’t texted or called me once since the night outside the abandoned church building. He was giving me time. Just like I’d asked.

  I tried not to think about if it was the right decision. I tried to be in the moment. And in this moment, I was riding in the passenger seat in Lacey’s car. We were heading to Elliot’s house. I’d asked her to go with me to check out his art. It was hot. Sweat was forming behind my knees and beading along my upper lip.

  “Is there a reason the AC is not on?” I asked as humid air blowing in from the cracked windows did nothing to cool me.

  “Yes, it’s good to experience discomfort sometimes. It helps me channel that emotion better when performing.”

  “So all your life is a stage?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I smiled and turned my focus back to the window just in time to see we were passing Cooper’s neighborhood. I squinted my eyes, like I had gained the ability to see through houses. I had to literally clench my jaw to keep myself from asking Lacey if we could drive by his house.

  We passed successfully only to come upon the now-empty field where the big hundred-year-old tree used to stand. They’d torn it down. The sight hit me in the gut. I placed my hand on the window. Poor Lance.

  Lacey was asking me something, I realized. I needed to not let my mind wander so much. I looked at her, focused on the words she was saying.

  “. . . stopped seeing her?”

  “What?” I asked, knowing I missed way too much of that question to try to fake an answer.

  “I was talking to Kendra, who was talking to Delaney, who apparently knows Iris’s older sister, and she said that Cooper broke it off with Iris. Is that true?”

  My mouth opened and closed once before I said, “I don’t know.”

  “Really? So no social media updates from him?”

  “I haven’t looked.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  She shouldn’t have been. When I wasn’t forcing myself to go out with her, I was working or sleeping. “Yes, I’m the queen of self-control.”

  “So are you happy about the Iris/Cooper breakup news?”

  “Should I be?” It just made things worse, actually, because now I knew he had nobody. At least I had Lacey. Who had Cooper been hanging out with? Justin and Rachel would be home soon, but they weren’t home now.

  “I wondered if I should tell you or not. I thought maybe I shouldn’t, but then I thought, if I were you, I’d want to know.”

  “I’m glad to know, but it doesn’t change anything.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She nodded like she was the one that needed to be convinced, not me.

  Elliot lived beachfront. I should’ve known this, after all his talk about hiring private teachers and worrying about sounding pretentious, but I was still surprised. His house was stunning. Ivy climbed redbrick walls and bright flowers filled boxes beneath windows, all with the backdrop of the ocean.

  “Wow,” Lacey said. “Does Elliot seem a little more attractive all of a sudden?”

  I smacked her arm.

  “What?” she asked, laughing.

  We exited the car and walked the stone stepway up to the house, where a gnome statue sat in a flowerpot to greet us. Its expression seemed to warn us away. I wondered if Elliot had sculpted it.

  Lacey didn’t care about the gnome’s warning. She rang the doorbell.

  Elliot had a much friendlier expression when he answered the door. “Hi. Welcome, ladies. Come in.”

  He stepped aside. His house was just as charming inside as it was out. Someone with an artist’s eye had decorated. There were benches tucked in nooks with eclectic mismatched pillows and paintings on every wall and shelves filled with colorful glass shapes and twisted metal and foreign masks. There was something to look at everywhere, and yet it didn’t feel cluttered.

  “My mom loves to collect things,” he said, noticing my gaze.

  “She has great taste,” I said. “Are any of these your pieces?”

  “No. There’s a room devoted to me. The Elliot shrine, I call it.” He said it in a joking manner, but I could tell it was to hide some embarrassment.

  He led us farther into the house, and every room we encountered was more beautifully decorated than the one before. The kitchen was my favorite. The cabinets were a pale ye
llow and the countertops a brighter shade. The walls were stamped tin. It seemed like it shouldn’t work together, but it did. Especially with the pops of colorful dishes on open shelves.

  “I wouldn’t leave my house if I were you,” I said. “I could paint in here all day.”

  “Could you? You’re welcome to come over and paint anytime.”

  Maybe I would. I still hadn’t picked up a brush. It had been over a month now. I needed something to jolt me out of this slump, and maybe this house would help me.

  “Can we see your shrine?” I asked.

  He ducked his head, his cheeks reddening. “I guess that’s what you’re here for.”

  He had described the room right. His pieces were set on shelves on every wall, spotlights shining down on them from the ceiling. But I could see why his parents were proud. They were amazing. I slowly walked around the room, studying each carefully made piece. There were trees and faces and intricately carved shapes and vases, and on and on.

  “Is the chain-yourself-to-your-art piece in here somewhere?” I asked.

  “You’ve chained yourself to your art?” Lacey asked.

  “No,” he said. “I haven’t. We were discussing if we had ever made any pieces that we would defend with our lives.”

  “Well, with our bodies,” I said. “We never said anything about lives.”

  He smiled at me. “True. And no, that piece is not my mom’s favorite, actually, so she didn’t know of its importance. Which I was happy about, because that means I get to keep it in my room.”

  “Let’s see it then,” Lacey said.

  His room was barer than I had expected it to be. I just assumed it would be like mine, with art and inspiration all over the walls. But it wasn’t. The furniture had clean modern lines, simple. And in the corner was his heart. I could tell by the way he looked at it. It was two shapes, twisted together, like bodies wrapped around each other. I wasn’t sure why I thought they were bodies. They had no distinct human form. But the long, elegant shapes seemed drawn to one another.

  “That’s beautiful,” I said.

  “I liked the big tree in the shrine room better,” Lacey said.

  He shrugged. “We all have our own views.”

  She fiddled with one of the bracelets around her wrist. “Do you mind if I raid your fridge for a soda or something?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Go for it. Do you want anything?” he asked me.

  “I’m good.”

  He and Lacey headed for the door. I spent one more moment with his sculpture. I ran my hand along the smooth surface. It felt surprisingly cold.

  “He texted me,” Elliot said, and I jumped. I hadn’t realized he was still there.

  I turned around. Lacey was gone and just Elliot stood in the doorway facing me.

  “What?” I asked. “Who?”

  “Cooper. He asked if I’d seen you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  The words made me want to cry all over again. “What did you say?”

  “I haven’t answered yet. I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

  “Tell him I’m . . .” What? Fine? Miserable? I didn’t want him to know that. Still in love with him? What was wrong with me? “Nothing. Tell him nothing.”

  He waited, as if he thought I’d change my mind, then held up his phone as if Cooper were inside it. “I shouldn’t even try with you, should I? He still has a hold on you.”

  I took a deep breath. “Maybe now is not the best time to try, because yes, he does.”

  “I understand.”

  “We can be friends though, right? I could use a friend right now.”

  “Of course.”

  I nodded toward his statue. “It’s really good.”

  “Thanks, that means a lot coming from you.”

  “From me? The amateur?”

  “You were in a professional art exhibit.”

  “I found out I didn’t earn my way in.”

  “That only matters if you don’t believe you deserved it.”

  That’s exactly what I believed. He seemed to read my expression, because he said, “Nobody else’s opinions about your art are going to matter to you until yours does.”

  “When did you get so smart?”

  “I always have been, really.” His eyes sparkled with his joke.

  “Thanks for trying to get my mom that night, by the way.”

  “I knew you wanted her there. Sorry it didn’t work out.”

  “It’s okay.” I knew I needed to explain to him about my mom and why she didn’t come and how it wasn’t him, but I wasn’t ready to talk to him about it just yet. “She’s working on it,” is what I said instead. “Our household is a big work in progress right now.”

  “Isn’t everybody’s? Come on, I’m sure Lacey has prepared us a feast by now.”

  In the kitchen, I grabbed hold of Lacey’s hand and squeezed. “Thanks, both of you,” I said to her and Elliot. “I didn’t realize I needed more friends in my life, but I really do. It’s been nice.”

  Lacey squeezed my hand back.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Nobody else’s opinion about my art would matter until mine did. Elliot was right. I had been so concerned about what everyone else thought about my work. It was always about my parents or Cooper, my grandpa. Everyone else. So what was my opinion about my art? I walked around my small studio back at my house. I studied each piece. I had been quick to adopt Mr. Wallace’s opinions about my paintings when he’d mentioned them—immature, one-dimensional. And maybe I still thought that way about my early paintings. But my newer ones held emotion, depth. My newer ones were good, maybe even great. I could see the growth clearly, and I could see there was room for more growth. But wouldn’t there always be room for more growth? Wouldn’t I learn and grow as long as I was willing to try? As long as I was always willing to let things around me change?

  I wandered back through the quiet halls of my house. My mom sat on the couch reading. At first I thought it was the medical book—it reminded me of one she’d read before—but then I realized it was a novel.

  She met my eyes and shrugged. “A little progress.”

  “Good job, Mom.”

  “I have my first appointment this week with a therapist,” she said.

  “Really? That’s great.” I smiled.

  “I’m glad you’re happy about it.”

  “Does it make you happy?”

  “No. It terrifies me, but I’m going to do it.”

  “Good. Sometimes we have to do the things that scare us, right?”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” she asked. “With Cooper?”

  “Maybe . . . yes. I’m just trying to free myself.”

  “Hang in there,” she said.

  “You too.”

  “Are we going to be okay, me and you?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mom. Love is about caring for someone even when they have weaknesses, right? I mean, you love me despite my sarcasm and laziness.”

  She smirked. “I love you because of those.”

  “I can see that.” I leaned down and hugged her. She didn’t let me go for several long breaths.

  “Where is Grandpa?” I asked. It was time to talk to him as well. I had been the hardest on him. Maybe because he’d never let me down before, and I expected the most from him.

  She pointed to the back door, and I let myself outside. Grandpa was in the far corner of the yard on his hands and knees picking weeds from between vegetables.

  “You’re not going to break a bone, are you?” I asked, sitting on the retaining wall that boxed in his garden.

  He took off one of his gloves and threw it my way. “Let’s see if your hands can accomplish as much damage as your mouth.”

  I took a deep breath, knowing I deserved that, and put on the glove. I could see why Grandpa liked to garden. There was something about plucking offenders out of the warm, soft soil that was very satisfying. I wouldn’t let him know that though or he’d put me on weekly weed duty.
/>   I looked over at Grandpa through a curtain of my own hair that hung down, blocking part of my view. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get your mom there the night of your show.”

  “It’s not your fault, Grandpa.”

  “But I’m more sorry I didn’t come. I should’ve. I was only thinking of her and her needs and not you. I hope you’ll forgive me. I do care about you, and it makes me sad you doubted that.”

  Tears dripped off my face and into the dirt. “I know. I’ve always known. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Grandpa stood, with some effort, brushed off his knees, then took off his glove. He sat on the retaining wall and patted the place next to him. I sat next to him and played with the fingers of the glove that I left on my hand.

  “It’s hard for me,” he said. “I feel like no matter what I try, she struggles. I try to push her, she pushes back. I try to be understanding, she sinks deeper. I want to take this burden from her.” He got a little choked up and I looked over at him, surprised.

  I slipped my glove-free hand into his. “You can’t. She has to make that choice herself.”

  “But I’m her father.”

  “You feel like it’s your fault somehow.”

  “Who else’s?”

  “Grandpa. She’s her own person.”

  “Your grandmother would’ve known how to handle this better. But obviously that’s wishful thinking.”

  “I’ve learned a few things this summer.”

  “From your list?”

  “From everything.”

  “What have you learned?” he asked.

  “That we can only control ourselves. No matter how much we wish we could twist and bend someone’s will to ours, they have to want it too.”

  “You’re a smart kid.”

  I laid my head on his shoulder and squeezed his hand in mine. “You know, I could’ve turned out really screwed up.”

  “What?” he asked, seeming surprised by my statement.

  “I have a mom who is great but who rarely leaves the house and a dad who is gone all the time.”

  “Yes, you could’ve let that turn you rebellious or jaded.”

  “But I had you, Grandpa. I always had you. You made me feel safe. You gave me my strength.”