Cade wrapped her coat tighter around herself. She could feel Amy watching her. It was hard not to cry with the cold wind stinging her eyes.
“I kind of thought…” Cade swallowed. “I thought she’d be like that with me. Make this big…declaration.”
“She’s an idiot if she’s not into you.”
Not really.
Cade didn’t want to sound maudlin.
“I’d be good at doing her taxes.”
“You’d be good at everything. You’re kind. You’re funny. You take care of people. You’re smart. Every queer girl I know thinks you’re hot.” Amy pulled her into another hug, almost spilling Cade’s smoothie. “Something will work out. I know it will.”
“You sound like my parents.”
Cade’s heart was breaking, but it was impossible not to be a little bit cheered by Amy’s hugs and her love and her totally unfounded belief that things worked out for the best.
Chapter 33
Selena opened her eyes, cursing the morning light coming in through the windows. She was lying on Becket’s sofa (now her bed until she saved enough for an apartment). It was hard and saggy at the same time. She didn’t care. It fit her mood. Cade had been gone for three days. It felt like an eternity.
“How could I have let her go?” Selena moaned.
She and Becket had been over this before.
“Do you know that you went from dead sleep to angst?” Becket was sitting at her sewing table.
“I was angsting in my sleep.”
“Coffee.”
Selena wanted to weep, Cade drinks coffee, and I bought it for her, and she drank it, and now I’m never going to see her again, and my life is over, but that was dramatic, even for her.
“I’m too sad for coffee.”
“Get up. Help me finish this.” Becket flapped a piece of lace at her. “I wish we could do tots, but the auction is in a week. We’re performing, and everybody has torn their outfits. How could they all tear everything a week before the show?”
That was Becket, taking care of everyone, as always.
Selena dragged herself over to the chair opposite Becket’s sewing table.
“Hand me that seam ripper,” Becket said.
Who could care about seam rippers or corsets? She’d sent Cade away like a bad hookup, and Cade had accepted the brush-off. Selena looked around for something that could rip seams.
“Little blue thing with the metal.” Becket nodded toward a pile of sewing tools. She’d recently dyed her hair yellow. She looked like a sunflower, but that didn’t cheer Selena up.
“I talked to her last night,” Selena said.
“How is she?”
“She’s fine,” Selena said glumly.
Becket found the seam ripper for herself.
“She’s getting ready for a gallery opening. The guy who did the nudes. She’s worried that it’s going to look crowded. His canvases are larger than he said they’d be. I told her you’d got me a space to paint at the Aviary, but that I’d have to bring in my own light because the window spots are all taken.”
Becket put the seam ripper down.
“I don’t want to be that friend who doesn’t get you when you’re sad, but what’s wrong with that? You guys like each other and you talked about your day.”
“It was the way we talked. Every time I call her, it’s just Good evening. How were things at the gallery?” Selena affected an indifferent tone. “It’s like we’re strangers, or we started dating online and now we don’t know how to break up with each other. That wasn’t how it was here. We were together, a team. I could tell her anything. And the sex was amazing, but not just because she was a good lover but because it was her. And then she was leaving, and I thought I’d play it cool, not just be like, Oh, my god, can I throw myself at your feet. I know I can be a little extra. She thinks about things.”
“A plus in a partner.”
“I wanted her to know I’d thought about it. I wasn’t just rushing in like a stalker. I have…had…my shit together. I was being”—Selena put the word in air quotes—“level-headed. Like her.”
“I’m sorry.” Becket was a patient friend.
“Then she was leaving, and I told her I liked her, and I wanted to see where our relationship went.” Selena pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
“Not a horrible rejection.”
“But as soon as I said it, I was like, Fuck that. That’s not me. And I was going to tell her I’d move to New York with her in a second. Forget being cool. But she was totally on board with let’s see what happens. She said we didn’t have to be exclusive. She’s not interested in making something work. I’m ready to get monogrammed napkins and she’s not.”
It happened all the time. Selena had turned down people who liked her. She’d strung a few people along, and she felt bad about it. Just because they’d shared a few magical nights together did not mean that Cadence Elgin of the Elgin Gallery wanted to throw everything away for a homeless, jobless painter.
“Call her and tell her.” Becket reached around the sewing machine and patted Selena’s hand. “Maybe she’s waiting for you to declare your undying love.”
“She’s not.”
Cade would be polite and embarrassed and kind. She’d try to let Selena down gently. That tenderness would hurt more than a simple fuck off, because Selena would remember when Cade had lavished that tenderness on her body and her soul. Or at least that’s how it had felt in Cade’s arms.
“It wouldn’t have worked anyway,” Selena said. “I’m not the kind of person she’d be with long-term.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“You’re an amazing person,” Becket said.
“Don’t be nice. You know she wouldn’t have stayed with me. I’m fine,” Selena said, wiping her eyes. “I’ll survive.”
“Forget this corset,” Becket said. “You want to get tots and Bloody Marys?”
Selena closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids she saw the painting she was working on: Cade in bed, half wrapped in Crown Royal bags, her hair still perfect. Selena wasn’t done, but she’d captured the way Cade’s body at rest remembered the tension of the day. She’d captured Cade’s uprightness and her longing for release. And she’d captured them, although Selena wasn’t in the frame. She’d caught the way Cade looked at her…the way she’d thought Cade had looked at her.
Selena wanted to lie on the floor and wail, but Becket really shouldn’t have to put up with that. And Selena would probably get pins and bits of velvet stuck to her. It was time to get her own place: first, last, deposit, and utilities. Rent in Portland was ridiculous. If she saved up, she’d be on Becket’s couch for months. There was only one way to get that money fast. Apparently, this was adulting: doing the right thing and still not getting what you wanted.
“Beck, I’m going to sell my paintings.”
Chapter 34
The cabin was cold when Selena and Becket arrived in two borrowed vans stuffed with packing supplies. Selena let them in.
“Let’s get pictures of all these to Zenobious now,” Becket said. “He’s got to get them up on the promo stuff.”
They looked around. Some of the paintings were propped in the living room where she and Cade had looked at them. The back room was full of the rest.
“You’re amazing,” Becket said, shaking her head. “How many are you going to sell?”
“All of them.” Selena could remember every face she’d painted.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll keep the pictures of my dad and Ruth and you can keep Geoffrey in Cobalt Teal.”
“Of course, I keep Geoffrey. I stole him. He’s mine. But everything? You’re going to keep the picture of Cade, right?”
“Maybe.” Selena ran her fingers along the top of Sandy in the Blue Moon.
“You’ll want it later,” Becket said.
“You said I was getting too angsty. I don’t need a painting of Cade to remind me.”
“I didn’t
say you were getting too angsty. I said you woke up angsty.” Becket changed tactics. “I just think you should keep some of them. You won’t be able to do a show or get commissions if you don’t have work.” Becket picked up a picture of herself. “This one’s very handsome.”
Selena smiled at Becket, flipping through a stack of paintings leaning against the wall. “I’ll paint more.”
“I like that.” Becket still looked worried. “But you know you don’t have to do this to get off my couch. I’ll buy you an air mattress. You can save up for an apartment.”
Selena wouldn’t make a lot at the auction. She hadn’t advertised. Her social media presence was an Instagram account with ten pictures of her father’s dog. And she was an unknown with no provenance. Artists like that were lucky to make up the cost of supplies.
Selena picked up a portrait of a woman at a gas station, set it on the floor, knelt down, and wrapped it in a towel.
“Cade would kill me if she knew what we were wrapping these in,” she said. “She said it had to be archival.”
Cade had cared about her work. She’d recognized Selena’s soul in her work. And she’d told Selena it didn’t have to be perfect. It didn’t even have to be good. I thought I was enough.
“Selena?”
Selena looked up. She didn’t realize Becket had been talking to her.
“You’re not doing this for Cade, are you?” The way Becket asked told Selena that Becket was repeating the question.
“Of course not.”
Becket sat down next to Selena. She seemed to be picking her words carefully. Finally, Becket said, “You don’t think that if you make enough money or someone notices your work that she’ll come back, right?”
“No.”
Becket didn’t look convinced.
“You did with Alex. You thought if your work was good enough, she’d love you.”
Becket folded her legs cross-legged, making space for herself in the middle of the mess of paintings and last-minute packing supplies.
“Are you trying to make Cade love you?” Becket asked.
Selena had fantasized about it. She was standing on the stage in the Aviary, people crowding around her. She was a star. MoMA wanted her work. She’d pictured Cade calling her. I didn’t know how good you were. Come to New York. But that wasn’t the Cade she wanted. She wanted the Cade who told her everything she painted was beautiful because it was part of her.
“I wouldn’t want her if she wanted me because I’m a good painter,” Selena said. “Seriously. It’s rent money. I remember painting every one of these. I don’t need to keep them.” She looked around the room. Too many memories. “I’m ready to let them go.”
Selena tucked the corners of the towel around the woman at the gas station.
“Pass me the tape?” she asked.
Becket picked it up but didn’t hand it to her.
“You know if Cade posts one thing about your work, you’ll triple your profits. One post from the Elgin Gallery and you’ll be a star.”
Becket was right. Sometimes art sold because it was good. Sometimes it sold because it was famous. Sometimes it sold because someone thought it might get famous. She heard Cade’s voice. They only want to get close to my parents.
“That’s true,” Selena said, taking the tape out of Becket’s hands.
“Cade would do it for you.”
Selena taped the painting she was wrapping.
“You’re not going to ask her,” Becket said.
“No.” Selena didn’t look at her.
“Shouldn’t you get something out of having your heart broken by Cadence Elgin? And, in case I didn’t say this before, you’re having a lot of angst for a woman whose girlfriend has not actually broken up with her.”
“You did say it before.”
“Because I’m right.”
“Everybody wants her because she’s with the Elgin Gallery. I love her for who she is.”
So simple. She didn’t love Cade because of what Cade could do for her. And she didn’t stop loving Cade because Cade was drifting away in a wake of polite voice mails and sporadic texts. Selena still wanted Cade to be happy. She wanted Cade to know that what they had together—even if it was short—wasn’t about the gallery.
She waited for Becket to tell her to suck it up and ask. Cade wouldn’t die because Selena asked her to tweet something, but Becket didn’t speak.
When Selena was sure Becket wasn’t going to, Selena said, “Before the auction, there’s another thing I want to do.”
“What’s that?” Becket asked.
“I’m going to file a complaint against Alex at the academy.” The thought of walking onto campus again and talking about Alex made her stomach knot, but she could handle it. “She should never have treated me like that. I don’t want her to do that to anyone else.”
Becket regarded Selena with a look Selena hadn’t seen before.
“I’m proud of you,” Becket said.
Chapter 35
Selena parked her motorcycle in one of the McLaughlin Academy parking lots, tucked her helmet under her arm, and set off across campus. Students hurried along the narrow sidewalks that wound around the thick oak trees. Professors ambled in groups of two or three, probably heading to lunch.
The dean’s office was in a nineteenth-century house, retrofitted to include spacious offices and a large waiting room. Inside it was all polished wood and hushed footsteps. A secretary indicated Selena take a chair. A moment later, the door to the dean’s office opened.
The dean recognized Selena immediately.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said. “Come in. Come in.” She shut the door behind her. “Still raining out there?”
They made a little small talk. It was raining. Not as heavily as last year. Crocuses were coming up. There was a nice patch of them by the gym. Selena should check them out if she was parked in the north lot.
“I’ll do that,” Selena said.
Talking about crocuses calmed Selena’s nerves a bit.
“Weather.” The dean said when they seemed to have exhausted the subject. She pursed her lips. “Yes.” She folded her arms on the table and leaned in, trading her reserved smile for a look of real concern. “You’re here to talk about Alex Sarta.”
Selena tucked her hands under her legs and nodded.
“That night at the gallery,” the dean said.
“Not my best moment.” Actually, it kind of had been. “TMI for the Art Walk.”
“I thought you were amaz—”
The dean appeared to rethink what she was about to say, translating into something more dean-appropriate.
“There is no wrong time to come forward with a concern about sexual harassment. And I’m glad you’re here now. Do you want to tell me about it?”
Selena had rehearsed her story more times than she’d rehearsed her presentation to the Gentrification Abatement Coalition. It never came out sounding quite right, but she took a deep breath and gave it her best shot. After she’d finished, she added, “I did consent. Alex didn’t force me to sleep with her. She didn’t say she’d get me thrown out if I didn’t.”
“But you did drop out because of her.”
The dean’s face said, That shit is wrong.
“That was my choice.” She had to own it. She could have told Alex to leave her alone. She could have reported her back then. “But, yeah, she had a lot to do with it. And she had a lot to do with why I stopped painting. I get it that professors are supposed to criticize their students. That’s how you learn. But it was different. I think she wanted me to fail, and that had everything to do with us being together.”
“And Professor Sarta’s colleagues didn’t know that you were…involved.” The dean tapped a pen against a notepad on her desk. “But after that night at the gallery several of them came to me and said they’d worried about her undermining you. There’s a line between tough love and tearing someone down. They were never sure where you two were on that. Now the
y wish they’d done something.”
“I wish I’d done something too. But I’m okay.” Actually, she really was. A little shaky, but okay. She untucked her hands from beneath her legs and sat up straighter. “But I don’t want her to do that to another student.”
“I wish she hadn’t done it to you,” the dean said. “Would you file a formal complaint?”
“Yes,” Selena said.
“Thank god. There’ve been others, but no one’s been willing to come forward. They think Sarta will tank their careers. She needs to go down.” The dean grimaced. “You did not hear me say that.”
Selena smiled. They could be friends. The dean had the same fire in her eyes that Becket had when Selena told her she was dropping out.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Selena said.
“I know this may not be the time for you, but if you’d like to finish your degree, I can help you re-enroll. I could make sure you don’t have any interactions with Sarta. And I’m not just being nice. Your professors say we need to get you back so we can say we’re the school that graduated Selena Mathis.”
Chapter 36
Cade stood beside a couple at the Elgin Gallery. She stared into the near distance and nodded.
“This reminds me of Klimt,” one of the men said.
Nothing about the large abstract reminded Cade of Klimt, but that was okay. If the man and his partner wanted to pay twelve thousand dollars for the piece, they could think it looked like whatever they liked.
“Yes,” Cade said slowly.
“Or Maxfield Parrish,” the other man said.
Maxfield Parrish? Were they even looking at the same painting?
“Yes,” Cade said. “I see.”
She stepped away so the men could discuss the purchase in private and went back to the counter where Amy and Cade’s parents were drinking tea out of a Turkish coffee set and eating dolmas. Cade’s father was wearing a top hat and monocle. Her mother wore some sort of beaded crown. Amy glowed in a yellow dress, striped leggings, and matching fingerless gloves. They looked like something from Alice in Wonderland.
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