“I’m not as sure about this,” Greer says.
Looking around, the other artisans are setting up crafty, kitschy kind of booths with holiday themes. The work is more hobby store than Greer’s fine art. But there are a few other true artisans sprinkled in among the hobby crafters.
“The people who like real art will find you,” I say.
“I hope you’re right. All I can say is thank goodness you got that car so I got to keep my studio assistant slash cheerleader.”
What Greer doesn’t know is I’ve got something else to cheer her up with if the sales are super slow. My Carbondale acceptance letter arrived yesterday and I’ve got it tucked in my back pocket to share at the perfect moment. She’s going to be so psyched for me. We roll the cart to a stop and I jump in to help Deuces secure the burlap backdrops. Greer rolls out a carpet and soon the illusion of a store is created and we start setting up the artwork. The final piece is my nest, which we have hanging from a hook I forged out of rebar. I haven’t decided if I’m ready to sell it, but it looks good on display.
Deuces rotates the piece so he can see the welded pieces of twig and leaves I crafted around the chandelier’s frame. On top are seven birds. Seven birds to remember. There’s a sparrow, to commemorate that first lunch Vivi and I shared. A dove—the soundtrack to the amazing hug by the teeter-totter. Two robins, springtime and friendship and traveling in flocks, they represent Cheyanne and Levi. A great horned owl signifies the moment I laid my truth bare to Vivi and she still wanted me, plus its size adds a nice balance to the piece. A bluebird because of all those damn boxes we built and because Vivi loved them and I think they’re pretty. Finally, a hummingbird, to represent her. It’s my favorite, welded at the top of the chandelier, its buzzing wings frozen in time. The piece isn’t perfect. But for the first in a series I envision building upon, it’s not bad.
Deuces studies each one closely, then asks, “You going to teach me how to make something like that?”
“Only if you’re not scared to get those shoes dirty.”
“Ha” is his only response.
It takes about another hour for us to get everything perfect, but then it’s showtime. Eliza takes off with Deuces, and Greer and I ready ourselves for sales.
Sadly, it seems she was right about the crowd at this show. They’re milling about without bags in their hands or they’re lined up ten deep for the homemade scented candles at the corner or the kettle corn booth at the end of the hall.
“This sucks,” Greer says.
“Why don’t you take a mental health stroll? I’ll watch the booth for you.”
“Thanks. I’m going to take you up on that. Bring you back a coffee, black with sugar?”
“Perfect.” I lift my hand as she wanders away.
I’m perched on my metal stool when I spot the family headed down the hall. They’re dressed interesting, kind of hipsterish, and I notice they don’t really linger at the craft booths, but stop instead at the booths where an artist’s hand has mingled in the making. I decide I’m going to make a sale for Greer while she’s gone.
My eye for the right kind of client is spot-on as they veer hard into Greer’s booth. The dad looks at me. “Is this your work?” His voice sounds surprised.
I shake my head. “No, my boss’s. She stepped away for a moment.”
His partner is holding up various garden animals, assessing them. The little boy, about ten, is giving thumbs-up for the giant rabbits. They make me smile.
From behind me, I hear a female voice. “Dad, Papa, you have got to see . . . whoa, this is seriously cool.”
I turn, and a girl—short fuchsia hair, huge brown eyes, black bowler hat—has her hand on my nest. She looks at me. “Is this yours?”
“That one is.”
Her smile is shy and there’s something about her that feels familiar.
“Imani.” The dad standing with the boy holds up the largest hare and a frog for her approval.
She nods. “Yes, awesome.” Then she points to my piece. “And this one.”
“Oh,” I say. “It’s not really for sale. It’s just for display. It’s the first one.”
She rotates it and I see her take in all the details. “Too bad. It would look amazing at our house.”
The other dad is listening in. “Get her card.” Then to me, “You do take commissions?”
I sit up straighter. “Um, yes, totally.” And thanks to Greer I even have a card. I fish it out and hand it toward the dad, but it’s the girl, Imani, who takes it. She reads it. “Jess Perez. Blacksmith.” She looks at the nest again. “You know a lot about birds?” Her smile is genuine and maybe, just the tiniest bit, flirtatious?
“I do,” I say.
“Cool.” She pockets the card and looks up at me from beneath thick lashes. “We’ll call you.”
Greer returns at that moment and jumps in to finish the sale. When she’s finished writing it up and running their credit card, the dads and the boy walk away with their yard art pieces, but the girl lingers. She lifts her hand in a slight wave and smiles, then holds up my card before sliding it back into the pocket of her miniskirt.
When she’s halfway down the hall, Greer pokes my side. “What was that about?”
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“Nothing, huh?” Greer winks and hands me the coffee she’d set down.
“Yep, nada.”
“Too bad, she was cute and from a sweet family.” Greer flicks my forearm. “And potentially interested judging by that little show at the end.”
I feel my blush, but the reality is, I’m not ready.
I’m still learning this grief. How to live with it, how to embrace it as a friend. My grief is part of me. I see now how grief can trick you and push you into dark places if you don’t acknowledge it. But when you respect it, greet it, welcome it, grief can transform. It spotlights your capacity for love. It micro-focuses the things that matter. Love is made sharper and keener by it and no matter how hard it hurts, or how deep it cuts, its presence is going to help me grab up the good things. I won’t let my father’s or Vivi’s losses be in vain. I’m going to live full and love hard.
And if I’m extra lucky, maybe one day, I’ll meet someone who will let me teach them about birds.
Author’s Note
This novel was born from loss. In the words of Lin-Manuel Miranda, I tried to write my way out, but like his protagonist, Alexander Hamilton, I learned there is no out, only through, again and again and again. Jess and Vivi gave me words I thought might never come again. Their story is not my personal story, but in the writing of it, Jess’s journey often mirrored my own. Grief is universal. We have all experienced it. Some of us have had greater losses than others, but grief, like love, is something that shapes every human on the planet and is one of our primary emotional colors.
In early grief we make mistakes, we try new things, we cling to the old. We cry, we gnash our teeth, we push the good people away, we might pull the wrong ones close. There are people who show up for you when you most need them, then as the pain becomes manageable, they drift back to the shadows of your life. Grief weaves its threads through every corner of your being. It affects each forward step you take. The trick is to keep taking the forward steps.
If you are hurt and scared and grieving, surround yourself with love. It’s hard to do. But it’s those moments with friends and family—when you laugh, and remember, and smile—that teach you how to walk your new path. Take your palette of emotions, blend grief with love, and find your rainbow. They don’t come after sunny days. They only come after rain.
Acknowledgments
This is the happy part of my sad book—gratitude for the multitudes who help a book come to fruition.
First, to my readers, thank you so much for taking the time to read my words. What an honor to write for a population of young people so empowered and alive and willing to stand up for what they know and feel is right. You are beautiful. You inspire me every day. Thank you fo
r reaching out and letting me know how much Jo and Mary Carlson in Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit meant to you. I hope you will find similar joy, even through the sadness, with Vivi and Jess. Love is love.
As always, thank you to my powerhouse of an agent, Alexandra Machinist. I’m not sorry if I made you cry.
To my wonderful editor, Chris Hernandez, thank you for keeping me on track in all the right ways. I appreciate your insight, guidance, and wisdom. All authors should be so lucky. I’m thrilled you loved Jess and Vivi like I do.
To the team at Harper Teen, including production editor Jessica Berg, designer Jessie Gang, and everyone else who worked to bring this book to life. Thank you! And to my talented cover illustrator, Elliana Esquivel, I love, love, love what you do! Yay art, and thank you for the beauty.
To early readers of all and parts of this novel, Pat Esden, Nina Moreno, Kip Wilson Rechea, Kristi Helvig, Erica Cameron, and Noah Valentine Styles, big hugs and kisses. Thank you for being gentle with my girls and me during a time when writing felt so fragile. And if I’ve left anyone out, forgive me?
To the tremendous writing posses out there, most especially, The YA Valentines, the Nebo Crew, the gang at Kindling Words West, and the Fall Fourteeners. Lifelines in this business are so, so good. Speaking of lifelines, Robin Constantine, you’re a boss bitch! And Lisa Maxwell, want to go listen to some tinka tinka music?
To my Boston Public Library gang—thank you Jenn Mann, Adrienne Kisner, and Rachel Simon for writing dates, scintillating conversation, and lunch in one of the most beautiful spaces in the world. You made my Northern transition so very easy and helped me get this book written.
To the Webster family for opening up your arms wide and bringing me in. I’m lucky to know you.
And finally, for Ann. You arrived at exactly the right moment in rainbow brilliance. Here’s to our two sweet hummingbirds and all the days they will bring us. Love is love.
About the Author
JAYE ROBIN BROWN is the critically acclaimed author of the young adult novels Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit and No Place to Fall. She lives in North Carolina with her dog, horses, and wife. You can visit her on Instagram @jayerobinbrown or online at www.jayerobinbrown.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Books by Jaye Robin Brown
No Place to Fall
Will’s Story: A No Place to Fall Novella
Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit
The Meaning of Birds
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Copyright
“Love Sorrow”
From the collection RED BIRD by Mary Oliver, published by Beacon Press, Boston
Copyright © 2008 by Mary Oliver, Used herewith by permission of the Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency, Inc.
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE MEANING OF BIRDS. Copyright © 2019 by Jaye Robin Brown. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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COVER ART © 2019 BY ELLIANA ESQUIVEL
COVER DESIGN BY JESSIE GANG
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018954199
Digital Edition APRIL 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-282457-8
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-282444-8
* * *
1920212223PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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The Meaning of Birds Page 22