by A. E. Snow
“Yep! Well. Where should we start?” Jack rubbed his hands together like he was excited.
“You can help me take all these paintings off the wall. We have to pack each one up and label it as we go so they don’t get mixed up. When that’s all done, we will put them in the storeroom and let my mom deal with them. Then we paint, clean, and start the hang.” I paused for a moment. “Can I ask how you ended up here?”
“I was getting coffee and started talking to your mom in line.” He climbed the ladder without hesitation as he spoke.
“Okay,” I said, flummoxed. “Do you usually talk to middle-aged women in line for coffee?”
“Not usually. I heard her on the phone trying to find someone to work and I was out looking for work. I got fired from my last job and my parents said I have to work, so it was kind of like a miracle. I’d much rather work here than clean toilets at Peet’s Coffee.”
I cleared my throat. “Well, okay. Don’t tell my mom I called her middle-aged. I guess, let’s get to work?”
Taking down an art show is not exactly elegant work. I spend the morning sweating in front of Jack. This isn’t embarrassing at all, I thought while trying to sniff my armpits without him noticing.
By the time lunch rolled around, my nerves had worn off somewhat. Plus we spent our lunch hour with my mom in her office eating a salad and drinking kombucha, so I figured I had nothing left to be nervous about. Kombucha, Mom? That was probably worse than the time I’d offered Alejandro a nice cuppa. After that, we settled into a nice rhythm. He was good at climbing ladders and being tall, which I appreciated.
Somehow, the topic of Alcatraz came up.
“You’ve never been?” Jack asked, his eyebrows raised.
“No.” I shrugged.
“But why?”
“I think it’s one of those touristy things that people who have generations invested in this place don’t even remember to do,” I said. Also, I get horrible motion sickness, but I didn’t think it would be necessary to get into that. I didn’t want to give Jack the visual of me throwing up.
“But I’ve been there,” Jack said.
“But you haven’t lived here long,” I said. “That’s my point.”
“I guess that’s a good point.”
I pulled bubble wrap tight around a painting. “Can you hand me the tape?”
Jack brought the tape over and secured the wrap around the painting while I held it. I could smell him and he smelled good. I was pretty sure I didn’t and I kept trying to nonchalantly smell my pits to assess the damage. I made a solemn vow to myself to douse myself in deodorant and perfume before showing up to work with him again.
After work, I went straight to my room. Exhausted, I sprawled out on the bed. My thoughts raced between HSA, Alejandro, and Jack.
My ceiling provided the backdrop while I had an entire conversation with myself. Would HSA really be so terrible? Alejandro and Jack are both there. I chewed my already ragged fingernails. Emilia. I just can’t even with her. But Jack. Hanging out with him, even while we worked, was so fun. I think I really like him. I might even have a chance with him. Ugh.
I weighed the pros and cons of everything. Public school had Isla and did not have Emilia which was an extremely attractive option. However, HSA had Jack. And Emilia. And Alejandro. Mountain Day had field hockey.
A text startled me out of my pro/con daydream.
Jack: Favorite color?
Meadow: I like the whole rainbow.
Jack: You can’t answer the whole rainbow. You have to pick one color.
Meadow: Yellow maybe. No! Red!
Jack: Which is it? Red or yellow?
Meadow: I think it’s blue.
I went to sleep with a smile on my face.
The next day, I made sure to take a shower. I labored over finding something cute that didn’t make me look like I was trying too hard which was hard to put together at 7 a.m.
When I finally emerged, Mom stood by the front door waiting for me and tapping her foot. “Let’s go!” She hustled me out to the car. It was full of stuff going to the gallery.
Mom was enchanted by Jack, of course. She talked about him the entire ride. “He’s very polite,” she gushed. “And he seems very smart.”
Parents only care about things like that. I ignored her and stared out the window.
“He’s kind and motivated.”
That went on all the way to the gallery.
Jack waited outside the back door when we pulled in, which made my mom giddy. I checked my hair one last time in the mirror, glad I didn’t look too much like a hobo. I hoped it didn’t look like I was trying too hard. Somehow I’d lived almost 17 years before getting all stressed out about what to wear around boys.
Working with Jack was fun. We had all the paintings down, wrapped, and ready to go on to their new homes, or wherever they were going.
We spent a healthy portion of Sunday touching up paint that had been scuffed, and in a few cases repainting entire walls. Jack suggested that we play a game and he chose “Would you rather?” We played it for hours. We were still playing when it was time to rinse out the brushes.
“Would you rather follow One Direction around the country on tour or eat only dill pickles for the rest of your life?” I asked.
“I hate dill pickles,” Jack said. “This is a hard one. But unless 1D starts doing some actual dancing, I’m going to have to go with pickles.”
“I’m surprised!” I said. “I thought for sure you were a 1D fan.”
“Your turn,” Jack said with a wicked grin. “Would you rather carry a stuffed animal with you everywhere you went or only ever wear athletic shorts?”
“That’s easy. Stuffed animal! I can coordinate her outfits to match mine.”
Jack swatted me with his brush splattering both of us with white paint. I retaliated, thankful there was a drop cloth covering the shiny wood floor. Otherwise, I’d be dead.
I doubled over laughing as he smeared paint down his cheek.
“Oh no, you didn’t.” He came toward me holding up his paintbrush.
I squealed and ducked, but he trapped me against the wall. I looked up at him. He stared back with a goofy grin and my stomach did a somersault.
“Are you done?” Mom came bursting in with her usual gusto.
Jack took a step back.
Way to ruin the moment, Mom.
“Uh, not quite.” I held a brush soaked in white paint up as proof.
It didn’t seem like she noticed she’d almost walked in on something. “Meadow, you finish up. Jack, come to my office and let’s talk scheduling.” Mom turned and walked back through the gallery. “It’s looking good in there,” she shouted. “I think you’ll be able to finish painting by Tuesday and then we can start the hang.”
“Well, I guess I’ll go,” Jack said but he didn’t move.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Once again, he stepped toward me. The air around us was electric. When he leaned toward me, the back door burst open and Gabe bustled in.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Tomorrow then.”
“Yeah, tomorrow. Goodnight.” Jack handed me a wet paint brush then turned to walk away.
Gabe raised his eyebrow as he went by. “He’s cute,” he mouthed before disappearing again.
Do I like like Jack? Oh, brother. I did. A lot. What about Alejandro? I stood in the gallery, brushes in hand until one drop of white paint fell and landed on my black shoe.
“Meadow, come on! I’m about to turn off the lights. Let’s go!”
I snapped back to reality and ran off to wash the brushes.
Twist was in a really bad mood when we got home.
“We will definitely be ready to start the hang by Wednesday at
the latest. I want you to there before we start so you can give us some insight as to the direction you want us to go in.” Twist glowered at Mom while she prattled on. Mom, used to moody artists, ignored her glower and went on, unfazed. “Maybe the more intense pieces should be in the back room. That will pack more of a punch.”
I glanced at Twist whose brows were furrowed and lips pursed. Right before she exploded, the phone rang. “Hello?” Mom wandered off into her bedroom pulling off her silk scarf as she went.
Twist’s glower turned into a wobbling lip. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” she wailed.
I sat down at the kitchen table next to her. “Twist, of course, you’re ready.”
“Meadow, I’m freaking out,” she said, dropping her head onto the table with a thud.
“Of course you are.” I rubbed her back. “I would be too.”
She raised her head. “Will you come to the barn with me? I want to ask your opinion about some things.”
“Sure.”
We got up and walked to barn in silence. I grabbed Twist’s hand. The downstairs studio in the barn was lined with Twist’s paintings. Seeing them all lined up struck me.
“Oh Twist,” I said, both enthralled and terrified by her work. “These are so beautiful. Really.”
“Is it going to be cohesive?” Tears brimmed in Twists eyes threatening to spill at any second.
“Yes! Yes of course!” I said with great enthusiasm. “This is amazing! I love it so much!”
“Okay,” she said and nodded. Being an artist could involve a lot of self-doubt. The tears spilled then. “I’m having a moment of crisis is all. I’m not a hack right?”
“Dude. Not at all.” I knelt down to get a better look.
“I wish it wasn’t happening at Mom’s gallery,” she blurted out and then clapped her hand over her mouth, stricken. “Please don’t tell Mom I said that.”
I nodded, still entranced by her work. “I won’t. I know what you mean.” It was not totally different from going to an art school where your mother sat on the board.
“Of course you do.” Twist wrapped me up in a big hug. “Meadow, you are so talented. Do you want to paint with me? Just for a little while?”
I wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans. “I don’t know.” I wanted to run screaming from the barn and to go hide under my bed.
“Come on.” Twist let go of my hand and pulled a fresh canvas out of her stack. She moved a spare easel next to the painting she was working on and placed the canvas carefully on it. “You can share my paint.”
I stood in front of the canvas. It was as blank as I felt. I’d never had this problem before. I used to just paint without thinking about it very much. I just got inspired and then painted. I ran my fingers over the textured canvas, feeling the bumps on my fingertips.
I felt Twist’s eyes on me. Next to me, she dipped her brush into Prussian blue and took it to her canvas. Her painting looked almost finished. I knew she would deepen the color until it was so vibrant it stood off the canvas and became real.
I had no idea what to paint. I looked at the colors Twist had on her palette: blues and greens mostly, to match her mood. I took some blue paint and started swirling it on the canvas. It was funny. I hadn’t picked up a brush or even thought about painting in two months, and it felt strange and yet completely normal all at the same time. I kept swirling blue. Sometimes I’d add some green. After a bit, I forgot Twist was there. Jack drifted through my thoughts, and Alejandro. Guilt bubbled up in my stomach. I tried to paint it away, but I couldn’t forget I was doing something with someone that had a girlfriend, my friend supposedly, all while there was a perfectly good boy right in front of me. Swirl, swirl, dab. I got lost and drowned in a sea of blue. They say that drowning is peaceful. My breathing steadied and peace filled me slowly, beginning at my toes. Only vaguely aware of the rest of the world, I sunk deeper into the blue. I stared at my anxiety from the bottom of the ocean while it floated, lingering, at the surface.
Eventually, all thoughts of HSA, boys, parents, schools, and bitchy ex-best friends drifted away. I was far below where they couldn’t touch me. I just kept adding more layers of blue and green. I didn’t think about where the painting was going. I didn’t wonder about when it would be finished and how I would know. Covering the whole canvas in blues and greens was my only concern. I was completely calm for the first time in a long time.
“Hey.” Twist stood behind me and rested her chin on my shoulder. She had to stand on her tiptoes to do that. Sometimes I felt like the big sister in our relationship, but only because I was actually bigger. I stopped painting.
“I’m starving,” she said. “Do you want to eat or something?”
“How long have we been here?” I asked.
“About two hours,” she said. “That is very beautiful and sad, Meadow.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
We stood, both covered in splatters of blue paint with her chin on my shoulder for a long time.
“I love you, Twist,” I whispered finally.
“I love you too. Let’s eat.”
I floated back to the house and through dinner. Each one of us was lost in our own world. Mom broke every rule of dinner while we ate. She had her phone out and her iPad. Her smartphone dinged constantly. Normally I would call her out on that, but I wanted to be alone with my thoughts even though I was with two other people. Twist was quiet too. She was nervous. I didn’t eat much and just shoved food around on my plate. I knew exactly what I needed to do to finish the painting. I hoped I would have time tonight to add some white crests to the waves. I would make some of the waves into faces. Not obviously, but they would be there if you really looked for them.
“Meadow?” Mom snapped her fingers in front of my face.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I was surprised she noticed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You seem kind of . . . distant. You both do, actually.”
“Just thinking.” I stabbed a cucumber slice with my fork.
Mom frowned. “Well, I was just saying to you both that I am going to act like an adult at the show.”
“What are you talking about?” Twist asked.
Mom turned to Twist. “Dad is bringing a woman to your show.”
Twist’s lips formed a surprised ‘O’. I guess everyone had forgotten to tell her.
“Um, okay?” she said, glancing at me.
“She’s nice,” I said.
“You met her?” Twist asked.
Mom pursed her lips.
“Yeah,” I said. “I had dinner with her and dad. She’s okay. And she’s an art dealer.”
Mom tried to look magnanimous. “That could be very good for your career.”
Mom’s being really mature. I smiled.
Then she added, “Your father certainly does have a type.”
After dinner, I painted for three more hours until my right arm ached and my vision went blurry.
“Time for bed.” Twist yawned took her brushes to the sink to wash them.
I covered my palette with tin foil and followed her to the sink to rinse my brush. I left it to try and wandered back to the house with a heart full of color and hope.
Mom was in the living room drinking wine and giggling on the phone. I stopped to stare from the kitchen. Giggling was unusual behavior for her. While it was not unheard of for Mom to drink wine, it was certainly unheard of for her to drink wine and giggle on the phone.
“That sounds wonderful,” she said, her voice breathy. She giggled again, sounding like a twelve-year-old girl. My eyes got big as it dawned on me that my mom was on the phone with a dude! Or a man, I guess. And she was giggling!
Mom finally noticed me when I opened a
cabinet to get a mug for tea.
“Meadow? Is that you?” She sat up and turned around. She was flushed and her hair was ultra-frizzy.
“Um, yeah,” I said.
“Are you going to bed?” Mom asked innocently.
I got the feeling she was trying to rush me out of there. There can be downsides to a completely open floor plan.
“Yeah,” I said, “after my water boils.” And I was very thankful for the fast-boiling burner on the stove.
“Okay, goodnight,” she said. She went back to her conversation. “Sorry about that.” Followed by more murmuring.
I dropped a tea bag into a mug and waited. The boiling water drowned out her conversation. As soon as the kettle whistled, I poured hot water into my mug and went to my room.
I closed the door to my room and flipped the light on. Hank was parked in his new favorite spot, on my pillow.
“Hi, Hanky.” I put my mug down, rubbed his head, then stretched and sat down on the bed. My text message alert went off.
I’m coming over. It was Alejandro. B there in 5.
I jumped up and looked in the mirror. I was covered in paint, but there was no time to fix that. I had a streak of blue across my cheek and I still had on the jeans and tank top I’d worn to work.
Okay, I replied.
I didn’t stop to think about Jack or Emilia or anything at all. I just thought about Alejandro’s hair, his arms, and his eyes. I waited by the back door. Excitement or nerves, I wasn’t sure which, bubbled up in my stomach. The back gate creaked open and I walked around to meet him. He pulled me to him immediately and kissed me. No one said anything for a long time.
“Let’s go inside. I’m getting paranoid,” I said finally.
He followed be back into the house and up to the loft.
“Hang on.” I crawled to the window and peeked into the living room. My mom was still lounging on the couch talking on the phone.