Up to Date

by Susan Hatler

  Although my voice was firm, my insides turned to jelly. I’d never spoken up to my mom like that before. If I had, I would never have majored in business. Sigh.

  “I can see you’re determined.” Her forehead wrinkled, like it did when she was deep in thought. “The smart choice would be to apply for the sensible jobs I found at the same time you’re preparing for this magazine article, though. That way you’re exploring all possibilities in case one avenue doesn’t go well.”

  She did have a logical point. “That makes sense. I could do that.”

  Next, she approached my easel, studying my bright paint strokes. “You know painting isn’t my forte, but if you’re trying to attract a broad range of clients, you might want to use more neutral colors.”

  My stomach bubbled with worry. “But the journalist loved the framed poster of Vincent Van Gogh’s Twelve Sunflowers in a Vase I displayed in the den.”

  Mom waved her hand in dismissal. “That’s because Van Gogh’s paintings are famous. See what I’m saying about wide appeal?”

  I bit my lip, nodding slowly. “I just don’t want his living room to feel boring. I mean, I’m using a beige base but—”

  “Neutral colors are classic, not boring.” She tapped her index finger against her chin. “What about a nice landscape painting? That would please just about everyone. Don’t you think?”

  I immediately thought of the country landscape Rach had pointed out last week at Laurel Ann’s. Definitely classic. “I’ve seen a painting that could work.”

  “That sounds lovely.” She checked her watch. “It’s getting late. Now that I know you’re on track, I can actually sleep tonight. Remember, you need a stable job that’s going to give you that steady paycheck every month.”

  “Yeah,” I said, completely worn out from the day’s events. After I walked my mom out and locked the front door, I returned to my easel. Even if I wouldn’t use this painting in Greg’s living room, I’d finish the abstract artwork for the fun of it.

  Except my muse had gone on hiatus. Again.

  Finally giving up, I crawled into bed, pulling the covers up over me. Greg had long gone to work by now and I worried about The Skipper being all alone upstairs. But he shouldn’t be my concern. He was Greg’s cat, not mine. Unfortunately, both of them were all I could think about.

  ****

  At noon on Tuesday, I hiked upstairs for my appointment with Jenna. It seemed painfully ironic that she’d kept the lunch hour appointment since I no longer had a job I needed to get back to—not that she knew that, but still.

  When I’d come upstairs to finish painting yesterday, I’d arrived to find the job already complete. Even though I’d hurt Greg, he’d still wanted to help me. Such a great guy and I knew he’d make some woman really happy. My belly roiled at the thought of him with another woman.

  Using the logical approach in order to appeal to the widest possible audience, I’d gone back to Laurel Ann’s yesterday and purchased the country landscape painting. I also took my mom’s advice and chose neutral colors for the accent pillows, area rug, and white silk flowers in a crystal vase. Simple and classic. I couldn’t wait to see what Jenna thought. Greg, too, since he’d managed to disappear while I’d been decorating.

  Since I’d completed the bathrooms on Saturday, all that was left to decorate was the master bedroom. Not looking forward to spending time in Greg’s bedroom. That seemed way too personal for our current relationship status.

  I reached the top of the stairs, took a deep breath, then lifted my hand to knock—

  “Ginger!” Jenna’s voice came from behind me, her heels clipping up the stairs. “How are you?”

  Miserable. Anxious. Lonely.

  “Fine, thanks.” I forced a smile. “I can’t wait to hear what you think of how I decorated the bathrooms and living room.”

  She gripped the strap on her shoulder. “I’ve been looking forward to this all weekend. Did you remember to bring business cards? I have a co-worker who’s looking to remodel her entire house—four thousand square feet—and I raved about how you decorated Greg’s den.

  Hope fluttered inside me, and my eyes welled. After all of these years, my dream job finally felt within reach.

  “Thank you so much.” I unzipped my purse, pulled out a small stack of business cards, and handed them to her. “If you need more, let me know.”

  “Gorgeous design.” Jenna studied the antique chair and magic paintbrush my muse had whipped out, before my muse had upped and deserted me. “This is just so you.”

  I flushed at the compliment, then knocked on Greg’s door. My stomach clenched, nausea building up my throat. Did he hate me? He must like me a little because he’d finished painting the living room. Although he probably just did that to be nice, and he had pointed out that it was his condo. . . .

  The door opened, and there he stood right in front of me. Close enough to touch. Not that I would this time.

  My throat dried up, and I swallowed. “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself.” His tone was pleasant, but his eyes lacked the sparkle I’d grown used to seeing when he greeted me. “Hi, Jenna. Come on in.”

  I trailed behind, standing back, waiting for Jenna to rave about how all of her readers would love the room. Instead, I received silence. She wandered around the room, inspecting the vase, flowers, artwork, and everything I’d chosen. Still, no comment. My gaze darted to Greg, but he leaned back against the wall, avoiding my stare.

  Anxiety built inside me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I approached Jenna. “What do you think?”

  Her mouth opened and closed, like a confused guppy. “Honestly? It’s not what I expected . . .”

  “Okay.” I bobbed my head back and forth, trying to figure out if she meant that in a good way or a bad way. I wrung my hands together. “I aimed to appeal to the majority of your readers, which is why I went with neutral colors this time.”

  “Oh.” She nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing up and down, before she started shaking her head. “Maybe that’s why it feels a bit . . . generic. I’m not sure this will work for the article.”

  “Generic?” My voice went flat, and my heart dropped to the floor. There was no way to spin the word generic into a positive review. I should know, because I’d been listening to people’s opinions my entire life. Nobody ever received five stars for generic. Maybe I’d get a two-star review, if I was lucky. Panic bubbled up inside my chest and I so did not want to go back to an office job. Jenna hadn’t made any move toward her camera and I felt my beloved career slipping through my fingers.

  “Why don’t you check the bathrooms?” Greg’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and I wanted to tell him not show her any more of my work until I figured out where I went wrong.

  “Right.” She checked her watch in a way that seemed like she couldn’t wait to get out of here.

  As soon as she’d disappeared around the corner, I glared at Greg. “Would you please stop trying to help me? I can handle my own life, and you’re only making things worse. She obviously hates—”

  “Wow.” Jenna’s high-pitched tone came from the hallway bathroom. “This is beautiful.”

  My stomach jumped in my throat, and I threw Greg an apologetic look. “How did you know?”

  Greg raised a brow at me. “The Skipper liked it.”

  I guffawed, but then the corner of his mouth tipped up, telling me he was only kidding. He shook his head, then we joined Jenna, who was clicking off shots of the shower curtain, towels, rugs, and accessories. She also went photo happy in the master bath. Before she left, I said, “I’d like to redo the living room to make it less . . . generic. If you don’t mind giving me another shot.”

  “Sure. No problem. I’ll look at it on Friday when I take pictures of the master bedroom,” she said.

  As soon as Greg closed the door behind Jenna, I dropped onto his new (Ben Stiller-worthy) couch, and buried my face in my hands. “She hated the room.”

  Greg sat on the opposi
te end of the couch. “I’m not surprised she didn’t like it.”

  My head snapped up, and I gaped at him. “Really?”

  He shook his head, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. “The living room isn’t you. Or me, for that matter.”

  I held my hands up. “How can that be? I designed it to have wide appeal.”

  His brows came together. “Why would that be your goal?”

  “To be rational,” I admitted, then decided to confess the whole thing. “I’d been painting something special for you, but my mom thought the décor should focus on a broader audience.”

  “I’m touched you’d paint something for me yourself. Is your mom an artist?”

  I placed my palm on my forehead. “No, she majored in business and works in the accounting office of a clothing company.”

  “So you’re listening to her advice because . . .?”

  I shrugged, feeling very lame. “That’s what I’ve been doing my entire life.”

  He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The way you decorate isn’t rational. It’s passionate, warm, and vibrant—like you. Maybe it’s time that you accept that you’re fabulous and stand up for yourself.”

  He thought I was all those things? That I was fabulous?

  He did. I could see it in his eyes. Hear it in his voice. And suddenly I was filled with confidence. Maybe my décor and personality wouldn’t suit everyone’s tastes, but if my clients, like Greg, loved it, that’s all that should matter.

  “You’re right.” I stood, everything fiber of my being tightening like a fist. “It’s way past time that I stood on my own. Thanks, Greg.”

  “Anytime.” He guided me to the door. “That’s what friends are for. Just because we’re not dating doesn’t mean I won’t be here for you.”

  My stomach warmed, and a comforting feeling washed over me. Then I realized what time it was. “You work tonight. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  “This is important to you.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, a dimple forming in his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll nap later.”

  “Thank you.” I gazed up at him, hoping he knew how much I meant by those two little words. Even though I’d blown this photo shoot, he still had faith in my artistic ability. He still had faith in me.

  Thank goodness Jenna was giving me a second chance with this article. Now, I needed to impress her more than ever—by being true to myself.

  ****

  My mom knocked on our front door promptly at six o’clock Tuesday evening, exactly when I’d asked her to arrive. I pulled open the door, which hadn’t been locked. Sigh. No matter how many times I asked my sister to think about safety, she still refused to listen to me.

  “What’s wrong?” Mom strode in, removing her white blazer. “You said this was important. Did you find a new job?”

  “No.” I shut the front door, then gestured toward the couch where Mary Ann already sat with her feet propped up on the coffee table. “Thank you both for coming.”

  Mary Ann huffed. “I don’t get why I have to be here.”

  “You will.” I glanced over, and saw her picking at a hangnail. “Can’t you wait and do that in the bathroom? Gross.”

  Mom gaped at us. “What’s going on, Ginger? You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

  At the words “heart attack,” the air left my lungs and my mind flashed to Greg’s den photo of his dad and him. I could still see the pain written all over his face as he’d told me how his dad had died. And here I’d thought he’d had the perfect childhood. Wrong.

  I paced the area rug, my stomach bubbling with nausea as I fought my instincts to keep my mouth shut. I loved my mom and sister, needed to confess how I really felt, but I hated the thought of upsetting them. Even though it wasn’t logical, part of me wanted to keep everything smooth, and not risk hurting them. Not risk pushing them over the edge like my dad had gone.

  Taking a deep breath, I stopped. “I have something to say to both of you.”

  “We’re all ears.” Mary Ann directed her gaze at me. “But make it snappy please. I have a date tonight with a guy I met at the gym.”

  My head tilted. “What happened to Liam?”

  “Nothing.” She adjusted her feet on the coffee table. “He’s nice, but you know me.”

  “Yes, I do.” My voice tightened. “And we’re going to address that, too.”

  “Ginger, your tone.” Mom straightened her spine. “What’s come over you?”

  I swiveled, and faced her. “Basically, you crushed my dreams.”

  “How did I do that?” Mary Ann’s pretty face scrunched into a pout.

  “Not you.” I nodded toward Mom. “That comment was directed at Mom. I blew my decorating project today, and almost lost a huge jumpstart to my business. Luckily she’s giving me another chance.”

  Her brows furrowed. “How is this my responsibility? I told you to send out your résumés and diversify.”

  “Exactly.” I propped my hands on my hips, striking a pose that reminded me of Mary Ann. “After I told you how much I dread working in an office. Why would you encourage me to do get another job that makes me miserable?”

  She raised her arms, looking frazzled. “They call it work for a reason. It’s not called fun.”

  I dropped onto the couch next to her, my knees bouncing. “But I told you how I wanted to start my own decorating business. I showed you the painting I was working on, and I was excited about it. You made me second-guess myself. So, I took your advice and decorated a very neutral, inoffensive room.”

  “And?” Mary Ann circled her hand toward herself. “Don’t leave us in suspense.”

  I threw my arms up. “Jenna hated it.”

  “Yeah.” Mary Ann nodded. “Neutral sounds pretty vanilla.”

  Shaking my head, I turned back to my mom, my eyes welling. “Why can’t you ever listen to me when I tell you I want to do something? Maybe working artistically isn’t what you think is best, but that’s what makes me happy. I need you to support my dreams. I deserve that.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk to me this way. I . . .” My mom paused, gawking at me in disbelief. Then her forehead wrinkled, her eyes widened, and she gave a terse nod. “You’re right.”

  Mary Ann said, “Come again?” at the same time I said, “Really?”

  She nodded. “I’m always really cautious. I want you both to have the stable life I didn’t give you girls. I never took risks. I never put my foot down with your dad about his drinking.”

  I bit my lip. “Why not?”

  She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Scared of what would happen, I guess.”

  “No matter what,” I said, thinking of Greg, “the sun will still rise the next day.”

  Mary Ann scooted over so she was right next to us. “You should talk to Dad if you’re not happy, Mom. You can’t just run from problems.”

  Mom took a deep breath. “You’re right, too. I’ll say something. Finally.”

  “Good.” I made a clucking sound, then turned to Mary Ann. “That leads me to you. I need your help.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not more painting, please. I have a date tonight, remember?”

  “Cancel it, please.” My tone was firm. “I’ve been carrying you for years and I really need your help this week. After you’ve helped me, we’re going to sit down and find you another place to live.”

  “What? Why?”

  I smiled at her. “Because I want us to be close, and that’s never going to happen if we continue to live together. We’re too different, and for some reason you feel you can skip out on the rent—”

  “I only missed last month.” Her mouth dropped, and she held up a finger. “And, well, maybe the month before that. Um, wait . . .”

  “Don’t worry, I have a tally and you’re going to pay me back. All of it, squint.” I nearly laughed at the adorable pouty face she was made, but she wouldn’t weasel out of her responsibilities this time. “And forget the guy at the gym, fo
r now, and just go for it with Liam. He sounds like a nice guy. Stop using your one-date rule to protect yourself, and have some fun already. Who cares that it’s a third date? Getting to know a guy can be good.”

  Almond-brown eyes appeared in my head, dancing, and filling a hole in my heart that I hadn’t even known had been there.

  Mary Ann tapped her finger against her cheek. “Liam is awfully cute with that goatee . . .”

  “Is that all?” My mom seemed to hold her breath.

  “No.” I smiled, shaking my head. “Also . . . I love you both. Very much.”

  “Oh.” Mom slipped her arms around us. “I can handle that. And I love you girls, too.”

  Mary Ann squeezed us both, then gazed up at me. “How much work will you force out of me, anyway?”

  Thinking of the little corner she’d painted last week at a snail’s pace, I said. “It’ll seem like forever to you.”

  Then I laughed. My family may not be perfect, but they were mine.

  Chapter Eight

  Mary Ann may not have been happy with the tasks I assigned to her, but she came through for me all week long. I mostly had her returning stuff, wide appeal items I’d no longer be using. If a client wanted neutral décor, then hiring Up to Date by Ginger Nielsen would not be the way to go.

  My muse still escaped me. The colorful painting I’d started for Greg’s living room rested against my easel, going nowhere fast. I took my evening run on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, but could no longer get into my happy zone. I couldn’t clear my head. Thoughts of Greg circled my mind, as if the tiny cracks he’d caused in my protective wall had ripped wide open.

  It made no sense. I needed to focus on fulfilling my career dreams. I needed to amaze Jenna with this decorating project so that my life’s plan would fall into place. Even though that life plan couldn’t involve Greg.

  By Thursday evening, I’d purchased everything I needed to finish the decorating project, and the necessities were all stacked in Greg’s living room. Now the fun part—putting the new items where they belonged. Mary Ann had a third date with Liam tonight, so I would fly solo tonight. I met Liam in person when he picked her up, and he seemed to adore Mary Ann. I was proud of my little sis for breaking her rules and taking a chance with a guy. A big step for her.