by Sonia Hartl
“Don’t stand there and say I’m punishing you like you’re a victim.” I closed my eyes and breathed. She’d asked what I wanted—maybe it was past time I actually told her. “It would’ve been really great if you’d been supportive of me. I didn’t need you to push me growing up. I needed a terry-cloth towel monkey.”
“A towel what?”
I waved it away. “Never mind. I meant I needed you to care, not tell me all the ways I could’ve done better. I wanted you to say you were proud of me. Not because I’d done something to earn your approval, but because you were proud of me for just being me.”
“I am proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you. Do I think you could improve? I—”
“Ack.” I cut her off. “No qualifiers, please. This is me.” I gestured to the absolute wreckage of my apartment. “I’m a complete mess. I make mistakes. I’m a damned good artist. Take it or leave it, because this is who I’ve always been.”
She pursed her lips as she took in the paintings covering my walls. This was the first time she’d been in my apartment, the first time she’d seen my work. Insecurity had me knotting my fingers behind my back as she walked over to one of the walls to get a closer look. No one outside Mark, Emma, and the pizza delivery guy had seen the full scope of my work, and now it was under the scrutiny of my biggest critic.
She turned back to me, and I flinched. “These are good.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Had she just given me a compliment? A genuine one without a hidden barb?
“You’re extremely talented. I had no idea you could do any of this.” She gestured toward my paintings. “I’m sorry I didn’t support you more. And just so you know, I am proud of you. No qualifiers. You’re a much better person than I was at your age.”
“Wow. All right then.” I didn’t know what to do with my mom when I wasn’t arguing with her. “Should we hug or something?”
“Yes, that would be quite reasonable.” She hugged me. While it was stiff and awkward, like hugging the animatronic mouse at Chuck E. Cheese, at least she made an effort.
If we could keep meeting halfway, maybe we’d be okay after all.
My mom stayed to help me clean my apartment. As we bagged the trash, she asked me more about my art, what my plans were to get it out there. I told her about my gallery. She offered to give me financial help, but we’d just started to get on even footing, and I didn’t want to tip the scales again by owing her. Plus, my gallery was something I wanted to do on my own. Even though I was in very real danger of losing it, I could always find a way to keep saving, or maybe find a partner to go in with me on the next phase. That was the silver lining of failure: it offered limitless chances to dust yourself off and try again.
“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take it.” I put the last of my crusty coffee mugs in the dishwasher and turned to my mom. “Thanks for helping me pick up. I’m sure you have to get back to your office.”
“I do.” She paused, her nostrils flaring as if she was about to say something really unpleasant. “But before I go, we need to discuss your education.”
I knew this afternoon was too good to be true. “What about it?”
“That two hundred thousand from Richard wasn’t hush money from my father. It was actually for child support. I didn’t want to accept it at first, out of spite, but when he offered me a lump sum, I took it for you. For school.”
I sighed. “I’m not going back.”
“No. I know.” She huffed out a short breath. “But there was enough money for you to go all the way through to your doctorate. Since you had three years left, I’m going to write you a check for the remaining balance. You won’t owe me anything. It’s not my money. It’s yours.”
Holy shit. Three years of grad school tuition, even with the family discount, would be over $75,000. “Mom. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll take the money and do what you were always meant to do with it.” She tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear, and her eyes widened as she stared at her hand, wondering how it had made such a casual gesture of affection without her permission. “But first, you should really get in the shower. You look atrocious, dear.”
“I’ll take it.” I threw my arms around her, sending us both stumbling.
“Yes. Well. Good.” She straightened her jacket, all business, but her cheeks had a happy pink tint to them. “By the way, I’ve seen your gentleman around campus.”
I shook my head. “I told you he’s not my gentleman anymore.”
“I know, but from the way he’s been walking around like the living dead, I’d say he’s still very much your gentleman.”
I didn’t have a response for that. I’d forgiven my mother for her lies, but she’d let me live in her womb for nine months. In a way, Mark’s lies had hurt worse because I’d trusted him against my better instincts. My mom was right about one thing: you couldn’t go back and change the past.
CHAPTER 33
A few weeks later, I wiped the sweat off my brow as I hauled another podium into place in my gallery. Thanks to Richard’s child support, I could fix up the place and make my payments without living on cat food. I still needed to move into a smaller apartment—I had to be careful with the money—but I’d deal with that after the opening.
The floors had been refinished two days ago, and all the shelves I’d installed had a fresh coat of paint. I ran a hand over the lacquered red counter, its shiny surface like glass beneath my palm. Yesterday I’d hooked up Square to an iPad that would flip toward customers so they could sign, and I’d rung up a phantom dollar just to make sure it worked.
The technical aspects of my business had all been handled. Now I was on to the fun stuff—the designing and decorating I’d been itching to do.
Emma had stopped by earlier to bring me coffee and catch me up on all the latest happenings with her advertising firm. She’d been stealing business from her old employer, and she found it a thousand times more satisfying than exacting revenge on men who’d had nothing to do with screwing her over. According to Charlotte and Allie, Margo had been having a difficult time trying to simultaneously replace Emma and me, so it had hit her especially hard when they both put in their two weeks’ notice. That bit of news warmed the cold dark place in my heart that still enjoyed a little schadenfreude.
We had plans to all meet up for drinks after my opening, but I missed seeing them on a daily basis. The only part of H4H I missed.
“I had a drink with a guy the other night,” Emma told me.
I set my coffee aside and hopped up on my new counter. “Tell me everything.”
“Not much to tell.” Emma averted her eyes. “He’s okay. Kind of a goober, but in a good way. He runs an appraisal business. His office is next to mine. When he asked me out, looking all earnest in his three-piece suit and Coke-bottle glasses, I figured, why not?”
Why not indeed. “I like him already. His name?”
“Ugh. I knew you were going to ask me that. His name is Walter.”
“Is he eighty?”
She grinned. “He’s thirty-five, so obviously his parents hate him.” She set her coffee on one of the shelves. “I’ve got the rest of the afternoon off if you want some help.”
“I would love it, actually.”
We’d hauled podiums around until I had them all perfectly positioned. Emma held the ivy and lights border I’d bought on discount to frame my ceiling, while I used a nail gun to secure it in place. The soft white lights gave the room ambience. I’d taken a few trips into the suburbs to hit up estate sales for vignette items. In one window I’d set up a chair with an old teddy bear who was missing one of his button eyes. An old tin train set on rusted tracks rested on the floor. Paper hot-air balloons hung from the ceiling, and I’d fashioned an old carousel horse to function as an easel to display my painting of the little girl looking into the toy store.
I’d added a few plants to fill the space, then went out into the street to check out how it would look
to people passing by.
“It’s perfect.” Emma rested her elbow on my shoulder. “You’re really building something here. Not just a business, but the start of a new community. I’m so proud of you.”
I hugged her. “Thank you. For always being the best.”
After Emma left, I continued to work. I had brought a few of my pieces to set around the room. Not for display, but just to have them there. In my space. There’d be no going back or calling myself “aspiring.” I’d be putting my work out there for the world to see. I was an artist, and the label didn’t scare me anymore.
A man in a corduroy jacket poked his head in my door. “I’m sorry to bother you. It doesn’t appear like you’re open yet, but I was wondering if that painting was for sale.” He pointed at my toy-store display.
“I…” I wasn’t technically ready, but who was I to turn down a sale? I gave him a warm smile. “Sure. Come on inside.”
After a few difficulties with my new credit card reader, the man walked out with one of my paintings, and I’d just made my first sale two weeks ahead of launch. I was walking on puffy clouds in an endless blue sky. This called for a celebration, but Emma had already gone, and I didn’t feel much like drinking and making a fool of myself in the city.
I grabbed my phone off the counter and called the one person I wouldn’t have a few weeks ago. “Hey, Mom. Are you free for dinner?”
* * *
Opening night. The air rippled with anticipation. Everything I’d been working toward had all come down to this moment. A dream realized.
Tilly’s House of Horrors had been helping me with promo all week, handing out fliers with each vial of blood and two-headed skeleton they sold. We had a mutual interest in seeing each other succeed, but it wasn’t just about that. Tilly was an art lover and a genuinely kind person. I’d already begun to feel the sense of community in this neighborhood.
My gallery fit in nicely with the fusion restaurants and funky shops in the area. The photography studio that shared the other wall with me showcased beautiful black-and-white pictures of the city. I’d thought about selling photography too, but I didn’t have the room, and I didn’t want to step on toes. I liked that the businesses around here didn’t compete, but rather worked together to ensure the high tides would raise all our ships.
A chef from the culinary school kitty-corner to me had come over to introduce herself the other day and told me I’d be more than welcome to stop by one of her classes anytime to meet her students. I’d have to take her up on the offer soon, if for no other reason than to build more bridges and invest in this corner of Chicago that we’d all carved out for ourselves.
I’d expected to have to do some scouring to find artists who’d be willing to take a chance on me, but it turned out word had spread once I’d secured Ava’s pieces. Now the artists came to me. This was how I lifted up women now, by giving them a space to showcase their talent, by creating beauty and a sense of purpose that had nothing to do with tearing down other people.
Previously empty shelves displayed glasswork from local blowers, pottery, beadwork, and ceramics. The real highlight, though, was the podiums I’d spread around the room to showcase Ava’s metal sculptures. She’d had a falling-out with her last gallery, so we’d negotiated a much fairer arrangement, 40 percent, where her last gallery had taken a 60 percent cut. Having her work had garnered me write-ups in the Sun-Times and the Tribune.
And in the windows, with unique vignettes to complement the various scenes, my paintings had been set up for sale. I’d had to pinch myself several times while putting the displays together. But they were real. This was real.
I’d hired my old friend, the waiter with the wine tray from Dr. Faber’s retirement party, to serve drinks as people browsed my selections and made purchases. Everyone I loved and cared about had come out tonight. All except one.…
Mark had given up his “not calling” quest. I hadn’t received flowers in over a week, and while part of me was relieved he’d finally gotten the hint, another part wanted to let go, show up at his apartment unannounced, and throw myself back into his arms. But I couldn’t let regret and old feelings consume me tonight. I had to stay strong. My life was too busy and chaotic for a relationship anyway. Getting a business off the ground took serious commitment.
My mom stood beside me, drinking the one glass of wine she’d allow herself in public, and took in the scene. “I have to hand it to you. This is extraordinary.”
“Thank you.” I gave her an awkward side-hug. We were still working out how to show affection to each other. “And thank you for not finding something to turn up your nose at.”
“Really, Brinkley.” She sniffed. “I’m not a monster.”
“Of course not.” We were both curbing our urge to pick fights. “I really appreciate you coming out tonight and showing your support.”
I left her to go mingle in the crowd. Emma stood with Allie and Charlotte. She’d dragged Walter along, and he was adorably uncomfortable with the large crowd but looked at Emma like she held the world. I hoped the two of them worked out.
My featured artists had brought their families, people wandered in off the street through the open doors, and the place was packed. Between ringing up sales and introducing myself to the people I didn’t know, I didn’t have a free second to catch my breath.
As I sold a gorgeous handblown glass sphere in shades of blue and green, something outside caught my eye and I looked up, as if my subconscious had pulled at me.
Mark stood on the sidewalk. He wore an argyle sweater-vest, and in his arms he held Winnie, who was wearing a matching sweater-vest and butting his chin with her head, completely content.
I stopped everything I’d been doing and went outside. “What is this?”
He set Winnie down but kept her tethered to a cat leash. “I know I said I’d stay away, that I wouldn’t call or contact you, but every day I wake up and it’s like I’m being stabbed in the heart. I can’t even escape it in sleep because I dream about you every night. I miss you. I miss us. Please, Brinkley, give me another chance.”
“You bought a matching sweater for my cat?” That surprised me more than seeing him standing outside my gallery on opening night.
“I love you more than I hate clothes on animals.”
“That’s…” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. It shocked my system to see him outside my gallery. I’d almost gotten to the point where I only thought about him every five minutes. But he’d still betrayed me, and I couldn’t just forget about it. “That’s not enough for me.”
I started to walk away, hoping he’d put my cat back where she belonged, when he said, “I left Northwestern.”
I faced him. Hardly daring to say anything until he explained himself, I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
“Because you were right about me.” Winnie wound around his legs, and he attempted to untangle her cat leash while he talked. “I was self-destructing, and it blew up in the worst way when I lost you. I withdrew the article and quit.”
“Okay.” He had my attention. “So what are you going to do now?”
“Just this week I was hired as a middle school teacher on the South Side. I’m going to run a metal detecting club after school.” He took a step forward and clasped my hands in his. “I never would’ve admitted that’s what I really wanted if you hadn’t pushed me to face who I could be, not who I thought I was supposed to be.”
Truth be told, I’d been a goner from the moment I saw he’d put on a matching sweater with my cat. But this—this was the Mark I’d fallen in love with. The man who had a passion for teaching and a dorky hobby that fueled his soul.
“It’s about damn time.” I threw my arms around him.
He stumbled back as he picked me up and spun me around. Winnie hissed at our feet. His deep exhale of relief caressed my hair, and I pulled back, staring up at those beautiful storm-cloud eyes I’d missed so much.
He cupped my face, running his thumbs along m
y jaw. He stared at me as if I were more precious than the glass sphere I’d just sold. Pushing up on my toes, I caught his lips and kissed him hard enough to make my toes curl.
I rubbed his chest with my hands. “You know what this means, right? I’m going to make you and Winnie wear these sweaters for my holiday card this year.”
He laughed. “You say that like there isn’t a matching one in your size hanging in your closet as we speak. The only thing hanging in your closet, actually, since you keep all your clothes on the floor.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How did you get the key to my apartment anyway?”
“I had some help.” He looked over my shoulder, and I spun around.
My mom raised her glass to us with misty eyes. That little sneak. I’d given her a spare key for safekeeping weeks ago, but I supposed I could forgive her. I’d gotten pretty good at that.
Turning back to Mark, I kissed him again. I couldn’t get enough of touching him, feeling his solid arms around me. This was what home felt like. This was my life.
The place where I was always meant to be.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I’d like to thank all of my readers! I had an absolute blast drafting this story, and I hope you enjoyed going on this journey with Brinkley and Mark.
To my incredible editor, Sara Quaranta, working with you has been the absolute best. I can’t thank you enough for your insight, expertise, and passion for this story and these characters. This was an incredible experience, and I’m so thankful to be a part of this team.
A million thanks to my amazing agent, Rebecca Podos, who has been my cheerleader and champion through the highs and lows of this wild business. When I came to you and said I wanted to start writing adult fiction, your enthusiasm and support gave me the push I needed to turn this dream into a reality.
Huge thanks to production editor Alysha Bullock, managing editor Caroline Pallotta, managing editorial assistant Allison Green, art director Lisa Litwack, publicist Michelle Podberezniak, marketer Anne Jaconette, interior designer Michelle Marchese, subrights director Paul O’Halloran, copyeditor Joal Hetherington, cover designer Vikki Chu, and the entire team at Gallery Books.