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I nod. “I created it in one night.”
Zoey gasps. “That’s incredible.”
“Not really. I like to mull over the ideas in my head, until one day, I know it’s time to put it on canvas. Then, I can’t stop until it’s done.” I bounce Matty on my knee, and he giggles. “I don’t get much time to do that though, because of my job at the pizza parlor.”
“It must be difficult to work a day job and also paint,” Summer says.
“It is.” I hand Matty to her. “At least I’m not a waitress anymore, so that’s something.” I shrug.
“Managing a team isn’t easy,” Zoey adds without turning around. She seems to be entranced by my painting. A flush of pride squeezes my chest. I’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone respond to my art.
“It isn’t. Most days, by the time I finish, I’m emotionally drained. I end up coming home and falling into bed, then getting up the next day and doing it all over again. It’s the nature of the job.” I choke out a laugh. “Sorry, I don’t mean to overshare.”
“Oh, you’re good.” Summer smiles up at me.
Lizzie is my closest confidant, but with her, I’m in the role of her bigger sister, the one who takes care of her and pays her bills. I can’t allow myself to show weakness with her. I need her to know she can depend on me and trust that I have everything under control. Then, Felix entered the picture, and he was my best friend. He’s the only one who knows about the money issues I have. And now, I’m not sure where I stand with him.
I’ve never had a strong circle of girlfriends. Looking from Summer’s sympathetic face to Zoey’s engrossed one, I realize what I’ve missed.
Zoey turns enough that she can meet my gaze. “I’m a book editor; I get to meet a lot of authors. And many of them work a day job while writing at night, and I've seen, up close, how difficult it can be to juggle both.”
“It is.” I nod. “And I’ll be the first to admit, I haven’t been painting lately.” Of late, I haven’t been able to look at my paints and my canvases without feeling sick to my stomach. The more time that passes between painting sessions, the harder it's getting to find my muse. It's like some muscle inside of me is weakening with disuse. “I've often wondered if there isn’t an easier way to earn enough to pay my bills”—and take care of my family— “while keeping in touch with my art.”
I stand up and join Zoey to take in the abstract she’s turned back to. "That's the last one I did."
"Do you have more?" she asks in a considering voice.
I nod. "A few."
"Enough for an exhibition?" She shoots me a sideways glance.
"Oh, no, no—" I laugh. "I’m nowhere near ready to exhibit."
"Would you mind if I took a picture of this and showed it to a friend of mine who runs a gallery in Soho? He’s always on the lookout for emerging artists."
I quash my budding excitement and pretend a nonchalance I don’t feel. "When I was younger, I’d send pictures of my creations to agents. I was so hopeful." I sigh. "Eventually, when I didn’t hear back from them, I gave up.”
Of course, that was before Dad’s ALS worsened and any spare time was gobbled up with caring for him.
The baby becomes restless, and Summer rubs circles around his back. He calms, then begins to warble again. Then, he waves a hand in my direction.
Summer laughs. "He’s trying to tell you how much he loves being with you."
"I love him, too." I walk back to her and kiss Matty’s forehead.
Zoey takes a few pictures of my paintings, then walks over to stand next to us. "Are you coming to watch Quentin’s match tomorrow?"
"Match?" I rub my fingers over Matty’s downy-soft hair, then laugh when he wrinkles his nose at me.
"He’s fighting Ryot, who happens to be an accomplished boxer, himself."
"And is Quentin a boxer, too?”
"He used to be but hasn’t competed in a professional capacity in a while." Summer lays the baby down on the settee and pats his tummy. "Which is why my husband tried to talk Quentin out of it, but Q feels he owes it to Ryot."
"Why's that?" I glance up, my curiosity piqued enough that I tear my gaze off of the little mite to look at her.
"Oh, that’s not my story to tell." Summer meets my gaze.
