“You’re an artist, Juniper,” she repeats. It doesn’t get any easier to hear. “But you had personal things going on, which meant you didn’t go to art school and you had to get a job to pay the bills.”
“Yes,” I say.
She nods, like she understands completely.
She works her way around the store, looking at my work like she’s taking in every last detail. She asks me questions and I tell her anything. She’s the first person I’ve talked about my work with for a long time who seems to really… feel it.
Eventually she turns to me, her demeanor shifting a little. “I’d really like to work with you if it’s something you think you’d like to do. We can potentially get you a show at one of my galleries. You’d need to create some more pieces before we can do that. And beforethat, we’d need to start talking about you. I presume you don’t have an agent?”
I shake my head. “I just paint for fun.”
“I can introduce you to people. You need to find the right person. Do you have plans to come to New York?” she asks. “Meeting some important collectors would be a good first step. Before a show.”
“I can’t go to New York. I have a kid in school and a job. I can’t just up and leave.”
Grace smiles. “I understand. The art world is demanding, like any career, but you have real talent. Think about it. If nothing else, you should get an agent who can help you expand your reach a little, now your pieces are on display at the Colorado Club. They can help you get commissions. Help you network with other gallery owners.”
My head starts to spin and my mouth goes dry. Everything she’s saying is so different to how my life is now. And I like my life how it is now. I’m not sure I’m capable of talking to gallery owners and important collectors. I’d feel like a fraud. I never even made it to art school.
“It’s a lot to think about,” I say.
“It is. But it’s exciting. You just need to keep creating. That’s the most important bit.”
“Well, that’s the bit I can do,” I say. In between work, being a mother to an eight-year-old, making sure the house is kept clean and we’ve got healthy food on the table every night. My plate is full without bringing agents and galleries and everything else that having a second job entails. A second job in a world I know nothing about.
“So we’ll talk again. Soon. I’m here for a couple of days. I’m seeing some of the members of the Club. If you want to meet again, I’m happy to get together. I know you have family responsibilities, so I don’t want to add more to your plate. I’d love to hear from you when you’ve had a chance to think about things. You’re talented. And I’d like to workwith you, but you have to want this, Juniper. I don’t want to force you into anything.”
I gave up on my dreams of being a painter a long time ago. Maybe Grace’s right, maybe I stillama painter. But to paint as a career? Those dreams died when Riley came into my life. And now I’m not sure I have room for those same abandoned dreams anymore, now that I’m a mother.
TWENTY-TWO
Fisher
I pull up in front of Juniper’s house and kill the engine. She’s already on the porch and there’s a bottle of wine and two wineglasses in front of her. I can’t help but grin. I can’t remember a time when a glass of wine on the porch with a woman would have sounded like manna from heaven. In Star Falls, everything hits different.
“Hey, you,” I say, as I approach the porch and climb the steps, carrying a gift bag. “How are you feeling? It’s been a big day.”
“Yeah, I’m exhausted.”
“Riley was okay with her grandparents?”
“I mean, she was salty about not being able to meet Grace and tell her about Mommy’s art, but she’s fine.”
I chuckle. “She probably knows it almost as well as you do.”
“Not quite,” she says. “I do my best work when she’s not around.”
I lean over her and press a kiss to her lips. “You smell incredible. What is that?”
“Acrylic paint and chicken sausage?” she suggests.
I laugh and sit down next to her. “Wanna drink?” I plonk down the boxed bottle of champagne I brought with me. “I thought we should be celebrating,” I say.
“Fisher, you didn’t need to do that. I don’t even have any proper champagne glasses.”
“Tastes the same no matter the glass,” I say. “I didn’t know if you even drank champagne.”
“Well, I don’t. It’s not on the menu at Grizzly’s.”
