Starting Over (4 page)

“Mom, I—”

“Oh, I know,” I say as the light turns green and I’m finally able to make my left turn. “How about a classic, like
What’s Up Doc
?
”

“Well, I was thinking—”

“Or we can do
Grease
? You like that one a lot. I have to admit, I still do too. I honestly cannot wait until you’re old enough to watch
Saturday Night Fever
, so you can see for yourself the way I like to remember John Travolta. I watched reruns of
Welcome Back, Kotter
as a kid, but he was—”

“Mom,” Josie says a little more abruptly than usual. “I actually was going to ask you if you would let me spend the night at Carrie’s house tonight.”

“Tonight? But it’s our movie night.” I can’t help the disappointment that leaks into my voice.

“I know it’s our movie night,” she says quietly. “But Carrie is having Lorelei over to spend the night and we were hoping . . . I was hoping . . . that you’d say yes because I’d really like to go.”

“But it’s our thing,” I say more to myself than to her and regret saying it out loud as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant to say is that we usually have our movie night on Fridays, and I was really looking forward to unwinding with you tonight.”

“Mom, you kind of said the same thing two ways.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right, I did.”

“And you know, it’s not really fair to make me sit around and do nothing just because you don’t have anything to do either.”

“Just because you’re not getting your way, Josie, doesn’t mean you can speak to me however you like. I’m still your mother.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

Suddenly I feel incredibly guilty for wanting to keep her all to myself. I can’t help but think that I’ve been banking on this very idea, that Josie would want to always hang out with me. But let’s be honest, what almost-teenager wants to do that? I know at her age I was always at a friend’s house and vice versa. And Josie has friends, lots of them, who she sees quite often outside of school. So who am I to keep her from having a social life simply because I don’t have—

No. Not even going to think it.

We’re quiet for the rest of the drive until we’re about a block away from my town house. As I’m pulling onto our street, I sneak a quick glance over to Josie, who’s sitting like a slouched sack of potatoes in the passenger seat while staring mindlessly out the window.

“Josie,” I say softly while pulling into the driveway. I see the expectant look on her face, because she knows what I’m about to say. Because I know that this is going to be the first of many times that I have to start letting her go and live her life. Because this is a very big step, and it’s only going to get increasingly difficult for me to get a handle on it. But I’m going to try. “Sweetheart, go ahead and text Carrie and have her mom call me to work out the details about the sleepover tonight and—”

She lunges across the center console and hugs me so tightly while saying over and over, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best mom ever!”

Later that night, after Josie has been picked up by Carrie’s mom and I’m sitting on the couch alone with the television on, a glass of white wine in one hand and remote in the other, staring at the screen and not absorbing one iota of what’s being shown, I come to the sad realization that my parents are completely right. I don’t have any semblance of a social life. Why it has taken me so long to realize this, I have no idea. Why I didn’t want to accept it before today, who knows. Probably because I’ve been content just going on about my business and making sure Josie goes about hers. But I’m not going to have a pity party. There is no point in feeling sorry for myself or having a smidgeon of jealousy of my daughter’s social life.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Maybe I can start living my life a little bit at a time while Josie lives hers. We can still have our time together, but I can do other things while she does hers. And maybe, just maybe, we can have the best of both worlds.

CHAPTER FOUR

H
ere’s the thing about a plan: you actually have to form a plan before you can take any action on it.

Which is why two weeks after my epiphany on the couch, I still haven’t done anything to set the wheels in motion toward bettering my social state. Between my dad’s absence from the office and Josie and me getting into the swing of the new school year, I just haven’t had the time. So another week from now I think I’ll see the light at the edge of the horizon.

Just have to plan some time for myself to formulate the plan.

But, today . . . well, today is a day that I look forward to every year. I’ve been attending the South Miami Rotary Art Festival since as far back as I can remember, and for the past few years, I’ve been able to show my pieces and sell some too.

It started out as a dare from my mother. She pushed and pushed me to display my work until I eventually applied to have my own booth. Now, five years later, I look forward to it like a kid on Christmas morning. And to be honest, even if I don’t sell one single piece during the course of the two days I work this event, I’ll still be over the moon ecstatic to be considered a part of the community of artists who come from all over the area to participate in it.

“Are you almost ready, Mom?” Josie calls out from the front door. “We’re burning daylight here.”

“Very funny!” I shout back.

I’m studying the last few pieces I completed recently to see if they are worth taking. There is one piece in particular that I’m not sure about yet. But in the end, I decide to grab it and place it in my portfolio just in case I change my mind.

It doesn’t take long to get to the event, and with Josie’s help, which she does every year, I’m set up in no time and waiting for the so-called doors to open so that the patrons can walk up and down the closed off road and peruse everyone’s work.

About ten minutes to start time, Josie asks, “Mom, is it okay if I walk right over there to get something to drink?”

I follow the finger she’s pointing to my left and down the block to a Starbucks that’s already bustling with customers.

“Yes,” I answer and start to dig into my purse. “Can you pick me up a coffee too?”

She smiles and takes the twenty-dollar bill I hand her and then bounces off. I keep my eyes trained on her and her swinging ponytail until she’s well inside the store.

While she’s gone, I open my portfolio and look over the sketch I’m uncertain about. Sometimes I name my pieces, depending on my mood at creation or if it’s directly inspired by something I saw or read. In this particular case, I had just finished watching, of all things,
Maleficent
. Afterward, it left me thinking about the phrase “true love’s kiss.” To the point that I became a bit obsessed with it.

True love’s kiss . . .

It sounds so innocent and hopeful, and taken at face value it’s a
chaste promise of romance and never-ending, undying love brought on
by a simple kiss between two people. However, when you think about
it,
at least as much as I have, when exactly would you know with all the certainty in your heart that a kiss is
the
true love’s kiss? Does it exist
merely in fairy tales? Or, if the right man comes along, does his love for you and all the passion in his heart somehow flow through that barely there brush of lips against yours, until your own heart is overflowing
with an emotion that you’ve never felt before? And as a result of this one little kiss, will you fall head over heels and madly in love with this person, forsaking all others for the rest of your life and vice versa?

The dreamer in me loves the allure of the fantasy. However, the realist in me has a hard time wrapping my head around the whole idea because, really? One kiss could have that much power? I highly doubt it.

But the dreamer side won out and I decided to bring the phrase to life, so to speak, in my own interpretation of it within this sketch. However, every time I look at it, I feel as if there is something missing. The more I look at it, the more puzzled I feel, and I end up putting it away again until I can study it further.

“Here you go, Mom,” Josie says, breaking me out of my thoughts and handing me my coffee.

“Thanks, kid.”

“Oh, I like that one,” she says in admiration. “Where are you going to display it?”

I take a sip of my coffee before answering, “I’m not sure I am.”

“Why not? It’s beautiful.”

“You think so?” I ask. “I’m not sure it’s even done.”

“Yeah, I love it. Especially the red highlights around the lips for the couple. You usually never use any color other than black for a sketch, so it really stands out to me.”

Josie carefully takes the sketch off of my worktable and holds it up to eye level. She gazes at it for a few seconds before looking over the edge of the paper with a beaming smile. “It’s romantic.”

Laughing a little, I say, “It’s supposed to be. I called it
True Love’s Kiss
.”

“I think you should display it right over . . . there,” she says, pointing at a spot at the front section of the booth.

Josie then takes the sketch and, after some minor rearranging, places it alongside another one of my favorites. “There, that’s perfect,” she announces proudly.

“I’ll tell you what,” I say to her. “If you’re able to sell that one, I’ll split the profits with you.”

She rubs the palm of her right hand against the denim shorts she’s wearing, then offers it up to me to shake, which she does with surprising strength and certainty in her eyes. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” she says.

For the next couple of hours, there’s a steady stream of attendees. Some stop in their straw hats with drinks in hand or a makeshift fan to ward off the heat, thoughtfully browsing until moseying down to the next artist’s booth. Others stroll by with friends, simply enjoying the gorgeous warm weather that we’re blessed with during the fall months. And then there are the true art aficionados that I see year after year who come by to chat about what I’ve been up to and look over my work, usually buying a piece or two.

I’m in the middle of talking to Elizabeth, a regular attendee who always ends up taking a couple of my pieces, when I look over her shoulder and notice Josie talking to a man and a woman. Their backs are to me, but at first glance, it looks like they’re a couple who clearly know each other well, enjoying the day, as evidenced by their obvious closeness when the woman places her hand gently on the man’s back and then pats him in a loving manner. Josie’s face breaks out into a tooth-bearing grin as she moves past them, and they follow her a few short steps toward the far corner of the booth.

A few long, wavy, dark-blonde strands have escaped my ponytail, so I tuck them behind my ear and try not to seem too distracted by Josie and the couple. I notice that she’s purposely directing their attention to
True Love’s Kiss
.

She’s really trying to make good on that deal.

I try to hide my laughter, but Elizabeth notices and asks, “What’s so funny, Vanessa?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” I tell her. “It’s just that Josie is trying to make some money for herself.”

Elizabeth spins around to see Josie showing the couple the artwork in question. “She’s a natural-born salesperson,” she says and hands me the money for her own selections. “Looks like she’s made a sale for you. Good for her.”

The couple, actually the man, is going through his wallet and taking out a few bills, which he hands to Josie, who smiles like a cat that ate the whole canary. It’s then that I see the profile of the man in question, and to my surprise, it’s Mr. Thomas, Josie’s science teacher. And to my ever-loving dismay and embarrassment, my heart starts to pound in my chest like a bass drum in a marching band.

Josie catches me staring at the exchange and excitedly waves me over. Which just makes my heart palpitate that much more, and for what exactly? Am I feeling this way because he looks the way he does? His khaki shorts and checkered polo shirt with the sleeves rolled up showcase his tanned and toned forearms and athletic legs. Or is it because I’m jealous of the woman he’s keeping company with? I don’t know him well enough to feel either way, but I can’t just ignore him either.

“Excuse me, Elizabeth,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

“Of course, of course,” she answers as I’m already starting to reluctantly walk away.

Mr. Thomas and his girlfriend both turn around to watch me walk toward them, and with every step that brings me closer, my palms begin to sweat more and more before my anxiety hits an all-time high. Because the way he’s looking at me isn’t quite right, to put it mildly. It’s . . . it’s like he’s appreciating me. And that can’t be right, especially with the girlfriend standing next to him.

“Mr. Thomas,” I say by way of introduction. “I would have never pegged you for an art lover.”

He smiles, but Josie cuts in before he can answer. “Mom, I sold your
True Love’s Kiss
piece!”

“Is that what it’s called?” Mr. Thomas asks me. “And please, call me Cameron.”

“Yes, I thought Josie would have mentioned that to you before you bought it.”

The girlfriend speaks up finally. “She never got around to that. Cameron here,” she says with a grin and pointing an accusatory finger at him, “didn’t need much convincing once your daughter showed it to him.”

“My apologies on behalf of my sister,” Mr. Thomas says in slight embarrassment.

Oh, she’s his sister. Interesting.

“I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. I’m Natalie, Cameron’s always teasing older sister.”

She puts out her hand and I take it in mine, trying very hard not to let my face betray that I’m pleasantly surprised by this development.

“So, Mr. Thomas—”

“Cameron, please,” he says, cutting me off politely.

“Sorry, Cameron.” The name rolls off my tongue with a bit of hesitation. “You’re an art lover then?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He pauses and looks over the sketch thoughtfully. When he turns his eyes to mine again, he quietly says, “But I certainly can appreciate beauty when I see it.”

Is he talking about the painting still? I like to think that I’m fairly intelligent, but even I don’t know if he means his appreciation of my work or . . . oh my God, is he actually flirting with me?

No, don’t even think it, Vanessa
, I tell myself before smiling at his praise.

My eyes latch on to Josie’s for a brief moment, and hers quickly switch over to look at Cameron, who’s watching me closely. Then she switches back to me and then back to him again. All the while, the corners of her lips are curling up in a devious smile. I frown a little in confusion, and with my eyes try to ask her why she’s so amused.

Cameron’s sister, Natalie, clears her throat dramatically to break the silence and says, “I was just telling Josie how Cameron never buys stuff like this. He’s usually buying another Death Star or something for his Geeks-R-Us collection.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Natalie,” he says under his breath.

“Yeah, right,” she says dismissively, then turns back to me and starts talking a mile a minute. “So, we were walking along enjoying the day and bumped into your beautiful daughter, Josie, here, who turns out is a student of my brother’s.” Natalie takes a quick breath, then keeps on going. “But you already knew that. Anyway, she showed us this piece, which is beautiful by the way, and my brother was entranced with it. So I said to him . . .”

Natalie keeps talking about how Cameron came to buy it, but I can’t help but sneak another peek at the man while she’s droning on and on. His head is down and he’s running a hand through his hair in exasperation over his sister’s storytelling capabilities, and if I had to guess, it’s not the first time she’s so blatantly thrown him under the bus. It reminds me of the way my own brother and I do this to each other, so I smile, and with that little smile, some of the tension and embarrassment eases off his face with a welcoming smile of his own.

“. . . and that’s because he never got over Darth Vader being Luke’s father when we were kids,” Natalie finishes finally.

“Huh?” I ask.

“You know,” she says, then goes on to do a pretty bad imitation of Darth Vader’s infamous line of outing himself as Luke Skywalker’s father.

“Oh yeah,” Josie chimes in. “That moment was, like, epic!”

“Right?!” Natalie agrees enthusiastically. “What about when . . .”

With Natalie absorbing Josie’s attention, Cameron tells me, “I wish I could say she’s not normally like this, but she’s
always
like this.”

I laugh because the poor guy has this very gregarious sister who must steal the show every time he tries to get a word in edgewise. “It’s okay, really,” I say. “She’s pretty funny, and clearly you guys are very close. My brother and I are like that when we don’t want to rip each other’s heads off.”

He relaxes a little more and nods his head, almost as if to thank me for understanding. When Josie and Natalie are done with their discussion about whatever they were going on about, Natalie announces that it’s time to get moving.

“We’re supposed to be meeting up with some friends later at Rok Burger,” she says. “Why don’t you guys meet us there?”

Josie’s face lights up, and she is about to say yes before I cut her off. “Thank you, but I don’t think we’d be able to make it.” And for the life of me, I don’t know why I say what I say next, because I don’t mean it, but it’s one of those things people just say to end a conver
sation. “Maybe another time?”

“Yes.” This from Natalie and Cameron at the same time. Then her
head whips to see her brother giving her a look that only someone with
a sibling could interpret as
Don’t you dare say another word or I’ll kill you
.

On that awkward note, Cameron and his sister say their good-byes, leaving me with an obviously disappointed Josie.

“Why couldn’t we go hang out with them later?” she asks.