Page 100 of If My Wishes Came True
With a wistful smile, I think back to the morning Charlie and I spent at the Museum of Contemporary Art, coming up with hilarious interpretations of the more abstract works on displayand laughing hysterically about them. I wonder what he’d make of this bubble wrap piece. I’m sure he’d say something witty, like, “It must be a commentary onpopculture.”
My eyes tear up. This is pathetic—even bubble wrap makes me think of Charlie.
“Okay,” Christy says, taking hold of my shoulders and turning me so I’m facing her. “You need a pep talk. I know it seems like tonight is about Charlie, but it’s not. It’s aboutyou. This is your first art show ever. And if you want it to be the first of many, you need to focus. You’re the only artist here who’s drawn a crowd around their piece. That just goes to show how talented you are!”
I nod, taking in her words.
“There are people here who are impressed by your work, and they want to talk to you about it,” she continues. “So put your game face on, okay? This is what artists do. Remember when Lola Piper went through that very public breakup while she was on tour, and still put on the best goddamn shows of her life? You need to channel that energy.”
I take a deep breath. Christy’s absolutely right. This is such a huge milestone for me, and I don’t want to spend it crying over a guy—even if that guy is Charlie Sutton, who’s had a hold on my heart since I met him. Maybe even before, if I let myself believe in cosmic connections.
But whatever ends up happening between us, I know I’ll be okay. I have art, and I have friends, and I have Esther. And best of all, I have this newfound closeness with my sister, that I’ll never take for granted.
I even have hope, for the first time since I was a kid, that Christy and I might be able to have a better relationship with our mom.
I’m going to be just fine.
“Okay, boss babe,” I say to Christy. “I’m ready to do this. And I like this side of you, by the way. No wonder you’re such an esteemed literary agent.”
She smiles, and looks at me with that mischievous glint in her eyes that I love. “Well, tonight, I’m anartagent. Representing up-and-coming painter, Jenna Andersen. Look—I even have her business cards in my purse.”
“Oh, good call. I didn’t think to bring any, because they’re for my design business, but I guess that’s better than nothing, right? Where did you find them, in my desk?” I shake my head. “I wish I’d thought to make new ones.”
“One step ahead of you, sis,” Christy says, handing me her stack. “I figured you had a lot on your mind this week.”
“Jenna Andersen, Painter,” I read as the biggest smile blooms on my face. “Thank you so much,” I say, then wrap my arms around my sister.
“Let’s go,” she says, taking my hand.
But we’re intercepted by a tap on my shoulder. As I turn around, my heart picks up speed.
It isn’t Charlie, though. It’s Tati Marie.
My eyes light up, even though she’s not the person I was expecting. “Marie, this is a dream come true. Thank you so much for making tonight possible.”
“You made this possible, Jenna,” she says. In typical Tati Mariefashion, her forehead is creased, but her tone is warm.
“This is my sister, Christy,” I say, eager to introduce the two.
“I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Marie,” my sister chimes in.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” my art teacher replies. And when Marie gives her a big hug, Christy looks at me over her shoulder, as if to say, “You’re right—her hugs are amazing.”
I nod knowingly.
“Vanessa’s on her way,” Tati says when she separates from my sister. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “She’s coming with Asher.”
“That’s great,” I say, only slightly triggered by the returning fear of Charlie not showing up for me.
I’m making progress.
Even an hour later, when Christy and I have talked to no less than fifteen art enthusiasts about my work, and my sister’s brokered two new commissions for me, I’m not teary-eyed.
Maybe it’s the high from the deals Christy just made on my behalf, but I’m excited. This is a new life for me. Gallery shows, and art collectors, and me in my smock, painting. I can’t help but smile.
This is what I’ve wished for—for a very long time.
“You’re killing it,” my sister whispers in my ear.
