Page 99 of If My Wishes Came True
But then, I see an opportunity. My mom is obviously unhappy—and has been for as long as I remember. I wanted to talk to her about therapy in person, but why wait if she’s going through an especially tough time right now?
When my sister unmutes the phone, I say, “You know, Mom…I started therapy recently, and it’s been so helpful. Maybe you could talk to someone, too. About Dad…and your rough patch.”
Christy gives my shoulder a supportive squeeze, and we look at each other’s anxious faces, waiting for our mom to answer.
“Oh, I don’t think your father would appreciate me telling a stranger about our marriage troubles,” she says.
“Whetheryougo to therapy or not isn’t his decision to make, Mom,” I tell her. “He doesn’t even have to know. Don’t you handle all the insurance paperwork, anyway?”
Dad’s always treated Mom like she’s his secretary—delegating administrative tasks to her because his time is too valuable, apparently.
“That’s true,” she says after a beat. Christy and I exchange excited glances again.
“So, you would consider it?” my sister asks.
Mom heaves a sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. How would I even find someone?”
“I’ll find someone for you,” I jump in. Just like Vanessa found Esther for me. Now I can pay it forward, to help my own mother. “I’ll ask my therapist if she has any recommendations. Even if she doesn’t personally know anyone near Beachwood, I’m sure she can point me in the right direction.”
“Well…”
“I’ll send you the referrals as soon as I get them!” I blurt out, before she can come up with an excuse.
“Okay, Mom, we’ll talk to you soon!” Christy adds, then hangs up and raises her hand to high-five me. “Nailed it,” she says when our palms meet.
I shrug. “I guess we’ll see. That went a lot better than I thought it would, at least.”
“Things are shifting, Jenna. The Andersen women are going to take the world by storm. And tonight’s going to be great for you—I know it,” she goes on, maybe noticing the apprehension on my face.
I can’t help it. Every time I think about the art show, I think about Charlie and our uncertain future.
“Come on, let’s go pick our outfits, so we don’t have to worryabout it later. Then we can spend the rest of the day watching movies again.”
“Sounds good,” I say forcing a smile. I may as well try to relax and enjoy the afternoon with my sister.
But as I pass the open door of my art studio and see the portraits of every important person in my lifeexceptCharlie, I have to fight like hell to ignore the sinking feeling in my heart.
I’m not gonna lie—when I walk into the art gallery, a sizeable part of me is convinced that the first face I’ll see is Charlie’s. And not just his portrait hanging on the wall. Charlie Sutton, in the flesh, his eyes lighting up when he meets my gaze. Relief written all over his face when I run into his arms and we share the same air again, finally.
I guess Christy got in my head. And the movies we binge-watched all week, that all end with a perfectly timed reunion under the most romantic of circumstances. Soulmates’ eyes meeting across a crowded room. Confessions of love made in front of a misty-eyed audience. Thunderbolts, and passionate kisses in the pouring rain.
And music. Always music.
The gallery is an ideal setting for grand gestures. There’s bossa nova playing over the speakers, and the lights are dimmed to showcase the artwork. There are votive candles and fresh flowers on high-top tables, where people are sipping champagne andindulging in little desserts served by cater waiters. The overall effect is pretty sexy. I can easily picture myself kissing Charlie in a dark corner, his hands around my waist, pulling me into the Jenna-sized space between his arms, where I belong.
But he’s not here.
“It’s still early,” Christy says to me with an encouraging nod. “I’m sure he’ll walk through the door any minute now.”
“Of course he will,” I say, my voice thin and unconvincing.
“Oh my gosh, Jenna, look!”
I turn, hoping to see Charlie, but, instead, my sister’s pointing at the crowd standing around my portrait of him.
A jolt of excitement surges through me. I never imagined my piece would draw so much attention. And I had no idea it would be hanging in such a prime location. There are two walls opposite each other featuring works by local artists. My painting is on the wall at the back of the gallery, smack-dab in the middle. It’s the best spot in the house, because it’s where your gaze goes when you first enter the room.
Unless you’re me…and you’re fixated on how your latest, and potentially greatest, love story is going to tie up in the end. In that case, your eyes are darting all around, looking for your boyfriend amid abstract still lifes, and impressionist landscapes, and some interesting modern pieces—like the one hanging on the front wall, which appears to simply be a canvas covered in bubble wrap.
