Page 130 of Better Than Gelato
“Don’t tell us which one is yours,” Petey says when we get there. “I want to see if I can guess.”
Petey runs off to look for my photo and Pirate follows her. The exhibition is for the whole photography department, not just my class, so there are hundreds of eight-by-tens on display.
Professor Melvin sees me and waves me over. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Maggie.
“I’m glad I spotted you,” Professor Melvin says. “I was just telling Professor Hendricks that I have a student he should meet.”
Professor Hendricks is at least 112 years old and wearing a corduroy blazer that looks even older.
“Professor Hendricks, this is Juliet Evans. Juliet, this is Professor Hendricks.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say and shake his hand. It’s dry and papery with a strong grip.
“I’m the editor ofLens,” he says.Lensis the photography magazine the department puts out each quarter. It’s stunning.
I nod, but don’t say anything.
“I thought your style of photography might be a good fit,” Professor Melvin says. I stare at him blankly. “For the magazine,” he says with a small smile. “I’m encouraging you to submit your work to Professor Hendricks for consideration.”
“You are?” It comes out as a whisper, and I’m hoping Professor Melvin didn’t hear, but he smiles and gives a little nod.
“Shoot me an email,” Professor Hendricks says. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” He hands me his card.
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you. Wow. I will. I will shoot you an email.”
“Enjoy your evening,” Professor Melvin says, gently excusing me before I do anything else awkward.
I can feel the blood pumping in my cheeks as I walk away. Actual published photos! I try not to get ahead of myself. I’m just going to send him some things, and he’ll see what he thinks. But there’s already a feeling spreading through me that this is the beginning of something wonderful.
I dart through the displays looking for the girls and find them standing in front of a photograph. I walk over and grab Maggie’s arm.
“We found your photo,” she says.
“What do you think?” I know fancy photographers aren’t supposed to care what people think about their work, but I still do.
She doesn’t say anything, just nods and squeezes my hand.
We stare at the photo together.
It’s pretty striking, if I’m being honest. And all the credit belongs to the dramatic lighting. The sky is dark, but I was able to capture a beam of sunlight shining down on the wrought iron table like a spotlight. In the middle of the table is my cup of gelato. There’s only a little left, chocolate brown swirled with raspberry pink. I shot it at an angle, so you can see the glass case of gelato flavors in the background. There’s a mound of orange mango with mint garnish, creamy whitestracciatellawith specks of dark brown, and a soft green hill of pistachio sprinkled with nuts. The table and the cup are in sharp focus and the gelato case behind is soft and blurry.
The title is “Love like gelato.”
Pirate reads the caption out loud. “Some love is like gelato. Sweet and wonderful but not made to last. Enjoy the experience, savor the memory.”
“That’s beautiful,” Maggie says.
“I got it from Marco,” I say.
“Well, he is very wise.”
* * *
The next day at work, I’m still flying high from the exhibition. I was too hyped to go to bed and ended up looking through all my photos to find some good ones for Hendrickson.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Kevin comments as I restock all the fruits and veggies.
“All right, what’s his name?” he asks in a teasing tone.
