Page 79 of Love Deep
“I think it would look amazing on all your pictures!”
“Yeah, so I’m going to wait for that. We’ll have to make non-studio fun today.”
She sighs and releases her spoon. “No more chores. My room is clean. The laundry is folded. I don’t want to do anything else.”
“I agree. No more chores today.”
Riley’s eyes widen, and she stares at me, waiting for me to change my mind.
“What do you want to do?” I ask. “We could always decorate for Christmas?”
“Really?” she asks, sitting forward in her chair. “Like put the tree up?”
“Why not?” I ask.
She thinks about it for a moment, then shakes her head. “It’s summer. We’d just have to take it down again and that would make me sad.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun in the meantime. You love decorating for Christmas.”
She shakes her head solemnly. “It rubs out all the fun,” she says. “I don’t want to do that.”
“But that’s like saying that if we don’t get dressed, we won’t get our clothes dirty so we won’t have to wash them and fold the laundry.”
“Right. That’s actually a pretty smart idea, Mommy. Let’s just wear our PJs today.”
“Well, I’m already dressed,” I say. “But you can’t not do things just because there’ll be some clearing up or some laundry after. I’d never paint if I didn’t want to screw back on paint caps and wash my brushes.”
Riley just shrugs, and I take her bowl from in front of her and place it in the sink. Maybe I went a bit overboard with the chores yesterday. The last thing I want to do is encourage her to limit herself from having fun or exploring new opportunities because of the small possibility of the downside of cleaning up after. It’s just part of life. The A on your English paper requires the sacrifice of study. Painting a picture means you have to wash your brushes.
And then the thought hits me like a sucker punch—a career in art requires me letting go of things I currently have in my life.
Is it the same? The sacrifice is bigger, isn’t it? But the potential upside is too.
I shake my head. No, it’s not the same. It’s not like I can give up my job. I have a mortgage to pay and food to put on the table. The sacrifice isn’t worth it. Plus, Riley’s in school. It’s not like I can uproot her and move to New York. I’m pretty sure they don’t have many abandoned sweet shops that only charge a homemade pecan pie and a bottle of wine for rent every month.
My phone bleeps on the table next to Riley.
“It’s Fisher!” she says. “Can he come over? He’s fun, and I bet he’d have a lot of ideas of what to do in a rainstorm.”
I roll my eyes, deliberately not saying no, because then we’ll just get into a debate about why Fisher can’t come over, and I don’t think I can stand it. I want to see him, but I don’t want my daughter growing attached.
I swipe open the message as Riley continues to ask me about Fisher.
Fisher: Hey, what are you doing this rainy day?
I grin helplessly at the message. I have no idea why. It’s not a particularly sweet or romantic message. It’s just good to hear from him. It’s nice to know he’s thinking about me.
Me: We’re just deciding. Riley’s bored and balked at the idea of putting up the Christmas tree in May. No idea why.
“Who are you messaging, Mommy? Tell me! Is it Fisher?”
“Yes, sweet girl, it’s Fisher.”
“Can he come over? Please, Mommy! We could all watch a movie together. It would be so much fun! We could even get the popcorn machine out. We have corn!”
My phone beeps again.
Fisher: The Christmas tree? Am I missing something? Sometimes Star Falls feels like a far-off planet I just landed on.
