Page 121 of Fresh Canvas
I grimaced. Not much had changed.
I recalled how rusty I had felt right after Blythe had hired me. How the struggle itself had felt powerful, like a trembling muscle regaining strength. I remembered the surge of confidence. The sensation of achievement.
A spark had flickered back to life.
But currently, I felt hollow and bruised, as though Val had stepped on my heart one too many times. I still loved him, and I wasn’t sure what my future looked like, but did my happiness depend on a relationship? Sure, romance made me happy, but was it required?
A small smile bloomed across my face.
No.
As a matter of fact, that spark inside me had only reignited after divorcing my husband of ten years.
That spark, I realized, had beenme.
I jolted into a sitting position, clapping a hand to my mouth.
It had beenmeall along.
I had actively snuffed out my spark when I married Ryan—willingly given up all that I was in order to please him. To become the doormat welcoming him home every night.
I couldn’t recall Ryan even asking me to. Had I just assumed I wasn’t enough on my own? That I needed to belessto be more? Had I really thought so low of myself?
My clouded emotions began to part, a ray of hope peeking through.
So many of my previous beliefs had been a lie.
Mom was right. Sacrificewasa part of motherhood.
Disappearingwasn’t.
A whole slew of Amanthas filled my mind. A teenage girl gaping at a painting in a white canvas tent. A woman sitting at a mahogany desk, doodling Ryan’s name. A blue bundle of joy being placed into exhausted arms. A woman hiding in her car, tears streaming in the light of the crosswalk. A woman blocking a jerk in front of the museum door. A blue paint pod spattering a shrieking smile. A woman toasting a champagne glass in a sapphire gown.
Each version of myself had tried her best. Through their perseverance, they had all led me to this.
Tonow.
Tears of affection for myself streamed down my face in a moment I would never forget. I silently thanked each and every version of myself that had ever existed, and I vowed to continue their progress.
The spark inside fanned back to life as I gave myself permission to live mine.
VAL
A static buzz alerted me to my front door. Puzzled, I checked my phone notifications as I approached the intercom. The talk button beeped under my thumb as I asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s your sister, Butthead. Open up.”
My eyebrows knitted together as I pressed the button. “Why aren’t you at Nonna’s? It’s Sunday.”
“The real question is, why aren’tyou?”
“That’s none of your business. Why didn’t you call first?”
“Cause I knew you wouldn’t answer. I’m not stupid, Val. I know something’s up. Either buzz me in, or Mom will kill you if I fall off the fire escape. Your choice.”
I rubbed the overgrown stubble on my jaw. Exasperation and exhaustion warred within me. Deciding to rip the bandaid off, I buzzed her in without another word. I used the few minutes of privacy I had left to locate a shirt and pull it over my bare chest. Turning to survey the state of my apartment, I couldn’t stop the shame from flooding my cheeks.
The open concept kitchen and living room looked spotless. Hospital-grade clean. My dark wooden floors gleamed with the fresh scent of pine. I itched to dump a cereal box on the countertops for camouflage, but I was too neurotic to even entertain the idea.
