“That’s what I meant. Adorably sophisticated. Or sophisticatedly adorable. Whichever one will get you to stop worrying.”
She laughed. “I guess it’s too late to second-guess my ensemble. If I become a famous artist, I’ll have money to buy a whole new wardrobe.”
Dante enjoyed her flights of fancy, even though he knew the chances of her becoming rich and famous were slim to none. He wasn’t about to burst her bubble—especially after having watched her recover from the despair of being fired from her job at the mall.
“Did you invite anyone?” he asked.
“To the gallery show?”
He was tempted to say something silly, like “No, to Sydney Opera House,” but he didn’t want to come off sounding like a jerk. He just nodded and waited for her reply.
“You know, I thought about it. I just didn’t know who would be interested. I’ve lost touch with most of my fellow Mass Art students. I wasn’t close to any of my professors. And the other friends I’ve had since high school don’t really care about art.
“Actually, as I think I mentioned, my real friends are far away. I only have acquaintances left here in Boston. I wouldn’t want anyone to think they should buy something just to support me. I don’t know what the gallery owner is going to charge for my work, but I know my fellow struggling artists can’t afford it.”
“They couldn’t just show up, eat the cheese and crackers, and look like they’re enjoying the show?”
She laughed. “I don’t think they’d be comfortable snacking on someone else’s food with no intention of buying art, knowing they could be mistaken for homeless people.”
“Well, I have a giant family I can invite. Actually, I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of already did.”
She straightened her spine. “What? Who did you invite? And what does ‘kind of’ mean?”
“It means I told my mother when she called me at work to ask how I was doing. I said you had a show at a gallery on Newbury Street this Friday. She said she would like to come and asked exactly where and when it would be held.”
“And you told her?”
He faced her for a moment. She looked nervous. “I did. Was that wrong? Do you not want her to come?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. I like her a lot. I like all of your family. It’s just that…”
He glanced at her again. “What?”
“Well, I’m not sure it’s fair to them either. I doubt they want to buy any artwork.”
“Who says? I remember Misty saying Gabe was living a spartan life before she moved in. No artwork on the walls. He didn’t even have wineglasses. He gave her a glass of wine in a Solo cup. But he had plenty of money he could have spent on art or glassware. He just didn’t think of it, apparently.”
Mallory chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds like a typical bachelor’s apartment.”
“Maybe there will be some rich bachelors coming to the show with their girlfriends. Or rich women with their boyfriends. You never know.” Dante wondered who his mother might have mentioned the show to. His dad, of course. She had already said they would be there with bells on.
Going through the rest of his brothers, he knew Ryan wouldn’t dare come back to Boston and risk being seen in public. As far as the city of Boston was concerned, he was supposedly a dead and buried firefighter. His wife, Chloe, might come back from Ireland for it. She had an entire castle to furnish.
Jayce and Kristine lived in a one-bedroom condo and both had good salaries. His brother didn’t have much artwork before Kristine moved in. Dante hadn’t seen the place recently. It was possible they might want a large piece over their bed or something.
Miguel and Sandra had been living in their second-floor apartment in Brighton for years. They had artwork, but that didn’t mean they might not change it out for something special.
If Misty hadn’t already bought some, he knew Gabe would probably hand her a blank check and tell her to pick out anything she wanted.
All the brothers below Gabe were still young bachelors—Luca didn’t even have his own apartment yet. But it sounded like his mother might have invited the others, hoping to help her make a few sales.
“What kind of advertising did they do for you?” Dante asked.
“I don’t know. She said something about a notice in theBoston Phoenix, in their online list of things to do, and a notice in some trade journal or magazine. I can’t remember which one. I was half frozen in fear as she was talking about it. I just realized something. You’re a Boston Phoenix, just like the newspaper!”
Dante laughed. “I wish we could say we owned it, but we have nothing to do with the newspaper…unless we wind up in a cage and somebody puts a few pages in there for us to poop on.”
She gasped. “Has that ever happened? Have any of you wound up in a cage?”
