Page 68 of Call It Serendipity

She grabs my makeup bag and collapses on my bed, rustling through it for the perfect shade. “Are we going to talk about the fact that you spent nearly all your free time at Jake’s this week?” Her voice is light, and partially drowned out by the clink of cosmetics she’s shuffling about.

Except for last night, I think. Last night I sat in the cozy armchair downstairs and read the new mystery book Jenny recommended. And with each page read, I was acutely aware of how much I missed Jake Carpenter.

It’s terrifying, really. How quickly he’s weaved himself into how I want to spend all of my time.

“Bear is there now,” I point out. But we look up at the same time, our gazes meeting in my mirror. She rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’m not just going for the dog,” I concede.

“Obviously.”

“We aren’t talking about what this is. Or the hotel issue. And it’s kind of just hanging there… but being with him is so nice.”

Her mouth presses into a firm line. “I’m getting worried about what happens when you have to talk about those things again. I’ve never seen you so invested with a guy.”

“Yeah.” My heart sinks. “I’m worried about that too.”

A tightness squeezes in my chest, but I don’t have time to dwell because the trill of the phone acts as my reprieve. Abandoning my mascara, I jump up and hurry over to my nightstand where my cordless rings once more. Claire scoots to the side, making room for me on my bed, and I drop down beside her as I answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Lucy Hart?”

My eyes widen, knowing who this call is probably from. “Yes, this is.”

“Wonderful, it’s Melanie from Whitcombe Gallery. I was calling to make sure we were on track for our upcoming exhibition.”

“We are,” I say quickly. And while it has been a mad dash as of late to get here, I feel relieved that my words are true. “I’ve nearly completed the series.”

“Wonderful,” Melanie says cheerily. “Can you tell me a little bit about it?”

“Oh, um. Now?” I steal a glance at my roommate who is still watching me intently. Then I cradle the phone on my shoulder to hold up a hand and tap the back of my wrist—inquiring about the time. She rolls over to grab my alarm clock from the opposite nightstand, flashing its face at me.

It’s nearly seven. We need to get going if we want to order food before the band starts. What gallery manager calls their artists on Saturday nights anyway?

“Just a brief description,” Melanie chirps.

“Brief, sure.” I nod. “It’s a series of four paintings… and, well, it explores the fading light of a transitional season.” This is the first time I’ve explained my works, and the way I choose to do so is stiff. Awkward. I’m not doing a very good job of depicting a strong visual.

Clearing my throat, I add, “You could say that this collection is a study of shedding the old to make room for what’s meant for you.”

“And is it abstract in style? Like your other works?”

I sigh. “No, the subject matter is quite clear.”

Silence hangs in the dead space following my response. I wonder if I should say more. Justify this change.

But no, I am proud of my work. And at the end of the day, shouldn’t that be what matters?

Finally, she speaks again. “Do you think you can get some snapshots of your work to us in the next few weeks? Just to be sure we’re on the same page.”

I sink back against my pillow and frown. Beside me, Claire looks over and mouths, what’s wrong. “Yes, I can do that.” I agree as if there was ever an option to tell her no.

What Melanie is really saying is that they need to make sure I’m good enough to be displayed as a full exhibition. They don’t want to be stuck with a crate of big canvas duds. I can respect their process, even if it seems to be confirming my fears.

She’s pleased by my response, though, and the call ends with a promise to talk again soon.

I set the phone down and stare straight ahead, as if my vision can suddenly pass through walls. The paintings down the hall look vastly different from the last Lucy Hart original that graced their gallery. And even if I love them, there’s a real possibility this art won’t leave my home once they get a glimpse of those preliminary photographs.

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