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“I hope so,” I said. “It would really hurt Drake if he lost custody. Liam’s done so well here, I’m sure any family court judge will take that into consideration.”
My father nodded and then turned his attention back to the screen, as a loud cheer rose from the crowd.
“Touchdown,” my father said. I squeezed his hand and then gave him another kiss on the cheek. “I’ll leave you to watch. I have to get to work, finish my current project at the studio and then pack things up.”
“Enjoy yourself,” he said.
I rose from the chair and went out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where Sophie was still coloring. Elaine was watching over her, pointing out various colors and giving her ideas.
“He looks much better, don’t you think?” Elaine asked.
“He does. Almost like his old self.” I went to where the two sat at the kitchen island and glanced down at Sophie’s coloring book. It was of some wild horses in a field. “That’s really good coloring,” I said to Sophie.
“Nana said she would get me some paint by numbers,” Sophie said, her face bright.
“That would be great. I used to love paint by numbers when I was a child.” I turned to Elaine. “Speaking of painting, I’m going to zip to the studio to finish up my latest project and pack up. Are you okay with Sophie while I’m gone?”
Elaine smiled. “You know I’m always happy to spend time with her.”
“Thanks,” I said and kissed Sophie on the top of her head. “You be good for Nana.”
“I will.” Sophie turned back to her coloring. I knew she would be a good girl for Elaine. She was such an easy child.
I went to the entry and slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bag, and went to the garage. My own Range Rover sat waiting for me. I’d recently mastered driving on the other side of the road, and was feeling more confident driving myself, rather than relying on the chauffeur.
I took the street back to the main road into Southampton and my studio. While I had one in the house, I liked to go to the city. It made me feel like I was a more serious artist to have a separate place where I worked. It was a mental thing that helped me focus and I was able to shift mental gears from being a wife and mother and daughter to being an artist. It worked for me, and so I hoped to keep it up, and would look into a new studio once we arrived back in Manhattan — or Brooklyn, depending on where Maureen and Chris decided to live.
Whatever happened, I would put the children first, but I still wanted my own career. The kids would grow up and leave me eventually. I wanted to have my own identity outside of being their mother. I was lucky to be with them while they were so young, but they would become more independent, and I would as well. When they needed me less, I would expand my own horizons.
People always said you couldn’t have it all. That’s not true. You can have it all, but maybe not all at once.
I had time.
* * *
I arrivedat my studio at an old building in town. The second-floor space was full of light and looked out across the street to the waterfront. I was lucky, and I knew it. My studio mates were a pleasant bunch of artists who enjoyed a chat over a cup of tea in the joint kitchen we all shared. They were varied in their backgrounds, age and class, but were united in their shared view of needing to make art and were lucky enough to have access to the studio space.
I went to the kitchen and saw Myra, an older artist who had a room in the studio. She had greying hair tied up with a kerchief and wore blue jean overalls and elaborate jade jewelry.
She greeted me, an expression of surprise on her face. “Kate, I thought you were already gone! You’re still here?”
“Just a few days before I pack up. I’m going to finish my current piece and then clear out my space for someone new.”
“We’ll miss you and your spice cake at our tea parties.”
I laughed. Each week, one of us would bring in some snack for the group and we’d all gather in the kitchen and imbibe in exotic teas and indulge. “I can leave the recipe if you like. It’s one of my mother’s recipes. She got it from her grandmother in Poland, so it’s been in the family for a long time.”
“Polish?” Myra said, her eyebrows raised. “I didn’t realize it was Polish. Any other recipes from your homeland? I have Polish relatives.”
For the next fifteen minutes, she and I exchanged stories about our shared heritages and then I went to my studio and sat down at my easel, contemplating what I would do and how long it would take to finish the piece. It was a landscape, featuring the sun shining on the surf on the Solent. I wanted to have it hang in whatever apartment we got in New York to remind me of our time there.
I would miss England but knew that if Maureen and Chris were going to live in New York, we had to go back.
For two solid hours, I worked away at the painting, getting it almost finished. It would take another day in the studio to complete, but then, I could pack up the studio and leave, turning my keys in to Kara, who was the studio manager.
It would be a sad day for me, as I spent many happy hours there and completed a lot of works of which I was proud, but life moved on.
More than anything, I wanted us all to be together and that meant a return to New York.
