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¨Well, maybe one day my brothers will treat me like a sister instead of someone they can control. This isn’t the early 1900s in Sicily. This is New York City, 2023.¨ I exclaim as they spin around and leave.
¨ I’m so so so sorry.¨ Teresa yells out as soon as the glass door closes.
I fight the tears from flowing down my eyes with a couple wipes. I should be numb from their rhetoric, but they’re my brothers; of course I’m going to feel it. If I could repaint my life, Lord knows I would, and believe it or not, I only ask for a healthy relationship with my immediate family. I don’t need to completely erase my family and the path they’ve chosen. Instead, I’d only equip us with the capacity and the want to change our families’ karma. The more I think of it, both Alex and I have that in common. We aren’t anti-Matani or anti-Costa, but we do want to lead a different life that may…just maybe, help heal our legacy.
¨ I’m sorry too.” I finally responded to Teresa.
¨On another note, are you hungry?¨
I chuckle, “You’re the best. It’s like you can read my tummy.¨
¨ It’s only because I resort to food when I’m stressed. Not the best thing to do, but hey, we’re only human.¨
¨True. And that’s why more and more, I feel like I need my own time away. I’m getting the artist itch to relocate and create art, but here I am, trying to get things in line for this huge artistic splash this studio is about to endure.¨
It’s overwhelming, and I’m not sure how my mind is going to remain calm with all the things I have to do and all the things I want to do. In addition, having to deal with my family on the side.
¨Oooh…I can totally read that on your face. You know we have about three weeks until the start of fall programs here. With Alexander’s donation, we are already ahead of plans… it’s just getting things ready for Simon Bell and his huge plan that’s demanding, but…if I were you, I’d head out of town for a few weeks. You have to scratch that itch, Micola. You don’t want to be a miserable artist when you have the resources to not be.¨
Ugh, Teresa is spot on, and I’m not sure how to handle it. It’s obvious, run away and create art. I have about five ideas in my head when it comes to paintings. The most exciting one I’m looking forward to creating is an abstract adaptation of breaking generational curses. I’m thinking of making it a mixed medium piece using the plethora of red wax I’ve collected from the Babybelll cheeses.
¨Thank you. You are definitely on to something.¨ I sigh, pushing my family problems back into the corner of my mind in order to get through the day.
It’s nearly eight pm when I’m finally ready to leave the art studio. I plan on meeting Stella, my ballerina friend, for a couple drinks. Teresa left about two hours ago, which allowed me to play sad sappy music and cry as I cleaned up the studio. As much as I wanted to bury my problems in the back of my head, I knew it was unhealthy to leave them there.
As soon as I flick off the backlight of the studio, I sense movement at my front door. I turn swiftly as I can tell it’s not a regular pedestrian passing by or even peering in. It’s a man with a crooked hat on his head. The closer I walk to the door, my heart jumps at the blue eyes that are piercing at me from the other side of the door.
¨Simon?¨
Dressed in a pair of checkered shorts with a polo shirt and some fish-style hat I have yet to see here in New York is my British work partner, Simon.
He gives me a snarky smile before ogling me in my short jean dress. I unlock the door as I open my mouth to say, ¨What? Simon!¨
He steps in, pulling me into an awkward hug. His hands feel clumsy and lost as they try to touch my back. I help him out by pulling myself out of the hug to play stunned by his appearance.
¨Hey. So, what the hell are you doing over here now? Why didn’t you tell me you were following me?¨ I joke, sort of.
¨Oh, why not give you a surprise.¨
¨That you did.¨ I nod as he helps himself into my studio. With his hands folded behind his back, he strolls, looking like an old man checking out a space he doesn’t understand.
Something feels off, and as much as I want to trust my intuition, I’m honestly not sure if this feeling is fear or instinct. I take a deep breath as I wait for him to do the explaining.
¨You had a lot going on at Carvel when I saw you last. You had to play your role and entertain your boyfriend’s people, the art community.¨
¨Yes, well…it is our community, but it was definitely his moment.¨ I clear my throat.
¨I have a few business meetings outside of the art world that I have going on this month. No point in boring you with those specifics, but I did want to stop by to see how you’re doing.¨
¨Well, thank you, Simon. I’m fine. Trying to settle back in town after that amazing time in London.¨
I am so not in the mood to perform for Simon right now. Who knows, he probably can smell my tears in this studio.
¨Yes. Well, whenever you’re back, you’ll certainly have me to accompany you for tea or whatever you may need.¨ There’s mere conviction in his voice, but it does feel a little seedy. It could all be in my head, though.
¨I appreciate it. Had the joy of looking over the paintings you selected from the youth today. I’m not ready to show you them as I have a few things I’d want my young artists to touch up before that time comes.¨
¨Sure. I’m not here to see them, just here to see you.¨ He spins around, struggling to hold lingering eye contact with me.
