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My shoulders sagged at the hint of judgment in her voice. Mom was still smiling—she always smiled, even when nitpicking—so it was hard to know if I should be offended or not.
I looked down at my skirt. “Yeah, why?”
“Well, no wonder you didn’t want a photo.” She snapped another one anyway. “It’s not first-day material.”
“No, of course not," I murmured, too low for her to hear.
Mom was never far from a camera or notebook. When she couldn't take photos, she wrote things down. She was obsessed with details, and the habit helped shape her career. Mom was a horticulturist who worked with public and private companies to create and maintain gardens. She brought her work home with her every day, leaving most of her space overwhelmed with dirt and greenery. My sister and I grew up knowing how to properly care for a host of flowers before being able to tie our shoes.
"I think the photos will be so cute to look back on, especially when you dress for them." Mom sighed. She wore sparkling eyeshadow, making the wistful look on her face much softer. Her coils were a tighter texture than mine, and she always picked them out so her hair created a soft halo around her head. When I was a kid, I used to tell my classmate she was a real-life garden fairy. No one argued with me once they saw her.
"Besides, I need them for my end-of-year scrapbook," she rambled. "I'm making some for John this year. He's been bugging me to finally put one together for him. I need enough content so he doesn't feel like I'm skimping out."
"Dad should make his own scrapbook," I joked.
"Don't let him hear you say that." Mom gave my cheek another pinch before gesturing for me to follow her to the backyard.
Dad was a marine biologist whose love language was receiving homemade gifts and whose talent was pretending not to be in love with the homemade gift giver. My parents never married and hadn't lived with each other since I was in middle school. They were puzzle pieces that almost fit, if not for one weird, jagged edge. They argued themselves voiceless when they were together for too long, but with the right amount of time spent in each other's company, they became the happiest people on the planet.
Mom placed a spray bottle in my hand as soon as I crossed the greenhouse threshold. "You can help me water while you tell me the actual reason you didn't stop by before work."
I whistled under my breath at how much her plants had grown since the last time I'd visited. So many were in bloom now that spring was around the corner.
"I didn't know if it was going to be real," I confessed as I started spraying. "I kept thinking maybe they'd change their minds once I walked through the front doors, or say gotcha at the end of the day before taking my badge away."
Mom laughed. "Noah, you sound ridiculous."
I tried to smile along with her. Yes, now my worries felt silly, but they also felt so real, especially when I spent the entire workday drawing next to Sage. I kept erasing and re-drawing every line I put down, and by the end of the day, I had nothing to show for it. No new sketches or new ideas. Thank God Tyson had given me the day to settle in; otherwise, I would have embarrassed myself. My 'I belong here' mantra never regain its meaning. The words were a hollow prayer, a desperate hope.
"See, you should have told me," Mom said. "I could have been sure for the both of us."
My throat ached. I dipped my head down, pretending to take a closer look at a browning leaf on a steam.
Despite my parents’ support, when Liana followed Dad's footsteps in studying biology, I felt like I had some catching up to do. The three of them were brilliant at their jobs, and they didn't have to work overtime to achieve said brilliance.
Meanwhile, I pulled all-nighters throughout school and beyond. It took what felt like forever for the hours to pay off. Even when I did start seeing results in the form of awards and accolades from professors and other industry professionals, my work still wasn't there. Something was still missing. After spending all day next to Sage, I remember what, and it killed me.
Her raw talent couldn't be replicated. The gap between us wasn't going to close because of hours dedicated. I needed something more.
"I'm sure now," I said, more so trying to convince myself than her. Confidence was a must to sustain me for the road ahead.
Mom laughed. "Of course you are. Pulling an eight-hour shift will ground anyone in reality. How does it feel, knowing you're a full-time artist? That you've made it?"
Her eyes were bright. Made it. Simple words, simple concept, except I didn’t understand it, not since walking across the stage during graduation and realizing that in the world of art, I had to give everything to make a simple ripple. The idea of "making it" got more abstract each day.
"Do you still have my old sketchbooks in the attic?" I asked instead of delving deeper into my psyche. "I have some ideas I jotted down years ago I think I can finally use."
Memories were always a surefire way to get Mom off-topic. Plus, I needed some inspiration to take on Sage. I hadn’t gotten a chance to hear her pitch for the rebrand meeting tomorrow. I planned to spend all night perfecting my own ideas to be as ready as I knew she’d be.
“Of course!” Mom smiled. “I’d never throw those away. They’re my retirement fund. Once you’re a big shot artist, they’ll sell for a hefty price on bidding sites.”
I laughed. “Solid plan.”
She winked and nudged her chin toward the door. “I’ll finish watering and join you.”
I nodded and set the spray bottle down. Before I slipped out of the greenhouse, Mom added, “I'm so proud of you. I hope you know that, baby.”
My last bit of resolve evaporated as I nodded while blinking rapidly. With a hurried thanks, I got back outside, where I was free to release a few tears.
