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Her eyes move to the picture, falling down hard. “Yeah, not exactly. My mother buys art because it’s expensive, not because she likes how it looks. The bigger the price tag, the better it must be. She says we're the people who buy the art, not the ones that make it, because artists are poor and live worse than the rats in the streets.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn't realize.”
“No, it's fine. I don't care what she thinks, I love painting, and nothing she says will change that.”
“Good, because it shouldn't. It's important to do what makes you happy. Why do you think I'm here?”
Sia looks up at me with a full smile, her eyes twinkling like stars. Dipping her head, she darts her eyes to the door for the hundredth time. “You're right, but try telling my parents that. They have expectations that are sky high. So, telling her that her only daughter wants to be an artist and not a doctor won't go over well.”
“Maybe, but is pleasing her and your father worth more than your own happiness?”
She stops, her entire body going still as she thinks about it. I don't get an answer. “How about we do some sightseeing now? What do you think?”
“I think that sounds great. I'm ready, take me out on the town.”
“Good, let me go tell my mother, and we can get the hell out of here.” She nods her head for me to come with her. “She's probably in her study.” I follow her through the maze that's her house. Stopping outside a door, she knocks lightly. “Mom, you in there?”
“What do you want, Siobhan?”
“I'm going to take Mark out for a bit.”
“Open the door,” she orders.
Sia opens the door with me standing behind her, and her mother gives me a look that hits me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. It's that look again, the same death glare.
“I expect you to be back for dinner.”
“Of course, I know. Six o'clock, same as always.”
Arching a brow, she sets her hands down on her desk, and pulls her glasses to the tip of her nose. “I spoke with your father, he's not too happy.”
“All right. What do you want me to do?” she asks, her voice stern, challenging her mother.
“I want you to be aware of how your actions affect other people. Is that too much to ask?”
“You act like I'm still a child.” Sia lets out an audible sigh. “I get it, don't worry, we'll be back. Okay?”
Her mother pushes her glasses back in place, steeples her fingers and lays them across her lips. She doesn't say anything else, just gives her daughter a simple look.
Sia turns and walks right past me. I stand in limbo for a second, not sure if I should follow her or stay right where I am. She glances back at me, nodding her head, and I quickly walk to her side.
Her fingers angrily slam the button of the elevator, trying to force the doors open. She watches the light above as it moves from one floor to the next until it finally lands on our floor. Sia slips her body in the elevator before the doors are even halfway open, leaving me to wait an extra second until I can get in too.
There are a few people inside, all of them taking a step back to make room for us. As soon as the doors are closed, I reach for her hand, but she swats me away, and inconspicuously shakes her head no.
A man behind us coughs, and another woman starts talking loudly on her phone. Glancing back, I look at the people, and smile at the few who actually make eye contact. I get one smile back.
What planet am I on?
I feel like I stepped into a totally different world. Back at home, people you don't know will strike up a conversation about anything. They'll smile and listen, ask questions and give answers. Before you realize it, you've shared your entire life story.
It's not like that here. The taxi driver barely spoke a word to me. She grumbled about the traffic and yelled at a few people who were still crossing the street after the signal changed green. When we pulled up in front of the building, she practically kicked me out, barely giving me enough time to close the door before pulling back out onto the road.
The double doors open, and Sia takes a long step out, beelining for the exit. She half waves at the doorman who gives me a shitty look as he holds the door open for us. Sia takes a hard right, walks a few feet, then steps off the sidewalk and throws out her arm to hail a cab.
In seconds, a yellow car pulls up next to her, and she yanks the door open and climbs in quickly, with me right behind her. “Sixteen-thirty nine Centre Street,” she says.
Settling into the seat, her eyes fix out the window as the taxi darts back into the flow of traffic. I can see the driver looking at us in his rear-view mirror.
