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“I can pay for you.”
“Oh, right, that’ll work.” She snorts. “Then I’ll have to pay you back. I still owe you three months’ rent.”
I frown at her. “Excuse me, I believe I said I wasn’t taking rent from you since I don’t have a mortgage.”
Stella sips her own coffee, the familiar stubborn look settling into her jaw. “You’re still paying back the loans you needed to renovate the ground floor into the gallery and our studios, not to mention how much it cost to put a kitchen and two bathrooms upstairs.”
“That’s my own fault, we could have worked with one bathroom,” I argue back. “My loans are my problems, especially when you’re looking for a gallery and studio of your own.”
“Hmmm.” Stella sips her coffee again.
I already know what her next argument will be. “And as for not accepting handouts, I don’t think you realize how selfish I’m actually being here. I love your work more than anything in the world and I’m always greedy for more. Besides, I wouldn’t be where I am right now if it weren’t for Grandma leaving me this house, so where the hell do I get off demanding one of my best friends pay me just so I have the privilege of having such an awesome roommate?”
Even though the popularity of my art has taken off in the last few years, I would still be paying off the mortgage if I’d had to buy a studio space. Not many people could say they owned a home and business at the age of twenty-eight, but I can.
Stella wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue. Aha! I’ve won the argument. For now, at least.
We head into the studio and start setting things up. The storefront is closed today but we’re planning on a lot of coffee and painting to occupy our time. Well, painting for me. Stella’s talent is in sculpting. She’s the best sculptor in the entire world, as far as I’m concerned. This is why I’m on pins and needles, waiting to hear about the studio space Stella is hoping to purchase in New Jersey, where her family comes from.
Her phone rings and we both squeal. She wiggles on the spot, unable to make herself answer.
I have to hit the button for her and then I chug my latte to stop myself from interrupting her conversation.
“You’re kidding me! Approved for funding.” Her eyes shine as she turns to me, bouncing on her toes. “Just need the realtor to finalize the bid? Thank you! Thank you so much!”
I set my coffee aside, pressing my palms together as I bite my lips to prevent me from squealing. My heart races with excitement as Stella hangs up. She throws her arms around me, bursting out in peals of laughter.
“Accepted!” I shout in excitement. “There you go! I’ll take the first sculpture that you make in your new studio as payment for everything you owe me.”
“But I owe you so much.” Stella releases me and dances across the room, her hands over her head as she sways her hips. “My dream of opening my very own studio is finally coming true!”
“Hell yeah!” I exclaim.
I’m going to miss her to pieces, but I’m excited for her. She deserves it. New Jersey is perfect for her; not only because it’s where she comes from, but because she wants to make a real difference in her childhood community by turning a portion of her studio into an art education center for young artists.
“Oh!” She comes to a stop and lunges for her phone again. “I need to call the realtor and we need to tell Max! He’s going to go to bits!”
“Let’s call Max first,” I suggest. “Then you’ll be able to talk to the realtor without screaming into the phone.”
Stella laughs as she calls Max. I giggle and she waves her hand at me. I slap both hands over my mouth and wait. Max answers with a groggy, “Hello?”
Max is my studio manager. He went to Tulane with both Stella and me and, other than Stella, is my best friend here in New Orleans.
“Hey, Max,” Stella says coyly. “You’ll never guess what happened.”
A groan answers. “It’s eight in the morning on my day off.”
“You’re going to have a lot fewer days off here soon… at least, until Kylie finds another renter for my studio,” Stella says, bursting into a smile again.
There’s a flurry of noise over the phone. “You got it? You got the studio?”
“Yes! I just need to finalize some things with the realtor.”
Max cheers through the phone. I clap my hands, laughing.
“This calls for a celebration. The three of us over at the Clawfoot Bathtub bar, seven tonight,” I say. “My treat!”
“I’ll be there,” Max promises.
