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“Erm…”
“You can have one of mine, Dad,” Clay tells me.
“Woo!” I throw my fist in the air, my lips spreading into a wide grin.
He chuckles and the red starts to fade as I peek into the box, mumbling about choosing just the right one to go in my bedroom.
I hear Matilda’s chuckle and I turn to face her, smiling and sa
ying, “Thanks,” as I tilt my head at Clay and Izzie, signaling that it’s time to go. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah! Guess what? We’re draw—”
“Don’t tell him, Izzie! Miss J said it’s a secret!” Clay shouts, pulling the car door open and jumping into the back seat with a stern look on his face.
“Oh.” Her face falls and I run my hand over her hair.
“Clay,” I warn him before turning my gaze back to Izzie. “It’s okay, pumpkin, I’m sure whatever you’re going to be doing will be amazing.”
“You’ll see at the galy night,” she says, perking up as she climbs into the back next to Clay.
“Gallery night, Izzie,” Clay huffs. “Say it right.”
“She’s still learning, Clay. Don’t hound her for getting it wrong.”
He huffs long and slow, shaking his head and opening his book up, immersing himself in the pages and going off into his own little world.
Jasmine Thompson—Everybody Hurts
Sara Bareilles—Breathe Again
Demi Lovato—Warrior
I’m locking up the studio for the day when my cellphone rings. I hand Mom the keys to my car and signal that I’ll not be long before I answer the unknown number that is flashing on the screen.
“Hel—”
“Harmony…” Gerry’s voice slurs over the line; he’s been drinking.
“I told you not to call me anymore, Gerry.”
“I know, but I miss you. We were good together.” He hiccups.
I roll my eyes. “Go to bed, Gerry. If you say anything more, you’ll regret it in the morning.”
“No, the only thing I regret is ever giving you up.”
I’m taken aback by his comment, I’ve not heard anything from him since he received the divorce papers six weeks ago. “Giving me up? That’s not how I remember it going down, Gerry. You cheated on me, and apart from that, you gave me years of verbal abuse about my career. You made me feel like—”
He starts laughing but it doesn’t sound joyful, it sounds menacing. “Your career? After I received the asset papers, I researched your little studio.” He laughs again. “You’re kidding yourself that you’re going to be this huge turning point in their lives, that they’re actually going to learn while they’re running around throwing paint everywhere. You need to start getting serious about a career, that’s not a real job,” he jibes, digging a proverbial knife in one more time.
I wince at his words before recovering myself, I won’t let him do this to me anymore. “You know what, Gerry? If you actually took the time to learn about what it is I did and came to the old studio, maybe we’d still be together and you wouldn’t be this… person. I have a real job, I always have.”
“I came once,” he sneers.
“You did. But you also agreed to try and understand what it is I do.”
“And I did, didn’t I?” he deadpans.
