34. Evan
Evan hadhis hands in his pockets and his head dipped low as he walked down the sidewalk full of strangers, so it was a surprise when he heard a voice calling his name. Turning, he did a double take when he saw Maureen Thomas behind him.
“Oh, shit, Maureen,” he said, and the smile that crossed his face was genuine.
Sure, he’d spent years resenting her, but his former classmate was a familiar face in a still-unfamiliar city. Two months into his stay, Evan could count on one hand the number of people he truly knew, because he didn’t count sycophants, well-wishers, and hangers-on.
“I thought that was you! Oh my God, you’ve been everywhere lately.” She stepped closer, and Evan took note of her expensive-looking pumps—Louboutins, if he had to guess, and he was very good at guessing.
“Have I?” he said, the demurral coming naturally as they eased out of the flow of pedestrian traffic to stand beneath the awning of the nearest building—a bakery café showcasing a display of overpriced cupcakes. “I guess I have.”
“You’re with Judy now, right? Isn’t she brilliant?”
“She’s great, yeah,” he said, and that much was true. Judy had been doing what she’d promised, and Evan was getting exposure, even if that exposure sometimes felt like being a live butterfly pinned to a board. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m only in the city a few days—there’s an auction, and then I’m off to London and then home.”
“Home?” He frowned. “I thought you lived here.”
“Here? No, I—” They were jostled by a passing double-wide stroller, and Maureen grimaced. “Look, do you have a minute? Let’s get a coffee, catch up.”
It seemed impolite to say no, so they stepped inside the bakery, where they ordered two coffees at the counter before sitting at one of the small Parisian-style wicker tables.
“So, how’s it all been?” Maureen asked, leaning forward to hear him over the low din of the room. That was another thing about New York—it was never, ever quiet. Even falling asleep at night came with a background symphony of honks and shouts and the incessant beeping of garbage trucks in reverse.
“Oh, good. Fast, you know? It feels like a dream.” He felt like an idiot the moment the words left his mouth, but Maureen just nodded.
“I remember that feeling. It’s like you’re dancing a jig on a fault line, hoping the earth doesn’t open up and swallow you whole.”
It wasn’t a bad analogy, and Evan laughed. “Yes, exactly. Like, I was just out in Brooklyn, looking at studio space, and the rents were… I mean, they were astronomical, and I felt like such a fraud, but everyone I spoke to treated me like I was someone who could afford it.”
“From what I hear, you are someone who can afford it. Everyone’s buzzing about you, which is wild, because I always said you were the most talented person in our class.”
“You did?”
“Sure.” She hesitated. “I know you all thought it was ridiculous when I was the one who broke out.”
“Oh, that’s not—”
“No, come on. It is. I’m not stupid—I’m just good at compartmentalizing. But that’s the past, and I prefer not to live there.”
Evan’s cheeks warmed, and he was grateful for the grace she was willing to give his petty former self. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You put in the work, and I think, back then, I expected the art world to show up with an engraved invitation, welcoming me into the upper echelon.”
Maureen laughed, stirring some cream into her coffee. “Doesn’t exactly work that way, does it?”
“Regrettably, the real world involves a lot more TikTok.”
“God, you’re killing it with that, though. When I started, all I had to do was blog and Tweet. Now I have an assistant to handle the other stuff.”
“I can’t claim credit for all of it. My—well, my friend helps me out a lot.” There it was again—he’d almost referred to Sydney as “my kid,” and not for the first time.
“That’s lucky. So, did you find a studio?”
“Oh. No.” He frowned, fiddling with a sugar packet. “They all felt a bit… fake, I guess? Like some set decorator had gone in with the instruction of decorating an artist’s loft for a movie.”
“Hah.” Maureen lifted her cup and took a tiny sip. “That’s partly why I left Manhattan, honestly.”
“I can’t believe you did.” Eighty percent of Evan’s jealousy about Maureen had been that she’d made it to New York within a few months of graduation and had presumably lived there, swanning about Soho, ever since. The fact that she’d left voluntarily didn’t fit with the picture he’d painted in his mind.
“I had to. For every authentic experience you get in this city, there are ten terrible ones with grifting assholes who only care about commodifying you,” she said with a shrug. “My work was suffering, and I spent more time worrying about Twitter followers than what I was producing. So I left. I bought a house in the Hudson Valley, and I’m there most of the time when I’m not traveling.”
“I… wow,” Evan said, then blurted, “I can’t paint here,” before he could stop himself. “I mean, I can. Obviously, I can. But the apartment I’m in is tiny, and the light is weird, which is why I was looking in Brooklyn, but none of them were right either. I just… I don’t know. It’s been my dream to live here for years, and now I’m here, and it’s…”
“It’s just a place, like any other,” Maureen said. “And any place takes work to make it home.”
“Almost any place,” he said, his mind drifting to the attic that had been perfectly his from the get-go. No work required, save for winning over the grumpy lawyer who lived downstairs.
“Where were you before?” she asked, leaning back in her seat. “It was, like, Oregon, right?”
“Seattle.”
“Clearly, you were able to work there.”
“I… yeah. I moved to a new place, and I started just… churning out material. It’s the most productive I’ve ever been.”
Maureen raised a brow. “And you left all that behind?”
It sounded bad when she said it like that. “Judy said I ought to try Manhattan.” That was a lie. He’d told Judy he wanted Manhattan. “And I do like it.”
“Well, that’s something. It hasn’t broken you yet.”
“I’ve only been here a couple months.”
“Some people stay forever. But it’s funny.” She shrugged. “Most of the people I know who love the city either grew up here or have family nearby. Those of us who came late or who don’t have people? We don’t last as long. Or if we do, it’s because we put down roots and grow. I never did that—I always felt like a stranger here.”
“And you have roots where you are now?”
“Shallow ones, but they’re getting deeper all the time. I got married last year, and, ah—we’re working on a kid.” Her smile widened. She was clearly enamored of the notion. “What about you?”
“There was someone. Sort of. But he’s back in Seattle.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We were roommates. Maybe more than that. We’re still friends.” They hadn’t spoken to one another since Evan left, but they weren’t actively hostile either.
“Tell him to pick up sticks and move out here,” she said, laughing. “My husband was the one who convinced me to head upstate.”
It was a nice idea. A nice, unfeasible idea. “He’s pretty settled there, and he’s not… he’s not really the relationship kind, you know?”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s… guarded,” Evan said slowly, aiming for honesty, because who was Maureen going to tell? “Obsessed with appearances, though he’s working through that. He can’t—we never really talked about what we were. We just let things happen, you know?”
“Sounds like he wasn’t the only one who was guarded.”
“I didn’t want to burden him with how I felt.” Truthfully, he’d been in a bit of denial about his own feelings, pushing them down in favor of pursuing what he believed he wanted. “And now it’s too late.”
“Why?”
“I live here, and he’s got a… a whole life. He’s working on fostering a kid. So he can’t exactly move out of state. She’s—that’s who I was talking about. The TikTok aficionado.”
“Right,” said Maureen, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “What’s her name?”
“Sydney. She’s an artist too. Just—wait, hang on.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos until he found a couple of Sydney’s pieces.
Maureen studied the photos then smiled. “Talented kid.”
“Yeah, she is. She’s…” He hesitated. “You know, earlier, when I was talking about her, I almost said she was my kid.”
“Is she?”
The question was posed without judgment, but it made Evan’s insides squirm. “She’s Nick’s.”
“Totally. But is she yours too?”
Evan looked down at the phone and Sydney’s vibrant work on the screen. “A little bit, yeah. She understands why I’m here and what I’m doing. Hell, she wants to go to art school, too, and if I can make connections that might help her out down the line…”
“You don’t have to justify your choices to me. I don’t think there’s any right or wrong answer here, Evan. You’re blazing your trail, and nobody can do that for you. But take it from a seasoned bushwhacker—you need to be very clear with yourself about what you want from this.”
“Do you mean the, uh…” He gestured into the air. “Fame?”
“Yes and no. Goals change, and so does what makes us happy. Don’t get so caught up in what’s happening to you that you forget to advocate for what you need.”
“Right, totally.” He frowned then turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket. “Part of me feels like if I don’t make it work here, then that fault line you were talking about really will split, and I’ll be standing on the wrong side of the gulf between failure and success.”
“Mmm.” Maureen shrugged then sipped her coffee. “It’s true that being here means you’ll never miss an opportunity, but maybe gut check yourself when someone offers you something that’s too good to be true.”
“Thanks, Maureen.” He smiled. “I’m really glad I ran into you.”
“Likewise—we should exchange numbers. You can come up to the house sometime, get away from things here.”
“I might take you up on that,” he said. “I really am sorry if I was a shit to you in school.”
“Water under the bridge. And hey, speaking of, can I give you one last piece of advice?”
“Sure.”
“If she’s your kid, tell her so. And if Seattle guy means something to you, tell him too.” `