TWO
Arriving at the Chelsea Market Passage—my favorite venue at the High Line, I fell in love with New York City all over again.
Even after living here six years, pulling up to this building reinforces my deep admiration for how the city integrated the renewed structures with the historical old brick buildings.
The spectacularly covered passage surrounded by beautiful natural gardens used to be called Death Avenue.
In the 19th Century, the New York central freight line ran up and down 10th and 11th Avenues, leaving carnage in its wake.
Killing people, destroying carriages and cars was a normal occurrence.
The entire area was scheduled to be demolished—even signed off by the mayor.
Thankfully, some politicians, business owners, artists and locals rallied together to support the revitalization of the area.
It’s an amazing place to spend the day, go on a date, have a picnic, or attend an event.
As my Uber driver slowed down to pull into a drop off spot, the grandeur of the decorations from the event greeted me.
Magical things like this always made me smile.
One of the featured high school artists, Jack, or something with a J, maybe Jake—I’m even surprised I remember my own name tonight—dressed in a slim plaid suit, opened my door with a magnetic smile.
His youthful energy was contagious.
He was excited and that made me feel good.
Kids like him are the reason we do this every year.
It’s exactly what I needed getting out of this car and making my way to an event where I had to remain on for the next several hours.
This dress, while exquisite, was starting to suffocate me.
It had nothing to do with the fitting.
That part was perfect.
Compartmentalizing the last hour of my life was proving harder than expected.
The bright aura of this place warmed my face.
Walking to the open entrance, I peered down the long promenade decorated like a fairy garden with thousands of twinkling lights.
A sweet flora aroma entranced my body.
Closing my eyes, I just took a minute to listen to the scene.
Laughter and chatter tickled my ears, giving rise to the confidence needed to move forward tonight.
I was part of creating this night.
I can do hard things.
I was ready.
Opening my eyes, there she was! Lena Rae Valentine was pure sunshine, even during the darkest night.
Her smile reached her eyes, sparkling.
It was my favorite smile of hers. Taking in this moment, I realized how lucky I was to have all the people I love and enjoy in one place for the night. I wasn’t going to be sad, not tonight. And I wasn’t going to be sad over being cheated on.
“That face says murder. It needs to go,”
Lena teased waving her hand in front of my face.
“Michael broke up with me,”
I blurted out. I plastered the best smile I could manifest to my face.
Grabbing me and pulling me into a hug, Lena froze. She was silent. Lena shifted into her serious mode. This was a rare version of Lena.
“When this hug ends, we act like it’s not a big deal. It goes into a little box to be opened later with alcohol and without an audience. Agreed?”
“Yes!”
Lena pulled back, eyes wide with a mix of shock and outrage. “What the hell? When did this happen?”
“Just now,”
I replied, forcing my voice steady. “Well, not now, but just before now.”
“What an asshole!”
She justified, shaking her head in disbelief.
With resolution in my voice, I promised, “He’s not ruining tonight.“
Lena knows me better than anyone else, by galaxies. She was studying my face to search for anything hiding between the lines of my words. We naturally had an ease to our relationship, a cadence that nobody else matched. Fierce loyalty. Practically raised together, my mom was a fierce feminist. Not the man hater kind, but the kind that wanted every woman she knew and meant to succeed, feel supported and cheered on. She taught us to never waste energy convincing people of our value, not in a relationship of any kind. That meant in love, in friendship, or in business. Feminism to my mom meant being self aware of your responsibility and power to yourself. Those are the parts of life we can control, everything else was basically Russian Roulette.
Lena, like always, swept me back into the moment, “Alright, let’s make tonight amazing. This is where we shine. Everything will be fine. I love you!”
We walked into the covered passage of the venue, wrapped in that old world feeling. The atmosphere was charged, greeting us with the chatter of two or three hundred friends and colleagues ready to spend some money. Support some young artists.
Lena and I excelled in helping people spend money.
The walls of the High Line walking path were adorned by pieces from renowned artists as well as students whose work had been selected for display.
The student are my favorite part of this night.
I loved the event of showcasing and adoring artists just stepping into this realm, always so hopeful.
Sometimes they were excited and passionate, but mainly, trying to grasp on to any string of finding a place amongst other artists, established artists.
The room buzzed with the chatter of patrons, educators, and artists, all gathered to support the cause.
My eyes grazed across the event, sparkling gowns, black tuxes and fancy suits, clinks of glasses, and laughter, so many smiling faces.
Art made people happy, elevated their world for a night.
NYC mastered showing up for these type of fundraisers like it was a passion.
This beautiful moment with my best friend, my mom and sister mingling somewhere, and all these people with big ass bank accounts coming together to preserve, support and promote access and funding to art programs.
This event filled my bucket like a love language. It sang to my soul. It made me feel good to be part of it. I felt useful in the world organizing and running these type of events.
I felt Lena nudge me. “I’m heading to the left. That’s where art pieces can get tucked away and I don’t want to miss any. I don’t want anyone else to miss them, either.”
“Good call,”
I say, scanning the room. “I’ll take the right and meet you by the bar in thirty?”
Nodding she was already drifting towards a small group gathered around a painting half-hidden behind a curtain of ivy. I watched her go for a moment, admiring the ease with which she navigates these events. She’s in her element, and I’m reminded how important this night is for both of us. For Lena, she was a local artist and art educator. For me, most of the guests in attendance were clients from my own business. This event reflected my abilities at creating events, like so many I curate for their businesses. I was definitely in my element here. Lena and I were in some symbiotic relationship tonight with this event.
Weaving through clusters of guests, the first person I strike up a conversation with is a woman admiring a delicate sculpture placed on a low table. It’s almost hidden by the dessert spread surrounding it.
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
I say, gesturing to the piece.
She looks up, smiling. “It really is. There’s something about the way it’s so subtly placed, like a secret waiting to be discovered.”
“Exactly,”
I agree, “That’s the beauty of tonight. You never know what you’ll find around the next corner.”
We chat for a few minutes—turns out she’s an art teacher in Brooklyn, and we bond over our shared love for the arts in education. As we talk, I notice more guests gathering around us, drawn in by the sculpture and our conversation.
Excusing myself, I move further into the venue. I stop to talk to a couple discussing an abstract painting mounted behind a cluster of flickering candles. The soft light makes the colors dance, and I find myself losing track of time as we debate the artist’s intention. They’re gallery owners, and by the end of our conversation, we’re exchanging contact information, discussing the possibility of future collaborations for their own events.
Eventually, I make my way to the bar, where I see Lena already holding two glasses of champagne. “Thank you,”
I say taking one from her.
“Run into some interesting people?”
she asks, a knowing smile on her face.
“Definitely. A teacher, some gallery owners—this night’s off to a good start.”
Lena leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I heard there’s an installation in one of the old rail cars. Want to go check it out?”
“Lead the way,”
I say, feeling a surge of excitement. The night is still young, and the possibilities feel endless.
We move through the crowd together, making our way toward the hidden art piece. As we walk, I catch snippets of conversations—people laughing, discussing art, and making connections. The whole venue buzzes with a kind of energy that feels rare, like we’re all part of something important, something that matters. Stepping into the rail car, I realize just how much this night means to me. Not just for the art, or the success of the event, but sharing it with my best friend. Even on the worst of days, minutes with Lena change the tides.
After fifteen minutes of enjoying the art and laughing over stupid shit only we make up, we make our way back to joining the main event. I hear that beautiful, contagious laugh across the room before I actually say her, Juliette Monroe. My mother. She has her hand on her chest as she laughs. I could watch my mom forever, just be a fly on the wall of her world. She was definition of magnetism and old world beauty. She was the woman that everyone was instantly in love with, including my high school boyfriend. He like really fell in love with her. He broke up with me because of it. Wait. Am I sensing a pattern with guys breaking up with me? Put a pin in that to contemplate and lose sleep over later. Next to her, my younger sister Amelia. She’s my favorite (after Lena, but don’t tell her that). My mom was dressed in a classic black gown that exuded grace, yet remained a bit seductive. Amelia, ever the stylish one, wore a sleek red dress that made her stand out in the crowd. She had naturally bright blond hair and the combination was flawless.
“Mom! Amelia!”
I called, waving as they turned.
“Darling, you look stunning!”
she exclaimed, pulling me close and kissing both my cheeks. My mother was French through and through.
Amelia, always the blunt one, immediately noticed something wasn’t right. “What’s wrong? You are giving off True Crime vibes.”
“Michael dumped her,”
Lena whispered, not mincing words.
Moms scoffed softly, her hand flying to her mouth. “Cet imbécile, je vais le tuer! Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,”
I said, probably too quickly. “No big feelings tonight. We are here with a purpose and it’s not me falling apart over a breakup.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed or immune to my resolve. “Fuck him. We are better company on any night!”
She glowed smiling at me. It’s funny how half your life you want to push a sibling into a lake with cement boots and the other half is feeling love so encompassing it might explode. Our relationship walks a fine line between the two. That’s normal though, right?
The thing about my inner circle, these women, they are solid. Always! I never have to question that. Maybe that’s one of my character flaws. I expected all relationships to be like this because it’s what I know—clearly, I was mistaken.
Michael, despite his expensive private school education, he still couldn’t distinguish between they’re, there and their. I desperately tried to put this attribute into the cute quirks category, but it teetered between I want to punch you in the throat or responding, “well, isn’t that cute?”
with a judging Southern twang. I didn’t realize until this moment how much that really annoyed me. Petty? Yes, but today I get a pass.
Despite a last minute breakup and the admission of being cheated on, the night continued beautifully. At one point, Lena’s piece—a breathtaking abstract painting that seemed to pulse with emotion—was unveiled. She was becoming a popular artist in the city and I was so happy to watch every second of it. The crowd gathered around, admiring the work and offering their accolades and admiration. I felt a surge of pride for her, so thankful to play a small part in her very big life—even if it’s just loving her.
As the night went on, I genuinely was enjoying the event. My family and Lena kept my spirits high, and I met several potential clients interested in my business’s unique approach to corporate experiences. The gala was not only a success for the cause but also a reminder of my own strength and resilience. Running it supported something I was passionate about, but it was also a working advertisement of my capabilities as an entrepreneur.
Finally as the night was ending, I stepped out into the cool night air. I took a deep breath, the cold bite expanding in my chest.
In this moment, I felt a sense of calm wash over my entire body. This night hadn’t gone as planned, but in many ways, it had turned out even better.
I had great people all around me, exciting conversations, money raised and opportunities on the horizon. The brisk air promised the beginning of something new, something unexpected.