Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter
Thirty-One
Daphne hurried down a London street, the September morning sun pouring vitamin D into her skin after a week of rain and gloom. Her heels clicked on the damp concrete, an almost jaunty rhythm as she crossed the road, the Devon looming above her like a cathedral.
The Devon was housed in a huge Victorian-era brick house, renovated to highlight contemporary art, with soaring ceilings, multistory windows, and stark white walls.
Everything inside was bright and serene at the same time, from the blond wood floors to the arched interior walls for displays, a swirling maze through color and creation.
For the last month, Daphne had walked into this building every day.
And every day, still, she paused in the foyer after pushing the ornate oak doors open, taking in the simple grandeur.
Nicola had told her multiple times that she could come in through the employees’ side entrance.
She’d even given Daphne a key card, as the grant Nicola had procured for Daphne to work on her final piece for Evolution entitled her to a few perks as one of the Devon’s artists-in-residence.
But she loved this moment in her day.
The moment when she opened a beautiful door and stepped into her literal dream. A paradise rivaling any version of Eden she’d ever imagined, heaven for the lonely queer girl she’d been in Tennessee.
Even today, as she stepped inside, a million thoughts in her head about her own art, she still caught her breath, eyes wide as she took in the architecture and regular pieces that called the Devon home.
She shook her head, laughing softly to herself as she picked up her pace, heading to the back of the museum where all the offices were located, as well as the studio where she’d been working.
“Good morning, Daphne,” Nicola said as Daphne entered the studio space.
“Oh, hi,” Daphne said as she slipped off her dark gray bomber jacket. Underneath, she wore a tattered Evenflow T-shirt she’d found in a thrift shop in Chelsea and paint-splattered jeans. “You’re here early.”
Nicola stood near the windows of the large studio space, where Daphne’s four completed pieces were currently set up on easels.
Other works filled the room, but none of the artists were here yet.
Even Nicola, who was dressed impeccably in a black pencil skirt and cobalt-blue silk blouse, didn’t usually come in until ten.
It was currently seven thirty, as Daphne still hadn’t shaken off the years of guilt-soaked early-rising training in the Love household.
“I am,” Nicola said simply. Her arms were folded, brows slightly lowered, and though Daphne wasn’t currently facing her pieces, she knew which one Nicola was scrutinizing.
Her fifth piece.
The final piece.
The one she hadn’t had time to complete in Clover Lake but knew had to be a part of this series.
A conclusion, of sorts, though she knew a person’s evolution never really reached its final destination.
Still, she couldn’t end the series with meeting Elena Watson, and Nicola agreed.
If she’d had the time, she could’ve painted five more pieces, and maybe one day she would.
But for now, she needed one more to round out her story.
To end the journey—her own Fool’s Passage—on a hopeful, empowering note.
Her stomach fluttered a little, thinking of the Fool.
April’s Fool.
April.
She and April hadn’t spoken very much since Daphne left Cloverwild two days after Ramona and Dylan’s wedding. They’d texted here and there, and of course, Daphne knew April and Sasha were on a road trip together, but Daphne was determined to give April the space she needed.
And the space Daphne herself needed.
Even though, every time she thought of April, she wanted to text her. Cold-call her, just to hear her voice.
And she thought about April a lot. In fact, she was pretty sure all those thoughts were why she couldn’t seem to figure out her fifth piece. She also suspected that Nicola was here an hour past sunrise for that very reason.
“I’m concerned,” Nicola said.
Daphne sighed quietly, then joined Nicola at her fifth piece.
Her very unformed, very blank-canvas fifth piece.
“I’ll figure it out,” Daphne said. “I promise.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Nicola said, turning to look at her. “I’m concerned about timing. You have less than three weeks until the pieces for the show need to be matted and framed. October will be here before you know it.”
Daphne pressed her hand to her stomach, which had knotted uncomfortably. “I know.”
Nicola eyed her for a second before sighing. “I know this is very personal.” She waved her hand toward Daphne’s series. “But it’s also professional. Do you understand?”
“I do. I promise,” Daphne said, nodding vigorously. “I have a plan all worked out.”
Nicola’s brows lifted. “That’s encouraging. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Thank you,” Daphne said. “I won’t let you down.”
Nicola smiled. “I’m counting on it.”
Then she left, her heels clicking across the wooden floors like tap shoes.
Daphne stood for a few seconds in the silence, breathing heavily and glaring at her empty canvas.
Finally, she took out her phone and tapped on her text thread with April.
Her thumb hovered over the message window, her stomach even more of a mess now, but then she switched over to a different thread before she could think too much about it.
I’m panicking, she typed.
Three little bubbles popped up immediately, and she exhaled, glad Sasha wasn’t in the middle of driving or sleeping, as Daphne had no idea what time zone Sasha was in right now.
Sasha: Still blank?
Daphne: Smooth brain, no wrinkles
Her phone vibrated as Sasha’s profile picture—her face with her tongue poking through her first two fingers—popped up on her screen. Daphne slid her thumb over the phone to answer the video call.
“What are you doing?” she whisper-hissed.
“Calm down,” Sasha said, clearly cocooned in the bed of some roadside motel.
Her platinum hair was impossibly tall and messy, her short cut a little longer than the last time Daphne had seen her.
“We got separate rooms tonight because April has a cold and this motel didn’t have anything with two beds available. ”
Daphne frowned, her chest hitching a little. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. No fever or anything, just sniffly.”
Daphne’s shoulders loosened, but she still hated the idea of April being sick and her not being there to help—
She squeezed her eyes closed, then shook her head and smiled.
“You’re ridiculous,” Sasha said.
“Gee, thanks,” Daphne said.
Sasha just laughed. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“Look,” Daphne said, sighing heavily. “Am I in love with April?”
“Rhetorical question, I assume,” said Sasha, “as the words madly and deeply come to mind.”
“But am I going to do anything about it right now?” Daphne pressed on.
Sasha scowled, then put on an affected, high-pitched voice, fluttering her hand around in, honestly, an insulting impression. “No, I won’t because I’m a strong, independent lady and I don’t need anyone.”
“Is that supposed to be me?”
“I call it like I see it.”
“I need you, don’t I?”
“You need me because I am, admittedly, brilliant and wise, but also because I’m April adjacent.”
Daphne frowned. “Sasha. That’s not true. I love you.”
“How could you not? My point stands though.”
Daphne rubbed her forehead. She did love Sasha, but dear god, she was exhausting.
And possibly right.
“Listen, I didn’t text you to talk about April,” Daphne said. “I need to bounce some ideas off someone for my fifth piece, and I can’t do that with Nicola, who is pretty much my boss and probably freaking out that she’s backing the wrong horse.”
Sasha sat up, sending a hand through her charmingly disastrous hair. She wore a stretched-out white tank top. “One and the same.”
“What?”
“April,” Sasha said, “and your fifth piece.”
Daphne wrinkled her nose, even as something bright started to burn underneath her ribs.
“You didn’t get here by yourself,” Sasha said, waving her hand at Daphne’s face. “This brand-new you.”
“I know that.”
“So. Let her in. You keep trying to avoid her, give her space, give yourself space, and I get it. I even commend you for going to London alone. You’re brave and capable and strong, and you know it now. You’ve proven it to yourself already, Daph.”
Daphne’s eyes started to sting a little. “Thanks, Sasha,” she said softly.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Sasha said. “Remember how I called you ridiculous?”
“I recall.”
“Well, it bears repeating. You know what that fifth piece is supposed to be. I know what that fifth piece is supposed to be. April even knows. Hell, I bet Nicola knows it too.”
Daphne groaned, tangled a hand in her faded lavender hair. “This is my journey, Sasha. My evolution. No one else’s.”
Sasha’s eyes softened. “Exactly.”
Daphne went silent for a few seconds, processing, sifting, fighting. She changed the subject, asking where Sasha and April were headed next (Carlsbad Caverns), and if they were still on track to be in LA at the end of October for Jack and Carrie’s party (they should roll into Tinseltown on the 31).
After she ended the call, Daphne stood in front of her blank canvas for a long time. She stood and stared and thought until an image formed in her mind. She’d seen the image before, had felt it, even, the warmth and peace and safety.
The love.
And she realized that in order to tell the kind of story she wanted, the story that was hers, the story that was true, she didn’t need five pieces.
She needed six.
She picked up her pencil and started sketching.