Chapter Twenty-Five
Max, Now
I take a break from setting up the exhibit to answer a call outside.
The sun has hit the highest point in the sky, and aside from a steady breeze and the distant sound of cars on the main road, Harlow has entered an afternoon calm.
Inside the barn is the opposite—chaos, at least to the untrained eye.
There are canvases, hanging wires galore, and tools everywhere. We’re on track, though.
We were, that is, until a minute ago.
“She would never do this,” the artist manager says, “but given the circumstances, you must understand.”
The niece of the most well-known artist in our show is one of the victims of my former boss. She hadn’t realized this when she signed on, but in an act of solidarity, she intends to back out.
We’re two weeks until opening.
“I’m putting this pop-up together independently. No ties to Impressions. You’ve explained that to her?”
The manager scoffs, as if I dare tell him how to do his job.
No amount of reminding him how her name appears on the press releases or the pamphlets sways him.
He doesn’t care that she had offered a personalized set of art supplies for the silent auction, either.
According to the cancellation clause in her contract, all they legally have to do is ship her pieces back on their dime.
We hang up, and I tell my gallery assistants to take ten. I’ll need more than that to come up with a miracle, though. I will always be myself, and I will always have worked at that place.
And now that’s Daisy’s problem, too.
“I brought coffee and tea over from the main house.” She enters the barn, bumping the door open with her butt in a cute way that I’m too stressed to appreciate. Her body lurches to a stop as she surveys the space. “Is it supposed to look like this?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” I scout out a spot in the center of the hanging-supplies hurricane to sit down, utterly defeated.
“Where is everyone?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
Daisy doesn’t ask questions. Instead, she marches straight to the floor across from me, cradling a mug in one hand while offering me the other. Her support makes this hurt even more, because she’ll be suffering because of me. I describe the phone call, and she nods along.
“Dropping out?” she asks coolly. Either she doesn’t comprehend what this means, or she’s doing her best to keep it together for my sake. “She can do that?”
“It’s rare but not unheard of.”
“Well…” Daisy pauses, her eyes roaming over me like she’s calibrating her response to mine. “That’s shitty. Like, really, really shitty of her.”
I nod, then bury my head in my hands and let the self-pitying thoughts win.
“We’ll get someone else,” Daisy says in a chipper tone. “Someone better.”
“I can’t get someone else.”
“We will.”
“It’s not possible,” I say, lying down and ready to forget this whole stupid idea. A pop-up. In Harlow. What was I thinking, dragging Daisy into this? Because this affects me, but it affects her, too.
“I’ve already booked the artists who expressed interest,” I go on. “We can’t replace someone of her caliber on such short notice. It would be an insult to reach out this late in the game.”
“Maybe that one girl, Becs—she’s an artist. She might have a suggestion.”
“That’s not the point. This is more than how many people show up, how many tickets we sell, and how far out your reservations get booked.
” At a loss, I sit up and rest my elbows on my knees, enjoying whatever floral body spray follows Daisy around.
“This is about a reputation that I can’t separate myself from.
That anyone who works with me will get tied to, too. ”
She chews on the cuticle of her thumb, and I don’t have the heart to stop her.
“I can tell myself I’m not to blame, but there’s this feeling that I should have known, should have done something.
” That regret gnaws at me endlessly. “And understandably, people aren’t exactly excited to attach their name to anyone who has ties to that place.
I want to run away from it, too. I just…
more than anything, I don’t want that to affect The Mirage. The exhibit. You.”
If Daisy somehow gets dragged through the mud for working with me, I couldn’t live with myself.
“C’mon.” Daisy startles me by smacking me on the thigh. “You got this. There’s gotta be something.”
“I…I guess I could ask Becs if she knows someone,” I say, my voice straining under the stress. I should never have talked Daisy into this.
“That’s good.”
“But next weekend? Who would go for that? And what if other people drop out? All because of my stupid fucking last job.”
“Don’t do this.” Daisy sounds desperate, and I look up to meet her worried eyes.
“You cannot give up on me right now.” Her words come out shaky, like she can’t trust her own voice.
“You’re scaring me. If you really think people are going to always associate you with the shit your skeezy ex-boss did, don’t let them.
Let everyone know you aren’t your former workplace or your former boss.
Everything they stood for—that’s not you. ”
Daisy’s unwavering support and belief in me are exactly why I can’t give up.
I got her tangled up in this mess, and I won’t abandon her now.
And if I were to make a comeback, I’d want it to be with someone like Daisy.
Someone who makes me feel like I could make the sun rise and dictate the phases of the moon if I tried hard enough.
“Make this museum incredible, like only you can,” she says, her gaze searing into me as she slides close enough that our knees touch.
My mind travels to last night, holding her so tightly our bodies molded together.
What would Daisy have done if I hadn’t been there?
She would have managed—she did for eight years without me around.
But getting to support her, protect her, and cradle her into sleep in the safety of my arms is a heartbreaking privilege I don’t take lightly.
“I’ve seen the list of artists you’ve talked to,” Daisy goes on. “There’s got to be someone on there that can keep us moving in the right direction, so we won’t have a blank wall where her stuff was supposed to go.” She hands me the printed-off spreadsheet and points to it. “So who’s it gonna be?”
This is the Daisy I know—headstrong, take-charge, no-nonsense. I glance down at the paper. “Someone who is guaranteed to bring folks in on opening night is ideal.”
“Okay. We could have more than one person, right?”
“I guess.”
Anyone in Los Angeles who wanted to join us already has, and anyone famous enough to attract lots of people would be a long shot. Plus, no one likes to be the next choice in line—people will take reaching out so last minute as an insult.
“Damn.” Daisy peers at the list in my hand. “You never had problems getting people to show up to art shows in high school. How is this so much harder?”
And that’s when I know what we need to do.
Regina’s classroom has a quirky familiarity about it. The boldly colored bookshelves brim with sculptures, and massive art reference books occupy half of her desk. She has a circular clock on the wall covered in disco ball tiles, and instead of the time, the face simply reads NOW.
“Thank you for meeting with us.” I wipe my sweaty palms against my pants.
“Of course,” Regina says with a hesitant smile.
“I have a project I’m working on. A pop-up, here in Harlow. My…” Fuck buddy, but just for one night? Woman I’ve had a crush on for ages? “My good friend here, Daisy, runs The Mirage hotel. She and I are partnering together on an exhibit on the property.”
“Oh.” Regina’s body relaxes into her chair. “That sounds incredible. You’re more than welcome to flyer in the appropriate spots here on campus.”
“We wanted to inquire about something else.” I reach for my bag, but Daisy’s already holding the notes and photos I need out to me. At the top is the painting I made for her: the one of The Mirage in all its glory. The one that put her lips on mine.
Daisy looks like she’s about to burst with excitement. “We want to get the students involved,” she says in a rush. “Have them in the show.”
She was right about the showcases I had in high school. Teachers, siblings, parents—well, most parents—and anyone and everyone related to students would show up. Students bring a crowd, and that could bolster our opening-week sales, although that’s not what Regina will care about.
“In addition to the portfolio for their end-of-semester project,” I say, “this will give them a real-world scenario to showcase their work alongside accomplished artists. Professionals.”
Regina’s eyebrows raise, and she nods her head slowly as if she’s processing the proposal.
“It’s certainly an incredible opportunity.
” She taps her lips in thought. “It’ll depend on the principal and superintendent.
Do you have a theme for the evening? Since they’re teens, it can’t be anything risqué. ”
“We’ll keep things PG,” I say. “By involving the school and younger artists, I’d revise our concept. Something that will suit everything we’ve already accepted into the show, but also makes room for the student work to fit.”
I catch Daisy’s face on me, her mouth turned up.
“Do you have a list of artists?” Regina asks.
She slides a pair of red acetate glasses onto her nose and skims the printed Excel spreadsheet of names, artwork, and thumbnail-sized photos of what the artists are providing.
After a moment, she removes her frames and sets them down on her desk.
“Ms. Johnson, Max may have mentioned that I’m aiming to expand the art program here.
Something like this is…” Her eyes turn glossy with dammed-up emotion.
“On its own, this will mean so much for these students. But considering what it could mean for launching a visual arts school, this could be immense. In so many ways. Thank you.”
My throat tightens, overwhelmed by her reaction.
When I was a weird little teenager sketching in classroom corners, this chance could have changed my life.
Even in college, I would have loved participating in a show like this.
And now, I get to pass this chance on. I can’t predict the butterfly effect this could have on the art scene in Harlow.
We shake hands with Regina as she fights back tears. The second Daisy and I step into the hall, she loops an arm through mine. “I’m excited.”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Will we have enough room?”
“That’s the beauty of a pop-up. We can change the lineup, rotate through student work more frequently, and keep things fresh. We might—what?”
Daisy stops and stares up at me. “You never would have gone for this when we started planning.”
“You don’t like my idea?”
“I love your idea. It’s brilliant.”
“Yeah,” I say almost to myself, the excitement bubbling inside me like a pot on low heat. “It’s pretty cool.”
“It’s more than that.”
In one smooth movement, Daisy rises onto her toes and wraps a hand around my neck, pressing her mouth against mine. She gives me the simplest kiss, but it completely warps my mind—I forget where I am, what I’m doing, why I’m here.
She lowers her heels but keeps her body angled toward me.
“What was that for?” I ask, her breath mingling with mine.
“I just really wanted to kiss you again.”
“Oh, good, you’re still here.” Regina’s footsteps grow louder behind us. We turn, but there’s no rush apart from each other. I’m too stunned by kissing Daisy in the hallway of our old high school to process what’s going on.
“I…I’m sorry,” Regina goes on as she approaches, “but with all of your news, I completely forgot.” She holds out an envelope. “Do you have one more minute to chat?”
Daisy squeezes my biceps. “I’ll pull the truck around.” She walks away, and all I want to do is chase after her forever—to never leave her side. To kiss her again, but this time to be ready for it, to enjoy it even more.
“I can’t believe I forgot this,” Regina says, tapping the envelope against my arm. “When you emailed, I thought you were going to tell me you were quitting. The past ten minutes have been an emotional roller coaster.”
“What’s this?”
“It’s a request for you, for next semester.”
I take the sealed letter and turn it over in my hand. “What kind of request?”
“A contract. The students love you, we have a waitlist a mile long in case of any dropouts, and we have parents asking if you’re on the schedule next semester—next year even.”
When I think back to my schooling, my teachers were the people who got me passionate about art and encouraged me to be creative. I never envisioned myself in their shoes, not beyond this summer semester.
But I never envisioned myself back in Harlow, either.
If someone had asked me when I first arrived, I would have said I’d be itching to leave by now, and I’d be following up with my mentor daily about that job at Tate.
But when I reflect on the past couple months, I’m not antsy, and I don’t really know what to do with that.
If I go, it’s a momentous choice. But if I stay, that’s just as massive.
Whatever I’m facing, I have no middle ground to play with.
“I sort of hoped your feelings about teaching may have changed since our tiki drink night. Or that the better pay might sway you,” Regina says with a tentative smile.
“More hours, too. Everything’s negotiable, and when we do get the art school all set up, you’re one of the first people I’ll bring on board. ”
“I…” I stare at the envelope, and reality comes down hard on me.
Another kiss with Daisy doesn’t mean I should rethink my future—it just means I’m the guy always carrying a torch for her.
The man who’s ready to rearrange his plans at the slightest show of intimacy.
She packs up her emotions in boxes so tightly, a simple kiss doesn’t mean she wants me to stay.
I don’t even know what I would say if she asked, and I can’t imagine her reaction if I told her that’s what I wanted.
The shiny opportunity at Tate twinkles off on the horizon in my mind. It appears less lustrous at the moment, but it’s still there.
“I can’t make any promises past this summer.”
Regina shrinks slightly but keeps a smile on her face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’ve got some other things going on.”
Hopefully she doesn’t ask me about what other things I’m referring to. My upcoming plans are built on hope and delusion. The only thing I know for sure is the pop-up takes precedence. There’s no next step until I pull that off.
“I’m sorry,” I say, genuinely feeling bad for getting her hopes up.
“Don’t be. We’ll just have to enjoy having you here for the time you can give us.”