Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Juniper
It feels like it’s been raining for a month straight. It’s only been three days, but there’s a feeling of damp everywhere I go in Star Falls at the moment.
“Mommy, can we go to the playground?” Riley asks as she tucks into her cereal at our small dining table. “You said yourself that we’re not made of sugar.”
I laugh. When Riley was little, she was like a cat. She never wanted to go out in the rain. I used to coax her outside, telling her she wasn’t made of sugar, so she wouldn’t melt in the rain. I only have myself to blame for her wanting to go to the playground in this downpour.
“You’re as sweet as sugar,” I say. “But no, we can’t go to the playground, Riley. It’s just too wet.”
“But I’m bored, Mommy. We spent all day yesterday inside, too.”
She’s right. We spent yesterday getting caught up with chores and sorting through Riley’s wardrobe. It was immensely satisfying, but not very fun for Riley.
“Let’s go to the studio,” she suggests.
It’s a perfect day for the studio. Okay, the sun isn’t out, but the skylights make it possible to paint, whatever the weather. I just can’t face going in there at the moment.
I tried last week to go, but I got nothing done.
All I could think about was Grace and the possibilities I’m giving up if I say no to her.
It’s paralyzing. Usually, I can immerse myself in my work, whatever is going on in my personal life.
Even when I gave up art school because I was pregnant, even when I lost that baby, even when Riley’s dad and I were splitting up.
At the worst times in my life, art has been my salvation. But now? Now, all I can think about is that I’m being offered a chance at my dreams again, and I can’t take it.
Can’t or… won’t.
“No studio today,” I say. “I’m waiting for some paint to come in.” As soon as I say it, I know Riley will find holes in my logic. She’s a smart kid, and sometimes I’m guilty of treating her like she’s still a baby.
“You have a ton of paint, Mom. Use what’s in the studio.”
“But I’m at a crucial bit and the paint I’m waiting on is metallic.
I don’t have any in the studio.” It’s a lie, but as soon as I say it, it occurs to me that metallic on my current piece would actually look really cool.
A deep, dirty bronze beneath some of the darker colors might look really effective, and I don’t have any.
I make a mental note to do some online shopping tonight when Riley’s in bed.
There was a time when the idea of buying metallic paint would have been out of the question, but with the money from my sale of paintings to the Colorado Club, I can afford it and still not dip into Riley’s college fund.
Most of it is earmarked for her, but I’ve managed to establish a small emergency fund, and I also put aside a few hundred dollars for fun stuff. Metallic paint qualifies.
And what Riley doesn’t know is that she’s getting a ninth birthday party at Pizza Meet Ya.
“What does metallic mean?” she asks.
“Paint that looks like metal. Let me show you.” I pull up on my phone a picture of a metallic paint. It sure looks pretty.
“Oooh, Mommy, it looks like it has glitter in it.” Her eyes light up and it fills my heart that paint can get her as excited as it gets me.
Maybe Riley will want to go to art school.
If she does, the money from the Club will make her dreams a reality.
What mother doesn’t want to do that for their kid?
“Right. You think it would look nice on the piece I’m working on at the moment?” I ask.
“I think it would look amazing on all your pictures!”
“Yeah, so I’m going to wait for that. We’ll have to make non-studio fun today.”
She sighs and releases her spoon. “No more chores. My room is clean. The laundry is folded. I don’t want to do anything else.”
“I agree. No more chores today.”
Riley’s eyes widen, and she stares at me, waiting for me to change my mind.
“What do you want to do?” I ask. “We could always decorate for Christmas?”
“Really?” she asks, sitting forward in her chair. “Like put the tree up?”
“Why not?” I ask.
She thinks about it for a moment, then shakes her head. “It’s summer. We’d just have to take it down again and that would make me sad.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun in the meantime. You love decorating for Christmas.”
She shakes her head solemnly. “It rubs out all the fun,” she says. “I don’t want to do that.”
“But that’s like saying that if we don’t get dressed, we won’t get our clothes dirty so we won’t have to wash them and fold the laundry.”
“Right. That’s actually a pretty smart idea, Mommy. Let’s just wear our PJs today.”
“Well, I’m already dressed,” I say. “But you can’t not do things just because there’ll be some clearing up or some laundry after. I’d never paint if I didn’t want to screw back on paint caps and wash my brushes.”
Riley just shrugs, and I take her bowl from in front of her and place it in the sink.
Maybe I went a bit overboard with the chores yesterday.
The last thing I want to do is encourage her to limit herself from having fun or exploring new opportunities because of the small possibility of the downside of cleaning up after.
It’s just part of life. The A on your English paper requires the sacrifice of study.
Painting a picture means you have to wash your brushes.
And then the thought hits me like a sucker punch—a career in art requires me letting go of things I currently have in my life.
Is it the same? The sacrifice is bigger, isn’t it? But the potential upside is too.
I shake my head. No, it’s not the same. It’s not like I can give up my job.
I have a mortgage to pay and food to put on the table.
The sacrifice isn’t worth it. Plus, Riley’s in school.
It’s not like I can uproot her and move to New York.
I’m pretty sure they don’t have many abandoned sweet shops that only charge a homemade pecan pie and a bottle of wine for rent every month.
My phone bleeps on the table next to Riley.
“It’s Fisher!” she says. “Can he come over? He’s fun, and I bet he’d have a lot of ideas of what to do in a rainstorm.”
I roll my eyes, deliberately not saying no, because then we’ll just get into a debate about why Fisher can’t come over, and I don’t think I can stand it. I want to see him, but I don’t want my daughter growing attached.
I swipe open the message as Riley continues to ask me about Fisher.
Fisher: Hey, what are you doing this rainy day?
I grin helplessly at the message. I have no idea why. It’s not a particularly sweet or romantic message. It’s just good to hear from him. It’s nice to know he’s thinking about me.
Me: We’re just deciding. Riley’s bored and balked at the idea of putting up the Christmas tree in May. No idea why.
“Who are you messaging, Mommy? Tell me! Is it Fisher?”
“Yes, sweet girl, it’s Fisher.”
“Can he come over? Please, Mommy! We could all watch a movie together. It would be so much fun! We could even get the popcorn machine out. We have corn!”
My phone beeps again.
Fisher: The Christmas tree? Am I missing something? Sometimes Star Falls feels like a far-off planet I just landed on.
I can’t help but grin again. He can make me smile like no other man.
Me: We’re just trying to find something fun to do on such a rainy day. She wants you to come over.
I don’t know why I add the last bit. I’ve been completely clear about not wanting Riley to become attached to him, but I’m basically leaving him an opening to say he can come over. Why? So I can tell him no? Again?
Three dots appear, and I stare at the phone as Riley tries to figure out on the calendar how many days there are until we can put our Christmas decorations up for real.
I stare at the phone and realize it was no accident that I mentioned Riley wants Fisher to come over. I want Fisher to say he’s free. I want to see him. I want him here.
Maybe Riley will be upset when Fisher leaves. But it’s not like we’ve been dating two years and he’s living with us. I’m being overprotective. And she likes Fisher.
I start to type.
Me: If you’re free, and you don’t mind a day watching movies and listening to an eight-year-old talk about Christmas, we’d both love to see you.
I take a deep breath and press send.
Fisher responds in seconds.
I’m on my way and I’m bringing snacks. What are Riley’s favorites?
I bite back a smile.
Me: Anything with too much sugar and not enough nutrition.
“Fisher’s coming over,” I announce.
Riley whips her head around. “Really?”
“We can watch movies. Set up the popcorn machine. It’ll be fun.”
“It will be fun, Mommy. I promise! Do you think Fisher likes Disney movies?”
He doesn’t know what he’s let himself in for. “Maybe,” I say.
We’re still trying to find the perfect movie when Fisher raps on the door.
“I’ll get it!!” Riley yells, jumping up from the couch and running to the door.
“Hey, Riley,” Fisher says. “Thanks for inviting me over. I was so bored today.”
I take him in as he and Riley greet each other.
He looks so tall next to her. He’s tall anyway, but next to Riley, he looks like and giant and she looks tiny.
His hair’s wet and I wonder if it’s from the rain.
It looks darker than it usually does, and suddenly I have a vision of him fucking me in the shower.
How his chest would look covered with water droplets, how I’d want to sink to my knees in front of him and take him—
“Mom!” Riley yells, despite me standing right next to her. “Fisher brought games!”
I snap out of my shower fantasies and focus on what’s actually in front of me.
“Hey, that’s great,” I say, as I peer into the gigantic duffle bag Fisher’s brought with him. “Looks like you have every single game imaginable in there.”
“Well, I didn’t know which ones you already had, and they had a ton at the Club,” Fisher says, grinning at me. I can’t help but smile back. It’s so good to see him.