Chapter 8
EIGHT
Juniper
Riley and I probably look like children’s entertainers as we walk down Main Street in our matching outfits. We’re both wearing paint-splattered overalls and blue t-shirts, and our hair is in scarves. Except Riley’s outfit is a little smaller than mine.
“Mom, can you take my picture? None of my friends believe that I’m an artist.”
“You want a picture in front of Marv?” I ask, nodding toward the life-sized moose that sits outside Snail Trail—the outdoors store on Main Street.
She rolls her eyes like she’s barely tolerating me. “No, Mom. I grew out of photographs with Marv two years ago.”
“Oh, sorry. But it’s cute, having pictures of the two of you together over the years.”
“Mom!” she yells, like I’m insisting Marv be in all our family photographs. “I just want the mountains in the background.”
“Okay,” I reply. “So, go stand with the mountains in the background.”
My studio is in the old candy store. Everyone told Mrs. Peters that a candy store in the middle of Star Falls wasn’t ever going to be a moneymaker, but she didn’t care.
She wanted a candy store. She was convinced Star Falls was going to be the next Vail, and she wouldn’t listen to anyone.
Mrs. Peters has more money than all the residents of Star Falls combined, so when she finally closed the doors of Candy Cane, no one called it a failure.
Mrs. Peters had wanted a candy store, and she’d gotten one.
It was Mrs. Peters who’d offered it up to give me a place to paint.
Just until she found someone to rent the premises.
I don’t know if commercial real estate is going through a downturn in Colorado, but I can’t remember Mrs. Peters even having anyone looking at the place.
Anyway, I give her a painting of the bluebells in the woods behind her house every springtime, and I get a place to paint.
Riley strikes a pose, hands on hips, one leg out in front of the other. I have no idea how my child decided she was going to pose like a Hollywood movie star, but here we are. Eight, going on eighteen.
“You look gorgeous,” I say, and swipe to show her the shots I took before she can ask.
She fiddles with her headscarf and smiles. “We match, Mommy. I love it when we wear the same thing.”
I laugh and scoop up her hand, wondering how long it will be until wearing outfits that match with mine will be the last thing she wants to do. The time is passing by so quickly. Just a second ago, she was the long-awaited, desperately wanted baby in my arms.
She groans. “Don’t get mushy on me, Mom. I know when your eyes go like that, you’re about to say something mushy.”
I nudge her with my elbow. “I’m allowed to be mushy. Mom’s prerogative.”
“Hey, you two!” a woman’s voice calls from behind us.
I spin around, and Rosey’s coming toward us. I haven’t seen her since I went to dinner the other night. The night when I kissed Fisher’s shoulder.
I’ve replayed the evening over and over in my head.
I don’t understand how the subject of Riley didn’t come up.
I can’t help but wonder what his reaction would have been.
It’s not like it makes a difference. Would he have proposed marriage to me if I hadn’t had a kid?
No way. So, why am I still thinking about it?
“You two are dressed like twins!” Rosey’s eyes are wide.
“It’s how we like to hang out, isn’t it?” I ask Riley. I hand her my keys. “Why don’t you go and get set up?”
“Thanks, Mom.”
It kind of breaks my heart and fills me with joy at how she takes the keys with such enthusiasm. Even a year ago, she wouldn’t have wanted to go without me. Now, she can’t wait.
“She’s growing so tall,” Rosey says as we watch her sprint toward the back of the old candy store.
“So tall. But better than the opposite.”
Rosey laughs. “Well, I suppose that’s true.”
“Thanks again for dinner the other night. It was such great food. The people up there at the Club are super lucky, eating like that every night.”
“Right?” Rosey asks. “Although sometimes, I just wanna eat Cheetos and M&M’s. But maybe that’s just me.”
“I get it. Sometimes, cheese and crackers is the best meal.”
“Totally.”
I can tell she’s itching to ask me something. Probably about Fisher. It’s not like Rosey to hold back.
“So, it was nice of Fisher to drive you home, right?”
I try and hold back my chuckle. “Super nice. He seems like a really good guy.”
“A really good guy,” she says. “And you two have a bit of chemistry.”
I smile. “Maybe.” I sigh. “But, you know, he lives in New York.”
“But so did Byron when I met him,” Rosey says. “You can’t rule him out just because of that. If I’d done that with Byron, we would have never gotten together, and now I’m with the love of my life, and we’re making it work in Star Falls and New York.”
A rush of shame pushes through my chest. “It’s not just that. I’m a single mom, Rosey.”
“So? Riley’s the best, and Fisher is so kind.”
“Except I didn’t tell him about Riley.” I explain how Riley came out when we were sitting in Byron’s truck, and how Fisher went cold.
“And then when he found out… I think he thought I’d deliberately not told him, but that wasn’t the case at all.
I don’t know how—because she’s my whole world—but she just didn’t come up. ”
“I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself. And no one could doubt your love for your daughter. Fisher has broad shoulders. Literally and figuratively. He won’t hold it against you.”
“But he also doesn’t want to get involved with a single mom in her early thirties who lives in Star Falls, Colorado. I’m sure he gets his pick of women back in New York.”
Rosey puts her hands on her hips. “One thing I’ve learned in this life is you have to back yourself. Because no one else is going to. If Fisher is put off by you being a mom, then screw him.”
I let out a small laugh at Rosey’s unexpected turn. She’s fierce, and I love her for it.
“And even if I opened up and told him things I haven’t spoken about in years, even though I just met him, then screw him again. Or maybe don’t screw him.” Rosey laughs, and I feel lighter about the whole goddamn situation.
“It’s fine. I doubt I’ll lay eyes on him again. Honestly, just talking to someone new was fun.”
Rosey sighs. “I’m not sure that’s true. He’ll be around for a while yet. I think you’re such a good match for each other.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t. Rosey’s so sweet to be so invested.
“I’m going to go and find out what my daughter is doing in the studio.”
We say our goodbyes, and I head to the back of Candy Cane.
“Mom!” Riley says excitedly as I step inside the store. “I found some painter’s tape. Can I put this on my canvas and then paint? I figure it will look cool when I pull it off.”
My heart lifts in my chest. There’s nothing better than seeing Riley getting creative. “I think that sounds like a great idea. I might even do the same.”
“Really?” Riley says, beaming at me as I set down my bag.
“Really,” I reassure her. “I think you could make some really creative effects with that.”
She nods. “That’s what I thought.”
She pulls out one of her blank “canvases” and gets to work. She’s organized, getting her water and paints together, just like I showed her. I try not to smile as I watch her out of the corner of my eye.
About a year ago, she said she wanted to work on canvases, just like me.
Riley is a prolific producer of art, so keeping her in a supply of canvases was going to be expensive.
But we came up with a solution. I use some old frames I have, and instead of having canvas stretched over them, I got some large sheets of paper and stapled them to the frames.
It looks almost as good. When she’s finished, I cut around the frame and release the picture.
I’ve got hundreds. And I’m never getting rid of any of them.
She’s so talented, and as we paint side by side, we create so many incredible memories that I never want to forget.
“What are you going to paint, Mommy?” she asks.
“I’m going to start something new today,” I reply.
“Mountains?” she asks.
I shake my head. I’ve been through a real mountain phase recently, and today, I want something different. “Maybe trees,” I say. “But not firs.”
“Oak trees?” she asks.
“Maybe.” I pull out my phone and start searching what kind of trees they have on the East Coast.
Life seems so opposite there compared to life in Star Falls.
I bet their trees are different too. I come across an image of some silver birch trees.
Their narrow, bright white trunks are like spindly fingers poking out of the ground, and their leaves are a delicate green.
Yeah, I think I might be onto something.
I pull up more images of silver birch trees.
They are so delicate and graceful compared to the solidity of the firs and other trees we have in Star Falls.
But gorgeous. I imagine myself in the forest, the small leaves all around me, fluttering in the breeze as if they were talking to me.
I set a fresh canvas on my easel. I take another roll of painter’s tape and get to work, tearing long strips of tape, cutting them, pressing them to the canvas.
At the moment, my tree trunks are blue, sticking up from the ground.
But when I fill in the background and then peel away the tape, hopefully, I’ll achieve the bright white I want.
“You love my idea about the painter’s tape, don’t you, Mommy?”
“I really do. You’re an inspiration, Riley. Now and always. Don’t ever forget it.”