Chapter 9 #2
“Oh, fuck that chick,” Claire murmurs, knowing all too well about my dislike of her, even though Claire didn’t grow up in Seaside Point. Even if I haven’t whined about Cece many times before, she would know her solely based on her interactions with the Stevens family.
“You have to put in a bid, June!” Claire says, turning to me, her face beaming.
Was this a setup? Something Claire and Maggie had talked about and planned ahead of time? It feels like an ambush.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say with a small laugh and a shake of my head. “I don’t feel very qualified for that.”
“And Cecelia is?” Maggie asks, raising her eyebrows to her forehead. “That girl couldn’t paint a straight line if she had a ruler.” I bite back a laugh, but Claire doesn’t, the sound filling the office.
“That’s not kind—”
“She’s not kind, so I don’t have to be kind to her,” Maggie says.
“You really should submit a proposal, June. You’re talented, like your grandmother and your mom.
It’s what Connie would have wanted, you leaving your mark on this town.
” My chest aches at her words, and Claire senses my weakness and uses it to push her agenda further.
“This kind of sounds like one of those lucky opportunities you’re supposed to take hold of this summer, doesn’t it?” she says with a smug look on her face. “The universe is dropping something exciting right in your lap.”
I glare at her.
“I agreed I’d take chances that came to me,” I remind her. I do not remind her that the last time I followed that logic, I ended up fucking my new boss, who may or may not hate me now.
“Yeah. And Maggie is bringing it to you. Voila, it came to you.”
I roll my eyes.
“This isn’t falling into my lap. It’s you and Maggie placing it into my lap and pretending it’s a lucky moment.
I haven’t even set up my online shop, Claire.
Maybe we start small instead of jumping right into making huge proposals I’d have to present to the entire town.
” She lifts an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Okay, so we start smaller,” she says. Maggie leans on a wall, crossing her arms on her chest and watching us go back and forth, clearly entertained.
“Where are we with finishing your shop?” I tighten my jaw, but that’s answer enough.
Claire throws her hands in the air, exasperated.
“Why do you keep putting it off? It used to be that you didn’t have time, but school’s out, and now you’re working a normal nine to five. ”
Because I am absolutely terrified, I don’t tell her.
“I just want to get myself acclimated to this new job before I add on another layer of stress.” Her brows furrow, and I know she’s about to ask me why it would be stressful, but I don’t feel like explaining the complicated feelings that arise every time I try to finish my shop and put it live.
Instead, I tell a white lie. “Next week. I’ll finish setting it up and make it live next week, okay?
” She narrows her eyes at me, but must see something on my face, the fact that I don’t want to dig into this too much more, because she sighs, relaxes, and smiles at me.
“Okay. But I’m going to bug you about it next week.”
“Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” I say with a sigh, relieved that at the very least, I have another week to think of an excuse.
“I want the shop information once it’s up!” Maggie adds, and I roll my eyes.
“If you order, I’ll refund you. Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”
“Tell me how much and I’ll buy it,” she says, glaring at me.
“Maggie,” I say.
“June,” she counters, and a small stare down begins.
“Okay, I know you both, and I know you two can do this all night, but I’m starving and need to eat. Let’s go, June. Maggie, once it’s up, I’ll give you the link.”
Maggie smiles, and I roll my eyes, but drop the arguments. Claire is right: we would be here all night if I didn’t.
We say goodbye to Maggie before heading to dinner at a taco place right off the boardwalk.
We chat and laugh long past when our food is gone before I take her home.
I’m grateful that she doesn't bring up the shop or the mural again, instead grilling me about my night with Graham, which somehow feels more preferable than talking about my art.
When I get home, I shower and get myself ready for tomorrow, but instead of settling into my couch for an hour of trash TV before I go to bed, I find myself drifting toward the small corner in my apartment where my art supplies are set up.
I put on some relaxing music and start doodling in a sketchbook.
As I do, all my thoughts, nerves, fears, and worries evaporate until, as always happens when I create, I’m almost weightless, lost to my art.
I sit like this for well over an hour before a yawn leaves my lips, pulling me back into the real world.
That’s when I realize I’ve been sketching out what could be a mural, with faint lines reading “Welcome to Seaside Point” in the corner and outlines for different iconic landmarks around town dotted around.
It’s cute and fun and, thanks to the colored pencils I used, bright and colorful.
It’s a love letter to the town I’ve never wanted to leave, I wonder if maybe I should try and submit a proposal.
It would drive me crazy to see a mural every day that stupid Cece Stevens made, knowing damn well that she only got the job because her daddy tipped the scales in her favor.
But what would happen if I threw my hat in and it wasn’t good enough?
It’s what Connie would have wanted, Maggie said, words that struck me right in my heart because I know she's right.
My grandmother, Connie, would have wanted me to pursue art.
In fact, during the lessons she gave me, she would always ooh and awe, tell me I was going to be a famous artist one day, but I also saw what happened when you let that go to your head, when you let yourself believe that a creative career was your destiny at any cost.
And with that reminder, I close my sketchbook and get myself ready for bed, but even as I lie there, my mind can’t stop thinking about what would happen if I really were brave enough to give my dreams a shot.