Chapter 2
I don’t know what’s come over me.
I’ve barely slept all week. I keep tossing, and turning, and dreaming about…
Charlie .
It’s absurd. We barely spoke. The whole interaction probably lasted two minutes, if that.
But I can’t get him out of my head. His flushed cheeks. His warm smile. His eyes, and the curious way he looked at me.
And his body, when we collided, was so solid and strong. I walked right into his chest, which felt like the perfect place to rest my head. And his arms looked like they would feel so good around my waist…
What the heck is the matter with me? It has been a while since I’ve slept with someone. That must be what this is about.
Luckily, I haven’t seen my new neighbor since I ran into him the other night. And it is lucky, considering how many times I’ve lingered by the elevator over the past few days .
But there’s no time to worry about Charlie now anyway, because I’m taking my very first painting class today. I’m so excited that I arrive at the studio about fifteen minutes early. The classroom door is open, and when I peek inside, I see two women mixing paint on a palette.
“Come on in!” the younger of the two says with a giant smile as she waves me over. She looks to be about my age. “We don’t bite.”
I smile and step into the studio. Everything everywhere is covered in paint splotches. Turquoise. Violet. Fuchsia. Saffron. All the colors of the rainbow, and then some. My sister, Christy, would be horrified. She’s a neat-freak, like our dad. But I don’t see splatter as mess. I see it as freedom.
This is a place where I can be myself.
I take a deep breath, and the unmistakable aroma of oil paints, turpentine, tin cans, and charcoal pencils envelops me like a hug from an old friend.
I haven’t smelled anything like this since high school art class.
My teacher, Mrs. Swanson, told me I was the most talented student she’d ever had.
She begged me to consider entering a competition, but I lied and said I wasn’t interested.
It would have required extra work outside of school, and my dad never would have allowed it.
But he doesn’t get to decide for me anymore , I think with a flutter of excitement as I reach the women at the front of the classroom. “Hi, I’m Jenna,” I say, beaming.
“Vanessa,” says the younger one, holding out her hand. “And this is my Tati Marie.”
“ Tati ?” I ask.
“It means aunt, in Haitian Creole. I was born in Port-au- Prince,” Marie says with a grin as bright as her niece’s. “Welcome to class. I’m so happy you’re here,” she continues, then hugs me as tightly as if I were family.
It nearly brings tears to my eyes. My own parents don’t hug me like this. Marie’s warmth is rare and genuine, and I feel like I could melt in her arms. I make sure to pull away before I do.
“How long have you been teaching?” I ask her.
She looks at me with glimmering eyes. “I’ve been painting all my life. But today is my first day teaching.”
“Tati just retired from a long and boring career at the bank,” Vanessa chimes in with a laugh. “This is an exciting day for her.”
“Congratulations, Marie!” I turn back to Vanessa. “And are you her assistant?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “Not me—I can barely draw a stick figure. I moved here from New York recently, and I thought it’d be fun to take Tati Marie’s class so we could spend more time together.”
“She works too much,” Marie says with a frown. “Never comes over for dinner.”
“I’m sorry, Tati…but it won’t always be this bad,” Vanessa says to her aunt before turning to me. “I’m the new director at a refugee resettlement agency, and our assistant director is on maternity leave, so there’s a lot on my plate right now.”
“Vanessa’s been in Chicago for six months and doesn’t have a single friend,” Marie tells me, her brow creased with concern. “Not to mention a man.”
I look at Vanessa and can’t imagine she isn’t single by choice.
She’s absolutely stunning. Tall and statuesque—she has to be 5′9″ o r 5′10″.
She towers over my barely 5′4″ frame. Her eyes are light brown, with flecks of gold that match her honey-colored skin.
Her hair is in long braids, which she’s wearing half-up.
She has on faded jeans and a t-shirt, and looks like a supermodel.
“I do have friends, Tati!” Vanessa tells her aunt. “There’s you…”
“See what I mean?” Marie says to me with one eyebrow raised.
“And Denise—that’s my sister,” Vanessa explains to me. “Oh, wait—and then there’s Sam!”
Marie’s eyes widen. “What? Who’s Sam? Are you dating someone? A boyfriend?”
Vanessa giggles. “No, Tati, Sam’s a woman. She’s a friend from New York, but she moved here over the summer. She’s a philosophy professor now, at Northwestern. But I haven’t seen her yet, since we’ve both been busy settling into our new jobs.”
“I just moved here too, from LA. And I’ll be honest, I haven’t made a ton of friends in Chicago either,” I admit.
“Then it’s settled,” Marie says to her niece. “You’re going to bring Jenna and Sam to my birthday party tomorrow night.”
Vanessa’s eyes light up. “Perfect! We’re celebrating at my sister’s restaurant. Have you tried Haitian food before, Jenna?”
I shake my head, smiling. “I haven’t. But are you sure you want me to come? It’s a family party, and I don’t want to intrude?—”
“Nonsense,” Marie says sternly, but there’s still warmth in her words. “The more the merrier.”
“That’s very generous, thank you,” I say as a few more students start trickling into the room.
“Let’s grab easels next to each other,” Vanessa says, linking her arm to mine like we’ve been best friends forever. I’ve known her for ten minutes, but somehow it already feels that way.
Once everyone in the class has gotten settled, Marie begins. “As you may have guessed, we’re going to work on self-portraits today—which is why I asked everyone to bring a photograph.”
Just hearing her words wakes up something inside me I thought I’d never feel again. I’m three-year-old Jenna standing at my brand-new easel for the very first time.
I have to bite my lip to contain my excitement.
After a brief tutorial from Marie on mixing colors to match our unique skin tones, we gather our supplies, and she unleashes us. The moment I sweep my paint-dipped brush over the smooth, stretched canvas, a sense of calm takes over me—like finally something in my life feels right.
I want my eyes to be the focus of my self-portrait, so I paint them larger than life.
I spend a lot of time getting the olive-green color just right, and the specks of white from the light reflected in them.
Above my eyes are a hint of my eyebrows, and below are my pink cheeks, my sun-kissed nose, and my lips turned up in a smile.
I’m in my zone and don’t realize how much time has passed, until I hear Vanessa say something beside me.
“Holy shit,” she exclaims.
When I turn, her jaw is dropped. “Jenna…” she continues after a minute. “This is incredible!”
Overhearing her niece, Marie joins us. “I agree,” she tells me. “I’ve been watching you paint from the back of the classroom, because I didn’t want to interrupt your process—but your work is truly remarkable. ”
“You’re much too kind,” I tell them with a dismissive wave of my hand.
I don’t have a hard time accepting compliments from my interior design clients, but this feels different.
As Vanessa and Marie stand to examine my work, it’s like they’re peering into my soul. It’s a little unnerving, to be honest.
“Your eyes are so expressive,” Vanessa says, still staring at my painting. “And see the juxtaposition with her mouth, Tati? She’s smiling, but there’s a wistful look in her eyes. It’s amazing, Jenna. I don’t know how you captured that!”
I grin, but my stomach clenches. I’m used to hiding under a bubbly exterior, but my portrait gives me away. I feel so vulnerable, so exposed…I may as well be standing here naked.
“You don’t see talent like this every day,” Marie agrees. “Are either of your parents artists?”
I shake my head. “Neither of them. I have no idea where this passion of mine came from.”
“Well, you should be very proud, Jenna,” Marie says, turning to me. “You do know this is a beginner’s class, right?”
I exhale a laugh. “It’s been so long since I’ve painted, I wasn’t sure what to expect from myself.” The last time I picked up a paintbrush was for a required art class my senior year of high school. That was twelve years ago.
Marie gently squeezes my shoulder. “Expect greatness, Jenna,” she says before walking away.
I’m so touched, it takes everything I have not to burst into tears. I don’t think anyone I’ve known in my entire life has ever expected greatness from me.
I lift my hand to my heart and feel it crack open just a bit.
After class, Vanessa suggests we get a drink, so we walk to a nearby pub.
I’m immediately at ease with her, which is rare for me.
Yes, I was one of the most popular kids at Beachwood High, but I honestly always wondered why every girl there wanted to be my friend.
Was it because I was head cheerleader and homecoming queen?
They were always by my side for the good times—sneaking beers out of my parents’ basement refrigerator and partying with the varsity football players—but when I was laid up after an emergency appendectomy the weekend of our Valentine’s dance junior year, not a single soul came to visit me.
I’d always suspected my friendships were superficial, but that confirmed it.
It hurt worse than the actual recovery from my surgery.
Which is why sitting at the bar with Vanessa tonight feels so special. She seems like the type of person who, if she likes you, cuts past the small talk because she’s eager to connect on a deeper level. Half a beer in, we’re already chatting about our exes.