Chapter 28
I t’s the morning of the art show. Charlie’s portrait is out of my studio now, already on display at the gallery.
Christy dropped it off yesterday, while I was wrapping up one of my final design projects with a client.
It was probably for the best that I didn’t deliver the piece myself, since I can’t even glance at it without getting misty-eyed.
Everywhere I look, I see reminders of Charlie.
Even now, as I’m sitting next to Christy at my kitchen island, finishing the omelet she just whipped up for me.
Who knew that eggs could be so triggering?
All I can think about is the expertly prepared breakfast my boyfriend made me the morning after we first slept together—and now there are tears in my coffee.
My sister tilts her head, her eyes full of sympathy. “Are you afraid he’s not going to show up at the gallery?”
I nod, a sob escaping my chest. Christy puts an arm around me as I answer her question between sniffles.
“I’m already nervous enough for tonight as it is.
What if my painting isn’t well-received?
What if the only people who can appreciate it are the people who know me?
Maybe strangers won’t be moved by a portrait of Charlie, and the loving way he looks at me.
And what if he never looks at me like that again? ”
“Take a deep breath,” my sister says, her tone calm and even.
“First of all, your work is extraordinary—anyone can see that. And second of all…I believe what Vanessa said at the bar last weekend. Charlie’s fighting for you, Jenna.
He’s given you space for two whole weeks, when it’s probably everything he can do not to call you.
I think we’re going to walk into the art gallery tonight, and he’ll already be there, waiting for you, with flowers and a heartfelt speech?—”
I sigh. “I think we watched one too many rom-coms this week, and you’ve lost touch with reality.”
Christy’s shoulders slump. “Maybe. But…I want to believe in soulmates. I want to think that love can be written in the stars.”
When she arrived last weekend, I showed her the sketches in my journal, and told her about Charlie’s dreams. She wouldn’t even consider the possibility that it’s a coincidence.
“I mean, we never got to see that kind of love with Mom and Dad. And the cosmic connection between you and Charlie? It’s just so beautiful, and romantic…”
Now my sister’s cheeks are streaked with tears.
My eyes go wide. “Oh no…I broke you! I never should’ve subjected you to all those sappy movies.”
Christy shakes her head and sits up straight, regaining her composure. “No, I’m fine. It’s just that, we Andersen sisters deserve our own epic romances, don’t you think? And we’re going to get them, dammit! First you, then me.”
“Yes, boss.” I giggle. “You definitely deserve a more exciting love story than Kyle.”
Christy laughs, but then the amused look in her eyes fades, replaced by alarm. She gasps.
“What?” I ask, concerned.
“Oh my gosh…is Kyle like Dad ?” She grimaces. “Stern, unwavering, unadventurous…”
“Dull as dishwater?” I volunteer.
My sister’s palm meets her forehead. “Ugh. Talk about daddy issues.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I have mommy issues,” I tell her. “Every time Tati Marie gives me one of her big, warm, hugs, I feel like I’m going to cry. Mom never hugs us like that.”
“Do you ever wonder how we were even conceived?” Christy crinkles her nose.
“By the two least affectionate people on the planet? Um, yeah. But I don’t think Mom was always like that.”
“What do you mean?” My sister turns toward me, intrigued.
“I used to go snooping around in her closet sometimes,” I confess.
“She was always so closed off, I felt like I barely knew her. So I would search for clues. One time, I found these old photographs from when she was younger. Late teens, or early twenties, maybe. She was with this guy—her boyfriend, I’m assuming.
He had his arm around her, and she looked happier than I’ve ever seen her. ”
“He must be the one who got away. Poor Mom,” Christy says with a deep sigh. “Oh! Speaking of which…this is the time I ty pically call her.”
“You call Mom? Like, every week?”
Christy nods. “I call her every Saturday, and I call you every Sunday. That’s my routine.”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. My sister’s always been good about checking in regularly. She’s the glue that keeps the Andersens together. I think she still holds out hope for the kind of close-knit family I gave up on.
My forehead creases. “What do you even talk to her about?”
I get a wry smile in return. “Literally nothing. She tells me about the weather in Beachwood…I tell her about the weather in Manhattan… Sometimes she’ll tell me about a recipe she found that turned out well. That’s about it. And she’s never mentioned any old boyfriends she used to be happy with.”
“Do you talk to Dad?”
Christy smirks. “Of course not. He’s always at the country club. And why would he want to talk to me, anyway? I’m pretty sure he felt relieved of his obligation to parent me once I got into an Ivy League.”
“What a jerk,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So…does Mom know you’re moving to Chicago?”
My sister shakes her head. “Mom doesn’t even know I broke up with Kyle.”
“She has no idea I’m painting again either. You know…that was the only time I ever really saw her smile? When I was little, and she watched me paint.”
“She always said you had natural talent,” Christy remembers.
I’m getting teary again. “I wish we had the type of mom who cared about what was going on in our lives.”
My sister frowns. “I think she cares.”
But her questioning tone tells me she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince me.
“Let’s call her together,” she goes on to suggest.
I wince. “Wouldn’t you rather just watch another romantic comedy and ignore reality a little longer?”
“We can do that after. You should tell her you’re painting again, it’ll make her happy.”
“Are you gonna be honest with her about your life, too?” I challenge my sister.
Christy shrugs. “What’ve we got to lose?
I mean…look at how close you and I have gotten,” she says, her reluctance turning to resolve.
“Maybe we could get closer to Mom, too, if we put in some effort. She’s been married to an asshole for thirty years, after all. We should probably cut her some slack.”
“Alright, let’s do it,” I say, trying my best not to give in to the flurry of nerves in my stomach.
Christy grabs her phone, and we head over to my couch. After she dials, she puts the call on speaker.
My mom picks up on the first ring. “Hi, honey,” she says, sounding tired, but pleased.
“Hey, Mom. Guess who I’m with?”
“Hi, Mom,” I chime in.
“Jenna! Oh my gosh, honey, are you in New York?”
“No, Christy’s here,” I say.
“I have some news, Mom,” my sister begins, wasting no time. “I broke up with Kyle. And I’m moving to Chicago in a few months. My boss is letting me work remotely—so I thought a change of scenery would be good for me. And being close to Jenna, of course,” she goes on, smiling at me.
“Oh…I’m sorry to hear about your breakup,” our mom says, her tone gentle. But she goes quiet after that. “Well, I’m happy my two girls will be together,” she finally adds.
“You should come visit after I move here,” Christy suggests. “We can have a girls’ weekend, just the three of us.”
Mom lets out a small chuckle. “That sounds lovely…but you know I’ve never traveled by myself before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” I tell her.
“I don’t know… Your father wouldn’t last a day without me. He can’t even scramble an egg.”
Christy’s eyes roll back in her head, and she takes a deep breath.
“That sounds like his problem,” I tell our mom.
“Just think about it—you don’t have to decide now,” Christy adds in a more diplomatic tone.
“Alright,” Mom says, but I’m sure it’s only so we’ll move on.
Then Christy turns to me and gives an encouraging nod, indicating it’s my turn to share.
I bite my lip in response. “Um, Mom…I also have some news. I started painting again, recently. I thought you might like to know.”
I can hear her take a stunned breath. “Jenna, that’s wonderful, honey. You were always so talented. Oh, that just makes my day.”
Christy and I exchange surprised smiles. This is as excited as I’ve heard our mom in a long time.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. So…how are you doing?” I ask, sh rugging at my sister, because making conversation with our mom doesn’t come naturally.
Mom heaves a sigh. “Well…I don’t know, girls. Your father and I…”
“Oh my gosh, are you getting a divorce?” Christy squeals, her face lighting up.
I elbow her, stifling a laugh, and whisper, “Tone it down,” but she’s still beaming.
“No, no—nothing like that,” my mom says, and Christy deflates. “It’s more like…a rough patch.”
Christy puts the phone on mute and turns to me. “When did they ever have a smooth patch?”
I snort.
But then, I see an opportunity. My mom is obviously unhappy—and has been for as long as I remember. I wanted to talk to her about therapy in person, but why wait if she’s going through an especially tough time right now?
When my sister unmutes the phone, I say, “You know, Mom…I started therapy recently, and it’s been so helpful. Maybe you could talk to someone, too. About Dad…and your rough patch.”
Christy gives my shoulder a supportive squeeze, and we look at each other’s anxious faces, waiting for our mom to answer.
“Oh, I don’t think your father would appreciate me telling a stranger about our marriage troubles,” she says.
“Whether you go to therapy or not isn’t his decision to make, Mom,” I tell her. “He doesn’t even have to know. Don’t you handle all the insurance paperwork, anyway? ”
Dad’s always treated Mom like she’s his secretary—delegating administrative tasks to her because his time is too valuable, apparently.
“That’s true,” she says after a beat. Christy and I exchange excited glances again.
“So, you would consider it?” my sister asks.
Mom heaves a sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. How would I even find someone?”
“I’ll find someone for you,” I jump in. Just like Vanessa found Esther for me. Now I can pay it forward, to help my own mother. “I’ll ask my therapist if she has any recommendations. Even if she doesn’t personally know anyone near Beachwood, I’m sure she can point me in the right direction.”
“Well…”
“I’ll send you the referrals as soon as I get them!” I blurt out, before she can come up with an excuse.
“Okay, Mom, we’ll talk to you soon!” Christy adds, then hangs up and raises her hand to high-five me. “Nailed it,” she says when our palms meet.
I shrug. “I guess we’ll see. That went a lot better than I thought it would, at least.”
“Things are shifting, Jenna. The Andersen women are going to take the world by storm. And tonight’s going to be great for you—I know it,” she goes on, maybe noticing the apprehension on my face.
I can’t help it. Every time I think about the art show, I think about Charlie and our uncertain future.
“Come on, let’s go pick our outfits, so we don’t have to worry about it later. Then we can spend the rest of the day watching movies again.”
“Sounds good,” I say forcing a smile. I may as well try to relax and enjoy the afternoon with my sister.
But as I pass the open door of my art studio and see the portraits of every important person in my life except Charlie, I have to fight like hell to ignore the sinking feeling in my heart.