Chapter 29
I ’m not gonna lie—when I walk into the art gallery, a sizeable part of me is convinced that the first face I’ll see is Charlie’s.
And not just his portrait hanging on the wall.
Charlie Sutton, in the flesh, his eyes lighting up when he meets my gaze.
Relief written all over his face when I run into his arms and we share the same air again, finally.
I guess Christy got in my head. And the movies we binge-watched all week, that all end with a perfectly timed reunion under the most romantic of circumstances.
Soulmates’ eyes meeting across a crowded room.
Confessions of love made in front of a misty-eyed audience.
Thunderbolts, and passionate kisses in the pouring rain.
And music. Always music.
The gallery is an ideal setting for grand gestures.
There’s bossa nova playing over the speakers, and the lights are dimmed to showcase the artwork.
There are votive candles and fresh flowers on high-top tables, where people are sipping champagne and indulging in little desserts served by cater waiters.
The overall effect is pretty sexy. I can easily picture myself kissing Charlie in a dark corner, his hands around my waist, pulling me into the Jenna-sized space between his arms, where I belong.
But he’s not here.
“It’s still early,” Christy says to me with an encouraging nod. “I’m sure he’ll walk through the door any minute now.”
“Of course he will,” I say, my voice thin and unconvincing.
“Oh my gosh, Jenna, look!”
I turn, hoping to see Charlie, but, instead, my sister’s pointing at the crowd standing around my portrait of him.
A jolt of excitement surges through me. I never imagined my piece would draw so much attention.
And I had no idea it would be hanging in such a prime location.
There are two walls opposite each other featuring works by local artists.
My painting is on the wall at the back of the gallery, smack-dab in the middle.
It’s the best spot in the house, because it’s where your gaze goes when you first enter the room.
Unless you’re me…and you’re fixated on how your latest, and potentially greatest, love story is going to tie up in the end.
In that case, your eyes are darting all around, looking for your boyfriend amid abstract still lifes, and impressionist landscapes, and some interesting modern pieces—like the one hanging on the front wall, which appears to simply be a canvas covered in bubble wrap.
With a wistful smile, I think back to the morning Charlie and I spent at the Museum of Contemporary Art, coming up with hilarious interpretations of the more abstract works on display and laughing hysterically about them.
I wonder what he’d make of this bubble wrap piece.
I’m sure he’d say something witty, like, “It must be a commentary on pop culture.”
My eyes tear up. This is pathetic—even bubble wrap makes me think of Charlie.
“Okay,” Christy says, taking hold of my shoulders and turning me so I’m facing her.
“You need a pep talk. I know it seems like tonight is about Charlie, but it’s not.
It’s about you . This is your first art show ever.
And if you want it to be the first of many, you need to focus.
You’re the only artist here who’s drawn a crowd around their piece.
That just goes to show how talented you are! ”
I nod, taking in her words.
“There are people here who are impressed by your work, and they want to talk to you about it,” she continues.
“So put your game face on, okay? This is what artists do. Remember when Lola Piper went through that very public breakup while she was on tour, and still put on the best goddamn shows of her life? You need to channel that energy.”
I take a deep breath. Christy’s absolutely right. This is such a huge milestone for me, and I don’t want to spend it crying over a guy—even if that guy is Charlie Sutton, who’s had a hold on my heart since I met him. Maybe even before, if I let myself believe in cosmic connections.
But whatever ends up happening between us, I know I’ll be okay. I have art, and I have friends, and I have Esther. And best of all, I have this newfound closeness with my sister, that I’ll never take for granted .
I even have hope, for the first time since I was a kid, that Christy and I might be able to have a better relationship with our mom.
I’m going to be just fine.
“Okay, boss babe,” I say to Christy. “I’m ready to do this. And I like this side of you, by the way. No wonder you’re such an esteemed literary agent.”
She smiles, and looks at me with that mischievous glint in her eyes that I love. “Well, tonight, I’m an art agent. Representing up-and-coming painter, Jenna Andersen. Look—I even have her business cards in my purse.”
“Oh, good call. I didn’t think to bring any, because they’re for my design business, but I guess that’s better than nothing, right? Where did you find them, in my desk?” I shake my head. “I wish I’d thought to make new ones.”
“One step ahead of you, sis,” Christy says, handing me her stack. “I figured you had a lot on your mind this week.”
“Jenna Andersen, Painter,” I read as the biggest smile blooms on my face. “Thank you so much,” I say, then wrap my arms around my sister.
“Let’s go,” she says, taking my hand.
But we’re intercepted by a tap on my shoulder. As I turn around, my heart picks up speed.
It isn’t Charlie, though. It’s Tati Marie.
My eyes light up, even though she’s not the person I was expecting. “Marie, this is a dream come true. Thank you so much for making tonight possible.”
“You made this possible, Jenna,” she says. In typical Tati Marie fashion, her forehead is creased, but her tone is warm.
“This is my sister, Christy,” I say, eager to introduce the two.
“I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, Marie,” my sister chimes in.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” my art teacher replies. And when Marie gives her a big hug, Christy looks at me over her shoulder, as if to say, “You’re right—her hugs are amazing.”
I nod knowingly.
“Vanessa’s on her way,” Tati says when she separates from my sister. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “She’s coming with Asher.”
“That’s great,” I say, only slightly triggered by the returning fear of Charlie not showing up for me.
I’m making progress.
Even an hour later, when Christy and I have talked to no less than fifteen art enthusiasts about my work, and my sister’s brokered two new commissions for me, I’m not teary-eyed.
Maybe it’s the high from the deals Christy just made on my behalf, but I’m excited. This is a new life for me. Gallery shows, and art collectors, and me in my smock, painting. I can’t help but smile.
This is what I’ve wished for—for a very long time.
“You’re killing it,” my sister whispers in my ear.
“No, you are.”
“We make a good team,” she says, putting her arm around me.
After another forty-five minutes, we’ve talked to Vanessa and Asher, who came straight from a dinner date in Little Italy and are holding hands as they walk around the space, eyeing each other more than the artwork. They’re obviously very much in love.
I’m happy for her.
And Sam is here with—let me see if I can get this straight—the lead guitarist of a Brooklyn-based indie rock band, whom she had a friends-with-benefits relationship with while she was studying at NYU, and she still sleeps with whenever he’s in Chicago for a gig.
He’s leaving tomorrow morning, which might explain why they’re off in a dark corner, groping each other.
I’m happy for Sam, too. She’s not in any rush to settle down, and I respect that.
“He’s gorgeous,” a woman’s voice says from beside me.
I assume she’s talking about Sam’s guitarist, who’s undeniably attractive, but when I turn to face the woman, her eyes are on Charlie.
Charlie’s portrait, that is.
“How much?” she asks, eyeing my painting.
“This one’s not for sale,” Christy says. I’m relieved we talked about this ahead of time, because we’ve gotten many inquiries—especially from older female art collectors.
“Too bad,” this particular older female art collector says. At least she’s not pushy, like some of the others.
“My client would be happy to paint a custom portrait for you, if you’re interested,” Christy goes on, handing the woman my new business card.
“Sign me up,” she says. “I have the perfect subject. My high school beau, James Winston. I’m sure I have a picture of him somewhere. He looked just like a young Elvis Presley.”
“He sounds very handsome,” I say as Christy shifts gears back to business, closing the deal for me.
I’ve never seen her this self-assured, and it’s a great look for her.
She’s in her element, relying on her sharp wit and intellect.
That’s her comfort zone. If she can just figure out how to maintain this level of confidence when it comes to men and dating, she’ll have the world in the palm of her hand.
By the end of the night, she’s on cloud nine—and I have a list of commissions and potential new clients a mile long. It’s hard not to be thrilled about it.
I can’t believe Charlie didn’t show up, though.
The crowd is clearing out. Vanessa and Asher are continuing their date at a jazz club on the other side of town. And Sam and her guitarist are at her place, getting it on, I assume. The gallery will be closing soon.
“Maybe he mixed up the dates,” Christy offers, reading my mind.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He knew it was tonight. But…it’s okay.”
My sister looks devastated. She wanted to believe in this love story as much as I did.
“I thought Charlie and I were soulmates, too,” I tell her. “I bought into the fairytale. But my story doesn’t end with a man who can’t stand up for himself. Who won’t fight for his own happiness. If he isn’t here tonight, then…he’s not the right person for me, Christy.”