Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Anna and Bea were in aisle four of the tiny art supply store, midway through what Anna had dubbed a “palette enlightenment” mission. She held two tubes of blue paint up to the fluorescent light, studying their nearly identical hues like it was the most important decision ever.
“Cerulean or ultramarine?” Anna asked, squinting. “They’re both speaking to me, but in very different dialects.”
“They’re both blue,” Bea said, though not unkindly.
Anna turned, scandalized. “They are not both blue. Cerulean is sunlight on shallow water. Ultramarine is midnight swimming. One sings; the other broods.”
Bea smiled despite herself. This was her mother in her purest form—rapt, dramatic, completely lost in color.
And as usual, utterly sincere about it. But when Bea looked at the overflowing basket of supplies they already had, her smile faltered.
So many plans. So many blues and brushes for whatever project Anna was cooking up now.
Anna was already moving down the aisle, testing a rack of brushes. “Oh, look at these. Natural bristle, perfect spring tension. These would be ideal for the texture work I’m planning.”
“What texture work?” Bea asked, dragging the basket behind her.
“Just some artwork I’m considering. Layers of blues and greens, maybe some mixed media elements.” Anna flexed a brush. “Something that would really transform a space.”
Bea trailed her fingers along a shelf of sketchbooks. “You know, I was thinking about something Stella said the other day.”
“Was it about my salt system? Because organizing by color temperature was revolutionary. I might apply it to the spice rack.”
“Not that,” Bea said, suppressing a smile. “Something more general.”
Anna tilted her head, giving Bea half her attention—an improvement, statistically speaking. “Okay. Listening.”
Bea took a breath. “Do you ever think your ideas might be... a lot for other people?”
Anna blinked. “A lot? Like—too much?”
“Not too much,” Bea said quickly, seeing the flicker of hurt. “Just... unexpected. Sometimes people need time to catch up.”
Anna went still, watching Bea the way she studied a composition—trying to decode what wasn’t being said.
“Is this about the Florence Method? The table optimization?”
“Kind of. It’s just—“ Bea hesitated, then decided to be specific. “You moved all of Joey’s napkin dispensers. He couldn’t find them when he needed to fold. I watched him get really panicked trying to locate them.”
Anna’s face changed completely. The artistic enthusiasm drained away, replaced by genuine concern. “Oh no. I had no idea. His napkin folding—that’s how he manages stress, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. And when you relocated all the dispensers to those strategic intervals, he couldn’t find any napkins when he needed them. He was trying to fold whatever he could grab—napkins from tables, paper towels from the kitchen.”
“Oh god.” Anna set down the brush she’d been holding. “I completely disrupted his coping system. I should apologize. I need to apologize.”
Bea smiled. This was the Anna she loved—the one who cared about people, who felt genuinely awful when she realized she’d caused harm.
“I think he’d appreciate that,” Bea said softly.
Anna looked down at the paint tubes in her hands, her excitement subdued. “I really thought I was making things better. The circulation patterns, the aesthetic flow—it all made sense in my head.”
“I know you did. And your ideas aren’t bad, Mom. They’re actually pretty brilliant. It’s just...” Bea struggled to find the right words. “People don’t always see it the way you do. When they get confused or overwhelmed, they go quiet.”
Anna frowned. “Did someone say something to you?”
“Not exactly. Joey and Stella just noticed I do the same thing sometimes. Try to make everything meaningful, turn every moment into art. It gets tiring for people. Even when they love you.”
Anna looked down at the ultramarine tube. The store hummed around them—soft jazz, the low shuffle of other customers. “I always thought meaning was the point,” she said quietly. “That if something was beautiful, people would want it.”
“Sometimes they do,” Bea said. “But sometimes they’re just trying to find the napkins.”
Anna gave a small laugh, then her expression grew thoughtful. “You know what I think the problem is? I haven’t been communicating my vision clearly enough.”
“Mom—”
“No, think about it,” Anna said, her voice gaining energy again. “Joey didn’t understand why I moved the dispensers because I didn’t explain the circulation benefits. If I’d taken time to show him how the new system would improve efficiency, he would have understood.”
Bea watched her mother start to rebuild her enthusiasm, that familiar pattern of deflecting criticism into planning.
“Maybe people don’t need to understand it,” Bea tried. “Maybe they just need things to stay the same for once.”
Anna tilted her head. “But growth requires change. Art is about transformation.”
“Or maybe sometimes people just want their napkins where they expect them to be.”
Anna smiled absently, already layering her blues again. “For my next project, I’ll make sure to include proper explanation. Educational materials, maybe even a brief presentation about the benefits.”
“What next project?” Bea asked, though she had a sinking feeling she already knew.
“Just something I’m considering. But this time will be different.
I’ll make sure everyone understands the vision before I implement anything.
” Anna picked up both paint tubes. “Cerulean for highlights, ultramarine for depth. I’ll need palette knives too—texture is so important for creating dimension. ”
Bea followed, watching Anna collect brushes and knives with renewed determination. It was like watching someone learn exactly the wrong lesson from failure.
“I should talk to Joey tomorrow,” Anna said as they headed toward checkout. “Apologize for the napkin situation and maybe explain what I was trying to achieve. Once he understands the workflow benefits, he’ll see why the changes made sense.”
“Mom,” Bea said helplessly.
“This conversation was so helpful,” Anna continued, loading their basket with supplies for whatever mysterious project she was planning.
“You’re right—I just need to communicate better.
Clear explanations, proper preparation. People will appreciate improvements when they understand the reasons behind them. ”
Bea forced a smile. “I’m glad it helped.”
As they paid for their supplies and headed to the car, Anna kept talking about color theory and the importance of helping people understand artistic vision.
Bea listened, nodding when appropriate, half in awe of her mother’s optimism, half in dread about whatever beautifully explained disaster Anna was planning next.
After all, what was the worst that could happen? Anna would apologize to Joey, create something beautiful with proper educational materials, and people would learn to appreciate her improvements.
It would all be fine.
Probably.