We stroll down the hall arm in arm, and my chest twinges when I pass my old bedroom. Instead of a bed, nightstand, and dresser, it’s filled with books, a large, L-shaped desk, and a secondhand armchair. Brie converted it to an office after I moved out—and Marcus moved in a year and a half ago—once she started her part-time aeronautics PhD program at Case, but it’s still strange not to see my own furniture in there.
Marcus is waiting at the bottom of the stairs for us, wearing a suit coat and the same goofy-in-love grin he always does whenever he’s with Brie.
He bows, doffing an imaginary top hat. “Ladies, you look lovely this evening. Shall we?”
“Does our chariot await, sir?” asks Brie.
“If by chariot you mean Uber, then yes.”
Xerxes whistles from his cage in the living room as we leave. Outside, it’s snowing. Tugging on my coat, I gaze into the tar-black sky swimming with dancing swirls of white. How lucky am I to exist in a world with such beauty? We pile into the waiting silver sedan, and my phone dings with a text from Val.
Congrats on the show!!! Sorry I can’t be there tonight. Jake has a cold. Sending you my best though! Can’t wait to swing by the gallery next week!
Thanks! Hope the little one feels better soon
Tell Eric I say hi!
Will do
P.S. Did you see this yet?? All because of you, girl!
Her next text is a link to a local news article: “New Community College Campus Set to Open in Buckeye-Shaker in June.” Even though I already read the article earlier today, my chest still strums with triumph. After calling out Roger Szymanski on live television, the city had no choice but to trash his proposal. With propriety, and the city council’s reputation, on the line, Councilman Truman was particularly opposed to the idea once he found out the true motives behind Roger’s proposal… and read a certain thoroughly researched alternative that Devin shared with him the week after our interview. My lungs expand at the thought of how much good a new community college will do for the residents of Buckeye-Shaker… and the city of Cleveland as a whole.
Five minutes later, we pull up to West Twenty-Eighth and Providence, in front of the warehouse that once belonged to Roger Szymanski. I smile at my Blooms & Baubles mural. It’s faded over the years thanks to the elements, but it’s still here, as meaningful as the night I painted it. We circle to the front of the building to a door with a sign that reads Ohio City Artists Co-op. Marcus opens the thick wooden door, and my heart pounds as I step across the threshold and into a cocoon of warm air.
My lips part in surprise. Inside, twinkle lights flicker above a curved white desk. Beyond it, the open gallery is packed with people.
Brie squeezes my hand. “They’re all here for you, sweetie.”
We hang our coats on the rack next to the desk and walk into the white-walled gallery.
“Cass!” Jackson calls, and he and Liam run over, their dress shoes pounding against the parquet floor.
“Did you really do all of this?” Liam’s wide eyes rove over the walls filled with artwork—my artwork. Canvasses of all sizes line the walls, filled with abstract portraits and multimedia collages, each one telling a story. My story. From my accident to the coma to my memory struggles—which, although they’ve improved over the years, haven’t faded completely—to my revelations about life, love, and finding joy through the choices we make and the people we call family.
I flick a curl off Liam’s forehead. “Yeah, can you believe it?”
“I sure can,” says Robert, sidling up to us, his arm around my mom.
Eyes shining with tears, Mom wraps me in a bear hug. “I’m sorry I ever thought your art was a waste of time. I’m blown away by you. And so, so proud.”
I hug her back before stepping away. “Thanks, Mom. Have you seen Perry, by the way?”
“Did I hear my name?” Strong arms snake around my waist, and I’m pulled backward into a firm chest. I smile up at Perry as he kisses the column of my neck. His familiar woodsy and floral scent envelopes me, and I sigh. “You’re late,” he whispers, nipping my earlobe.
“Hey, it takes time to look this good.”
He turns me in his arms and plants a kiss on my lips. “You always look beautiful.”
“Right back at you.” And damn, but he does look good tonight. He’s wearing a full suit and tie, loose around the collar in typical Perry fashion, and his cheekbones gleam in the soft overhead lights.
Jackson pretends to stick his finger down his throat and makes a retching sound. Mom laughs.