It would have been nice to share his own news once it was official. But his mother was desperate to replace the gossip swirling around town with something more positive. Nathan explained that he hadn’t booked anything yet, but there was interest. He’d set up meetings with a few gallery owners and art dealers for next week. In the meantime, he’d started doing research. “They mentioned career goals, and I’ve never thought about any of that. Now I’m working on a portfolio.”
“A portfolio?” Joe raised his brows and emphasized every syllable. “Look at you, little brother. Can I see it?”
Upstairs, Nathan’s apartment smelled like sugar and cinnamon from Bobbi’s skillet. He didn’t recognize the heavy cast iron but didn’t say anything to avoid a thirty-minute lecture on why he should know what was in his own kitchen. Nathan pulled out the new leather sleeve he’d purchased and flipped it open to show Joe the sketches he’d put together. Rachel had told him once that a portfolio should tell the story of who he was as an artist. He decided to show the evolution of his drawing, from the fantasy creatures he’d loved as a child, to the fan art that helped him channel his anger, to the portraits he’d done while working with Rachel. Putting it together, he couldn’t help but think of how much of her was in his art now. His first love. His first broken heart. He’d done some of his best work with all of it bleeding into the lines.
“So, are you going to her art show or not?” Bobbi side-eyed Joe with a bowl of batter on one hip. She stirred slowly, waiting for Nathan’s answer.
Joe groaned and sat on the couch. “You have always had the biggest mouth.”
She snorted. “I’ve seen your high school yearbook. Your nickname was literally The Mouth, so stop projecting.”
They traded exaggerated glares before Joe turned back to Nathan. “You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to, Nate.”
“She clearly wants him to.”
Nathan held up a hand. “What the hell are you two talking about? Go to what?”
They exchanged another look. Joe stood with his phone in hand. “You really haven’t read about what Rachel’s doing?”
“Or spoken to her at all?” Bobbi added, in a way that meant she had opinions on the subject.
Nathan knew that Rachel was giving him space to work through his issues, and he was trying to do the same for her. She’d kept in touch, but he wouldn’t call their brief texts an actual conversation. It was more like checking for signs of life. They all started the same way, with her asking, How are you feeling today? instead of the typical “Are you okay,” or “Do you need anything” he got from others. Rachel seemed to get that being okay was impossible and that what he needed was for each day to hurt less. But his feelings seemed to shift by the hour. He’d answer—angry or tired or good, but I feel guilty for it—and was always a little lighter afterward, like she’d lifted some of the weight he was carrying.
He wanted to do the same for her but had no idea how. She was being put through a very public ringer, and a huge part of that was his fault. When he would ask the same thing, How are you feeling? it didn’t seem to work the same magic on her. She’d say, Like myself, without much elaboration, and he didn’t feel like it was right to push for anything more.
“I’ve spoken to her a little,” Nathan said. “And the press keeps writing sexist bullshit about her divorce, so I stopped paying attention.” He paused. “Did something happen?”
Joe reluctantly showed him an article on his phone. It was Rachel standing next to the collage that got her in trouble all those years ago. The website had blurred it out, but she stared into the camera with a look that dared whoever was reading to think she should be ashamed.
“It’s some kind of pop-up exhibit,” Joe said. “She’s showing her photography.” He motioned for Nathan to scroll down. There was a picture of a large, open room with photos on the wall. He recognized some of the pictures from when he’d scanned them into files for her.
Nathan looked at Joe. “I can’t believe she did this.”
“Neither can I. They kicked her off three nonprofit boards last week. I had to sit through a rant about how no respectable buyer would put an offer on her house during my last lunch meeting.”
“She sold the house?”
“She’s trying to.” Joe paused. “You really didn’t know any of this?”
“No!” Nathan shoved a hand through his hair. “I was giving her space. She’s in the middle of a divorce, and I was… I was trying not to be a selfish asshole like you told me.”