But to Dr. Addison, I just said, “I’m so sorry. I just think it’s too late.”
And then—maybe out of politeness, or maybe just because it’s not every day that someone saw something so valuable in me—I added, “Thank you, though. For feeling those things.”
Next, the door to the clinic slammed open and a vet tech said, “I’m sorry, Dr. A. We’ve got a Great Dane with torsion.”
Dr. Addison gave a curt got it nod. Then after the tech was gone, he let out a deep sigh, and said, “Do I have any chance at all of changing your mind?”
I shook my head.
“I’m sorry,” I said, figuring that being honest was probably better for both of us in the long run. “I think I just … accidentally … fell madly in love.”
He took that in. “Can’t argue with that. I guess.”
He looked up at the sky then, took a deep sigh, and walked to the clinic door.
But next, before going through, he stopped and turned back. “I wish you well, Sadie,” he said. “I really do.” Then, like he absolutely meant it, he added, “Be happy, okay? And take good care of yourself.”
“I’ll try,” I said.
Then he and his tie and his white lab coat were gone.
I looked down at Peanut, who was scooting around now, scratching his bum enthusiastically on the grass.
Peanut paused to look up at my face, and I paused to look down at his, and the two of us silently agreed: I would definitely need to find a new vet.
Twenty-Four
I WENT HOME that afternoon and painted like crazy.
I had two days before the portrait had to be delivered to the gallery before the show.
I had never tried to complete a painting in such a short time frame before. My old method could take weeks. But I didn’t have weeks. I had two days.
I’d do what I could do and let the rest go.
I’ll be honest and say: I liked this painting. I couldn’t entirely vouch for the face, but everything else was strong, compelling work. The curve of his shoulder. The slant of his collarbone. The shadow around his Adam’s apple. Plus, the colors, which were just the right combination of bright and muted—happy and sad. The whole thing had an energy about it—a frisson of emotions—that was just … appealing.
It wouldn’t win, of course. A faceless portrait was the last thing these judges were looking for.
But it would be something true. Something I could be proud of.
When I texted a snapshot of it to Sue—now a married woman in Edmonton, Alberta—she texted back. Wow!
Do you like it? I asked.
It’s phenomenal!!! she texted back. That torso!! Then after a pause, This might be the best thing you’ve ever done.
That made me kiss the phone. Think it’ll win? I texted back.
Not a chance, Sue replied. Then she added, But if anybody can win while losing, it’s you.
* * *
I FINISHED THE painting a day early, emerging from a blissful state of flow and texting Joe: Your portrait’s done.
When I didn’t hear back, I decided to get more explicit. Want to come see it?
Still no response.
Maybe he was busy? Was this the busy season for pet sitters? Could some of Dr. Michaux’s snakes have escaped the den? Was everything okay with Joe’s hundred-year-old grandmother?
I told myself not to text Joe all these questions, but then I texted them all, anyway.
Plus a few more.
Where the heck was he?
I demanded that Sue call me from Canada, and then I said, “I think I just dumped my fantasy fiancé for a guy in my building who’s now ghosting me.”
“I’m sure he’s not ghosting you,” Sue said.
“I’ve sent him seven texts in the past twenty-four hours and he hasn’t replied to one of them.”
“For god’s sake, stop texting him! Have some self-respect!”
“I just want him to text me back.”
“He’s clearly unavailable.”
“I want to show him the portrait before I take it to the gallery.”
“Can’t always get what you want.”
“But why isn’t he replying?”
“Just give the poor man the benefit of the doubt. Maybe his grandmother’s sick.”
“You think they don’t have cell service where his grandmother lives?”
“Maybe! You don’t know! Maybe she’s an ancient Sicilian lady on a remote island where there are no phones. He could be stomping grapes right now, trying to keep the family vineyard going while she fights for her life in a charming Italian ICU.”