Getting Her Back

“The love of my life is going to be someone who wants the same things that I want, at the same time that I want them. That clearly isn’t Christian. I don’t know if I’ll ever find another ‘love of my life,’ but regardless, he can’t be it if we want such different things.”

Ellen looks unconvinced, but she also doesn’t push the issue. “Okay,” she says. She finishes swallowing the bite she has in her mouth and takes a drink of her coffee. “On not an entirely unrelated subject, what’s the one thing that you always wanted to do besides be a mother?”

“Be a painter?” This is something we’ve talked about often. Ellen thinks I’m more talented than I am, and she wants to help me become what she deems a ‘real artist.’

She points at me. “Yes!”

“Ellen, we talked about this.”

“You’re right,” she says, “we have. But not like this.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a thin folder. “See?”

She hands the folder to me and I take it. It has the logo for the Prince Art School on it. It’s one of the most prestigious art schools in Manhattan, and in no way would I ever be able to get in there even if I wanted to. I can’t afford to quit my job to go to art school. “What is this?”

“Just read it.”

I open the folder quickly glancing over the contents. I expected an application for the school, that’s not what it is. Instead, it’s an acceptance letter to a five-week workshop taught by Alexander Prince himself. It starts in three days. “What on earth?”

“I have some connections at that school,” Ellen says. “I know you always say you don’t want to go to art school, but this is so short I thought you might give it a shot.”

I was stunned. Alexander Prince is considered one of the best artists of modern times. “How was I accepted when I didn’t even apply?”

“Oh,” she says, “I did that. When they saw a few of your pieces they were practically falling over themselves to print out the acceptance letter.”

Blood rushes to my face and I am embarrassed that someone saw my work, but also pleased that they liked it. But there’s more than one reason that I don’t drop out and go to art school. Art school’s expensive. “How much does it cost?”

Ellen grins like a Cheshire cat. “Not a damn penny. Apparently, Mr. Prince wanted to do a workshop for talented artists who can’t afford to pay for art school. So for everyone who applies and is accepted, there is no tuition necessary.”

I shake my head. “This can’t be real.”

“But it is,” she says, her face so happy and smug I kind of want to slap her and hug her at the same time. “And they knew most of the people would be working professionals, so the classes are at night.”

I’m still shocked, but there’s happiness and anticipation building in my stomach. “I don’t know how you found this, Ellen, but thank you.”

“You’re going to do it?”

“Hell yeah, I’m going to do it!”

It’s been a while since I’ve painted seriously. After things fell apart with Christian, I was in a serious depression for a long time and had no desire to paint. When I came out of it, I was busy trying to put my life back together. I was dating, trying to find his replacement, and I was deciding whether or not I wanted to pursue motherhood alone. There have been a few occasions when I’ve painted, but it was never serious. This makes me want to run home right now and break out all of my art supplies, even though I have to go to work. Now I have two things to look forward to: this art workshop and a positive pregnancy test.

* * *

On Saturday morning, the only thing I can think about is meeting Christian. I go to the store and buy some ovulation sticks to make sure that I’m ovulating, and I am. This really could be the night.

The only thing that can possibly distract me from thinking of him is painting. The second I got home from work on Friday, I pulled out all my art supplies and spread them out over my living room. I stayed up way too late experimenting with ideas that were bouncing around in my mind.

I daydream about what the workshop will be like, what styles we’ll experiment with, and whether or not this might lead to something more in art.

I paint all day, focusing on an abstract background of blue-and-white shapes from which faces appear. Some of the faces I know, or resemble people that I know like Ellen, my mother, there’s even one that looks a bit like Christian. Some of them I don’t know, purely from my imagination.