different they are. It’s easy to contrast them. But how are they similar? They’re not. At all.”
I sit down in the chair next to them and lean my elbows on the table, which wobbles in the same way my mother’s used to. “Here’s a tip. Don’t get tied up in the images. Art is all about emotion. Teachers want to know what you take away from the piece and how you apply that to your own life. It’s totally subjective, so have fun with it.” With the light streaming in from the windows, the rich smell of a cooking meal filling the room, and the reassuring sounds of Marilyn behind us, opening the refrigerator, moving between the sink and the stove, I feel as if I’ve traveled back in time. All my edges matching up with the space around me.
I spend five more minutes filling the holes in their research. Background about each artist, their childhoods and early influences, before Kelly tells me we have to leave.
“I like your family,” I say as we pull out of the driveway.
Kelly smiles. “Thank you. It’s not always easy, trying to raise a child under my mother’s thumb. Because I had Jacinta so young, my mother sometimes forgets that I’m Jacinta’s mother, not her. I appreciate her help, but that house is too small for the three of us.”
I want to tell her that the tangle of their crowded life should be a comfort, not a burden. I’d been in such a hurry to redefine myself, not knowing that I’d be carving away a piece of my heart. I assumed my family would always be there, waiting for me. Sometimes I can trick myself into believing my mother and Violet are still in our house, moving around each other, waiting for me to finally come home.
* * *
“How’d you know all of that?” Kelly asks as we turn onto the on-ramp of the freeway.
I’ve been silent for most of the ride, my mind still back at Kelly’s house, sitting at that table, feeling as if the farther we drive from it, the farther I’m traveling away from myself. Who I’m supposed to be.
“I was an art history major in college.” I don’t feel I’m risking too much to tell her that, and it feels good to say something true.
Kelly looks at me, impressed. “You should be looking for jobs at museums or auction houses.”
“It’s complicated,” I say, suddenly afraid if I keep talking, I’ll tell her everything.
Kelly laughs. “Show me someone whose life isn’t complicated.” When I don’t respond, she says, “No pressure. I get it.”
“I’m leaving a bad marriage,” I finally admit, before tacking on a lie. “Hiding out at a childhood friend’s house while she travels. It’s temporary, until I can figure out what’s next. But my husband will be looking for me, so I can’t work in my field anymore.”
The car feels like a protective layer, safe and warm as we speed down the freeway toward Oakland. I look out the window, at the people in the cars around us. So many secrets playing out in their minds. No one is going to look too closely at mine. And as far as Kelly is concerned, my story has been lived a hundred times already.
“It takes a lot of courage to start over,” she says.
I don’t respond. Nothing about what I’ve done feels brave or courageous. Kelly reaches across the center console and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
* * *
Kelly wasn’t kidding when she said tonight’s party was a big one. There are twelve of us hired to set up and work the event, which is being held in a giant warehouse in downtown Oakland. Nearly forty tables fill the enormous room, each one seating eight. When she introduces me to her boss, Tom, I only hold his attention for a split second before someone calls for him from the kitchen. “Thanks for giving me the job,” I say as he begins to hurry away.
“Thanks for helping out in a pinch,” he calls, just before disappearing back into the kitchen. “Kelly will show you what to do.”
Soon we’re busy with linens, table settings, and flowers. “I’ve been waiting for this event for months,” Kelly says.
“Why?”
Her eyes sparkle. “It’s a banquet for the Oakland A’s.” She looks around the room. “In a few hours, this place is going to be crawling with professional athletes. I’m hoping to at least get an autograph.” Then she winks at me. “Maybe a phone