I’ve seen your work, and I’ve seen people who could learn from you selling their work.”
He blushed.
“Second,” I went on, “I tell my students all the time that there’s no shame in being an artist with a day job. The starving artist thing is a myth. Starving doesn’t make you more creative or more inspired—it just makes you miserable and desperate. It’s a hell of a lot easier to create when your bills are paid and your fridge is full.”
“Hmm, good point.” Kelly looked around. “You know, I wonder if this place is hiring.”
“If they are, it’ll be up there.” I nodded toward the bulletin board near the front. “I think last time I looked, they had openings for a line cook and a barista.”
He laughed bitterly. “Oh, wouldn’t my dad be thrilled if he could see me now?” He picked up his drink and muttered, “Thinking about becoming a barista.” Before I could respond, he exhaled. “Jesus, I’m a wreck. I mean, fuck, I’m thirty-two. I feel so stupid for being this worried about what my dad thinks of me. Or, well, what he thought of me.”
“You spent your formative years being told that was the most important thing. Of course it’s going to stick with you.” I paused, then said, “Maybe I’ve just been teaching art for too long, but your dad is not unique.”
“He isn’t?”
I shook my head. “I swear, if I’ve got a student whose enthusiasm suddenly takes a nosedive, the cause is almost always one of four things.” I put up a finger with each option. “Problems in a relationship. Worry over money. Stress over their other classes. Or—most relevantly—Mom and Dad have been shitting over the fact that they want to pursue art as more than a hobby.” I put my hand over his on the table. “You’re not alone. Just remember, at the end of the day, it’s your life. Nobody else’s. I mean, how much of it did you spend pursuing something you hated just because it was expected of you?”
Kelly’s cheeks reddened. “Seven. Fourteen if you count the years since I quit med school and have been trying to find something…” He sighed, deflating. “Trying to find something that would pay my bills and earn Dad’s approval.”
I squeezed his hand. “Isn’t that enough?”
He held my gaze. Then, little by little, he relaxed. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I guess I kind of feel guilty right now because I’m living on my inheritance from my dad, and I’m living in his house, so—”
“Your house.” I squeezed his hand again before releasing it. “It’s not his anymore.”
“True. But still—I just feel like I’m taking advantage of his estate to have an early midlife crisis and figure out who the fuck I am instead of getting a job like a normal adult.”
“You have the means and the opportunity to take a breather and figure out what you want to do and where you want to go.” I half-shrugged and reached for my coffee. “A lot of people would give up a limb for that chance. I won’t begrudge you for taking it.”
“Hmm. Yeah. Maybe.” Kelly shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have to have it figured out overnight.” A little smile slowly started to form. “And I do like the idea of spending more time on my art.”
“See?” I smiled back. “You’re carving your own way now. With your own priorities.”
“That…” He sighed happily. “God, that sounds amazing.”
“Taking control of your own life? Yeah, I bet.”
He looked seriously relieved just thinking about it. I didn’t blame him. Been there, done that, after I’d told my parents I wanted to bail on college and go to art school, and that was without all the bullshit baggage his dad had left him with.
Right then, someone walked up to the table. I thought it might be Aaron coming back for something, but when I looked up, I realized it was Max.
“Oh, hey.” I rose and extended my hand. “Grading?”
As he shook my hand, he nodded toward his leather messenger bag. “As always.”
“Have fun with that.” I gestured at Kelly as I sat back down. “By the way, this is Kelly. Kelly, Max.”
They shook hands.
“Kelly.” Max narrowed his eyes a little. Not an unfriendly expression—just like he was reading Kelly the way he read everyone. “I’ve heard about you.”
Kelly gulped, eyes flicking toward me. “You have?” With a nervous laugh, he asked, “Good things, right?”
“Of course.” Max smiled. “All good things. Someone has to keep