Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,152

because she wanted the painting on display at the party, both things representing their unique bond, the blurred lines between their lives. She wanted the portrait to be the best thing she’d ever created. She wanted to make Elisabeth proud. Sam sketched the figures out seven times before adding color.

This morning, she had entered the art building, which was usually empty at that hour, and bumped straight into one of her professors, Christopher Gillis. He looked like he’d just woken up, stumbling out of his office barefoot, in sweatpants, steel-gray hair pointing in every direction. She wondered if he had a girl in there.

He knew Elisabeth somehow. Sam didn’t know their exact connection, but Elisabeth told her once how they had discussed her talent at a party.

Sam was weighing whether to mention the sighting when Elisabeth glanced up from her to-do list and said, “I can’t believe Gil will be a year old in three weeks. And you’ll be a college graduate.”

She looked wistful, before turning back to the list and saying, “Does your family like shrimp?”

Elisabeth was going all out, even though Sam told her there was no need. Three cases of champagne had been purchased and now sat at the top of the basement stairs, ready to be ferried to the yard at the appointed hour. Elisabeth had ordered a balloon archway, twelve feet tall, the kind you saw at a prom or at the finish line of a 10K. A three-piece bluegrass band would play songs for both kids and adults. There would be cater-waiters serving endless hors d’oeuvres, and two cakes—one for Sam, and one for Gil.

Sam had yet to tell her mother.

“My family loves shrimp,” she said.

Sam wondered about Elisabeth’s family. She had said they were estranged, she had told Sam that terrible story about her father, but then they came and visited at Christmas. She hadn’t mentioned them since.

There was no hint of them coming for Gil’s birthday as far as Sam could tell.

Sam’s cell phone rang. She looked down at the screen.

“It’s a 718!” she said, immediately regretting her enthusiasm, in case the news was bad. How awful would it be for Elisabeth to have to console her, to feel compelled to say something reassuring, like the gallery didn’t deserve her anyway.

“Answer it!” Elisabeth said.

Sam did.

“Sam?” said the voice at the other end of the line. “It’s Natasha from Matilda Grey. Do you have a minute?”

Sam tried to steady her voice. “Sure,” she said, thinking this could go either way. She thought the interview had gone well—the gallery was gorgeous. It looked just like the one in London. Mostly, Sam had talked to Natasha, but at the very end, Matilda herself came in to meet her and Sam gushed about her many visits to the Mayfair space, her favorite exhibitions. Matilda didn’t say much, but after she shook Sam’s hand and left the room, Natasha whispered, “She liked you.”

Now Natasha said, “I’m calling to officially offer you the job as Matilda’s assistant.”

Sam rose from her chair and started jumping up and down. Elisabeth stood too, and danced in place. A hilarious, shocking sight.

Sam composed herself long enough to say thank you, and that she was thrilled to accept. They talked through logistics—when she might start, how much she’d get paid.

When she hung up, she said, “I got the job.”

Elisabeth said, “I gathered that. Sam! Congratulations! Should we open a bottle of champagne to celebrate?”

It was one o’clock on a Monday, but before she could respond, Elisabeth had gone to fetch the champagne.

Left alone for a minute, she thought of Clive. The sweetness of this strange turn of events was cut through with the question of what would become of them now.

Sam twisted the ring on her finger. He had proposed in Leicester Square, in the exact spot where they met, down on one knee in front of hordes of onlookers. Half of them took out their phones and snapped photographs. Sam felt mortified, even as she tried to stay in the moment.

“It’s only a cheap thing,” Clive said as he showed her the ring. “I know you don’t care, and that’s one of a million reasons why I’m mad about you.”

Elisabeth returned, clutching the champagne bottle by its neck.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “You look sad.”

“Thinking about Clive.”

“People do long distance all the time.”

“They are based in London,” Sam said. “Maybe there would be a chance for me to transfer there eventually.”

“Right,” Elisabeth said. “Bottom line: Your dream job just fell into