he could take a piece of cloth and turn it into art, had astounded her. She leaned across the bed and took out some photos she’d brought to show Ramona McNeil—the photos Phil had taken with Hazel, including some of the pieces Victor had salvaged from that original shoot. “He’s remarkable, but he’s young. Sometimes I forget how young he is. But so undeniably talented. And, you know, sometimes we all lose our way. He just needs a little help.”
Naomi looked at the photos. “These are cool. Except this one is a little weird. That dog is adorable.”
“That’s the thing about creative geniuses,” Carly said, tucking the photos away. “Not everything they make is a home run, you know? There has to be trial and error, because that’s how they evolve.”
Naomi shrugged. “Maybe. All I know is that this jerk is keeping you from going out tonight. Okay, sweets, gotta run. Don’t wait up.” She was out the door in a flash.
Carly ordered in Chinese and tried Victor two more times. At eleven o’clock, she was ready to throw in the towel. She had done all she could do. But first, she was going to call him and tell him what an asshole he was.
She expected the call to roll to voice mail like all the other calls, but this time, Victor actually picked up. “Don’t hate me,” he said.
Carly was stunned. It took her a moment to gather herself. “What the hell, Victor? You’ve been ghosting me all day. This is twice I’ve had to cancel a free photographer for you! What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he said softly. “I don’t know if I can do it. I keep thinking I’m going to throw up.”
This, Carly thought, was the difference between twenty and twenty-eight. “But, Victor . . . you’ve worked so hard. The pieces look great. You were happy with your work. What changed between yesterday and today?”
“I’m just not feeling it.”
Carly closed her eyes and prayed for providence. She did not wait to get it. “With all due respect, if you tell me you are not feeling something one more time, I am going to totally kick your ass and trust me, you will feel it. What is the matter with you? I mean, really? Do you think some divine light is going to shine on you and make you feel it? None of us knows what is going to happen. There is not a single person on this planet who walks out their door every day and really knows what is going to happen.” She thought of Max, who would march off to his presentation tomorrow, certain he’d be denied this shot at tenure. She thought of herself, on her way to New York this week, trying to convince herself that Victor wasn’t going to ruin this for both of them. “Not feeling it is part of life.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have trolls,” he said quietly.
“You know what? You did that to yourself. I’m not saying the Internet is fair or there aren’t evil beings parading as humans online, but you responded. You fed them red meat. And now you have to forget them, Victor. You know why? Because in six weeks, they will have moved on to the next victim and won’t remember your name. But where are you going to be then? Nowhere! Because you are too chicken to show your work.”
“Don’t yell at me,” he complained. “I know I let you down.”
He sounded like a kid. Carly drew a deep breath. “Okay. I’m about to say something in the kindest way I know how right now. You need to grow the fuck up. Life is a lot of hard work and sometimes all that hard work pays off and sometimes it doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean you don’t try.” She was suddenly reminded of a poster that hung in her high school gym. She and her cross-country teammates saw it every time they went out to the track. “Victory belongs to those who believe it the most and the longest,” she said now, repeating the poster. “Your mom and I believe it. Don’t you? Haven’t you believed the longest of anyone? Are you going to stop now because some nameless cretins got under your skin? You have a great collection and you’re so talented, and there are hundreds, thousands, who would kill to be in your shoes, and who are never going to have an opportunity like this, and you are throwing it away