Page 4 of All That We Are Together
“You want a beer?” I interrupted.
“Yeah. A cold one. It’s burning up outside.”
“Maybe it’s your outfit.”
I shook my head as I took another look at his dark pants and his button-down shirt. Even rolling up the sleeves gave him little relief.
“Oliver, is everything okay?” We went out on the porch.
“Yeah. What about your gallery?”
“No complaints. It’s fun. Different.”
Just over a year ago, I’d started working at that little gallery in Byron Bay where, ages back, I’d thought I’d exhibit my own work. One that had once held a promise. But that wasn’t why I took the job; it was rather because…I couldn’t find a reason to say no. I didn’t have much else to do. I was bored. Sometimes the silence was all too deafening. And I thought it would do me good to pass through there now and then, without a fixed schedule.
I was right to do so. It was one of the few absolutely right decisions I’d made in recent memory. I was still illustrating, but I could now be choosier with the jobs I accepted.
The fundamental thing a gallery needs to work is a clear and well-thought-out project. I had decided to come up with one, to decide what kind of art and artists we were going to promote, and that was what kept the place running. The owner, Hans, was a businessman, and he dropped in only occasionally, letting me be free to do as I wished. And I had the constant support of Sam, who worked there full-time.
The first months were hard, but at the end, we had a more defined, uniform, and coherent catalog thanks to the links we’d cemented with our artists. I focused on finding them and convincing them to join our team, encouraging them to hold their first exhibitions in Byron Bay. After that, Sam would bring them into the fold. She was good at what gallerists call “the poetry of the job.” A sweet woman with infinite patience, she was a mother of three children and could put up with any artist’s oversized ego—and that was something I wasn’t cut out for. Sam saw magic in watching the young promises we had bet on grow, being in regular contact with them, and, especially, visiting them at their studios.
But I had a hard time giving it my all. There was something that held me back.
“How many artists do you have on the roster now?” Oliver was watching me with curiosity while he scratched at one edge of the label on his beer.
“Me?” I raised my eyebrows. “None.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sam’s the one whohasthe artists. I just find them and get them to the gallery.”
We stopped talking as the sun descended over the horizon. Having Oliver back in my life gave me a false sensation of normalcy. But actually, everything was different. Or maybe I was different. I’d changed a lot since our college days, when we were inseparable. He was still one of the people I treasured most, but it felt as if we’d been slowly piling up bricks until finally there was an entire wall between us. And the worst part was, even though we were talking through that wall, which had been the case even before I ever got with his sister, I was certain he was there, nodding and listening, but failing to understand. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. And I hated knowing that incomprehension was in the air between us when we talked, because it reminded me of the only person who’d ever truly seen me as I was, every layer of me, every piece: a girl who tasted like strawberries, a girl I missed so much…
5
Leah
I got nervous when Professor Martin called me after class to set up a tutoring session. While I was waiting outside, I kept chewing on the nail of my little finger. She opened the door to her office a minute after the agreed-upon time and smiled at me. That relaxed me a little. I had been studying so hard, and I was terrified that I’d made some mistake on my last exam, screwed up the class average, or somehow disappointed someone.
She returned to her seat behind her desk while I settled into the chair across from her. I bit my lip to try and keep everything in, but it was pointless.
“What did I do?” I blurted out.
I hated that part of myself. The impulsive part. The one that kept me from managing my emotions, controlling them, guiding them. That slightly dark side of me that one random night made me strip naked in front ofhimand ask him why he’d never paid attention to me. For some reason, that memory cropped up a lot.
“You didn’t do anything, Leah. Or rather, you did, but something good.” She opened a folder that was on the desk andtook out some photos—photos of my work. “I recommended you for an exhibition that will take place in Red Hill in a month. I think you’d be the perfect candidate. You exactly fit the profile they’re looking for.”
“Are you serious?” I blinked to keep from crying.
“It’s a big opportunity. And you deserve it.”
“I, uh…I don’t know what to say, Professor Martin.”
“Thankswill do. It’ll just be three pieces, but that’s fine; the exhibit is going to attract all kinds of visitors. What do you say?”
“I’m so excited I could shout!”
Professor Martin started laughing. She told me the details, and I thanked her a hundred times while I stood up and grabbed my bag. When I walked outside, I looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. The wind was warm and pleasant. I thought about my parents, how proud they’d have been, how much I wished I could share this success with them… Then I dug through all the junk in the inside pocket of my bag to find my phone and look for Oliver’s number. I waited impatiently until he picked up on the fifth ring.