Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I agreed, looking at her.
“Well, thanks. But you know what I mean.”
“How about I take one picture of you looking at art? And you can upload it and see.” At her hesitation, I stood and offered her my hand. I could have sworn I heard a collective aww from the girls. “What do you have to lose?”
“Alright,” she agreed, placing her hand in mine so I could help her to her feet.
But I didn’t exactly let go after she was standing.
It wasn’t until we were almost up to the ticket counter that I released her so I could reach for my wallet.
“Absolutely not,” I said when she went for her own.
“What?” she asked, seeming genuinely perplexed. Again, I was forced to wonder about her marriage, about how many times she had to pay because Matt wouldn’t shell out twenty-five bucks for admission.
“I know it sounds outdated and possibly even sexist, but no woman is paying when I’m with her. Regardless of what kind of relationship we have.”
The smile she gave me to that was soft.
“Well, thanks. I know we technically don’t have to pay full price, since we live here. But I think of all the times I visited as a kid and teen, when I could only pay a few dollars—if that—and how much those visits shaped my future. It feels right to pay now that I can afford it. To maybe help cover another kid who can’t.”
“That’s a really nice way to think of it.”
We made our way through the museum, me taking every opportunity to ask her about different art pieces, wanting to catch her in unguarded, genuine moments. It wasn’t hard to have a hundred snaps of her looking passionate or serious, staring at a canvas longingly, even mildly annoyed by a piece when she thought it had overshadowed better work from the same period.
It was too cheesy to say aloud, but Blair was her own work of art. And the juxtaposition of her beauty next to the framed art was breathtaking.
“Did you get anything that would work?” she asked when we drifted back out the front doors almost two hours later.
“Tons,” I told her, already dropping my favorites in a text to her.
She reached for her phone, scrolling through the images. “I guess this one could work,” she said, choosing the only picture I’d snapped of her where she was almost completely turned away.
It was contemplative and closed-off.
Which, it seemed, was the image she wanted to project to others. Even though I’d seen many instances of that not being who she truly was.
It was her blog.
She could project herself however she wanted.
“Thanks for this. I’ve been feeling really stuck about my blog lately. But I need to keep creating content.”
“You’ve had a lot going on.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’ve been doing a lot of catch-up.”
“In town?”
“A lot of the consulting is done through emails or video calls. I’ve mostly been in my office going back and forth with clients and doing a lot of art research in their areas. I have one client who keeps me on retainer.”
“For art curation?”
“He’s, ha, he’s absurdly wealthy. Whatever you’re thinking, quadruple it. He is constantly buying up real estate around the world. Some are private homes; some are hotels. He wants art in all of them. He’s the client I’m most likely to have to travel for. You can only do so much research online for what artwork is available in a small town in Greece.”
“Do you like the travel?”
“Sometimes. I liked it more when I was younger. These days, I really like just being home.”
“Doing what?”
“Oh, a little bit of everything. Reading. Cooking or baking. Organizing. Trying to get into calligraphy because it lets me feel artistic even though I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. Watching documentaries. Wow, I sound like I’m eighty.”
“I don’t go out much either,” I told her. Clubs and bars were left in my twenties.
“What do you do then?”
“I work. I see my family. I’m growing herbs on my balcony,” I admitted.
“Really? How’s that going?”
“My basil needs its own zip code. But my oregano is barely hanging on to life. I got into it because I kept getting herbs from the store that wilted before I could even use them.”
“So, no video games or sports?”
“I mean, I’ll watch a game here or there. And one of my nephews is demanding I get a gaming console so I could play some lamb game that he’s obsessed with.”
“So when is the console arriving?”
“How’d you know I already ordered it?”
“You don’t strike me as someone who could turn down a kid’s simple request.”
“You’ve got me there.”
“So you really do want them? Kids,” she clarified. Like she didn’t believe me the last time she’d asked. But after all the shit she’d gone through with Matt, I figured it was natural for her to be dubious.