From Bully To Beloved

Marie gives me a bright smile and a nod. “That’s right. This coming Monday. It’s the perfect day. Monday’s the first day of the month. I haven’t forgotten-your obligations as Cal’s wife will be done on Sunday evening. You’ll be back in your old apartment and regular life. See, I’ve thought of everything. I even set up an appointment with a lawyer with the plan to hopefully sign the papers next Friday. How exciting is that? You’ve got a whole week to get the hang of things, and I’ll be here every day to help out and answer any questions you’ve got. Wait, it gets better. Instead of you shadowing me over the next few weeks, I’m going to shadowyou. Let you get a feel for it before I officially step down. How does that sound?”

It sounds terrifying. Not because I can’t do it, but because the whole thing about taking over the diner is getting serious. I should be happy. After all, this is what I’ve been working towards. This was the agreement between Marie and me. The Diner has always been an integral part of my future, even after I found out about the inheritance.

“Great. Whatever you think is best.”

Marie’s smile widens, and she reaches out to pat my hand. “I’m so happy that you agreed to take over. Knowing the old girl is in good hands makes me feel better about retiring.”

At that, I smile back and squeeze her hand. “You’ve done so much for me over the years, Marie. You’ve been like a mother to me.” I need to tell her this, to get it out, because it’s true. In her eyes, I see she needed to hear my words as well. “I can’t even begin to repay you for your kindness and support. I hope this is a start.” When her warm eyes meet mine, I feel terrible. I need to believe I’m making the right decision. Because I am.

* * *

When I arrive home that night, I take a moment to catch my breath. Coltonisn’t home.

Kicking out of my shoes, I decide to take advantage of the sudden burst of energy I have and start to pack my things. There’s so much more stuff than I had when I arrived on my first day, and what I do have has made its way around the apartment.

Especially my art supplies.

Luckily, Coltonhasn’t given me a hard time about it. I toss my phone to the side and scramble around the room to collect my sketchbook and canvases. Looking at all the many drawings in my hands makes my heart ache. I flip through the pages of my book. They are so good. Surprisingly, there are many good ones.

I flip, and flip, and flip, feeling happier as I go.

A card falls out.

I pick it up, and see it’s the art gallery business card.

I stare at it, flipping it around in my fingers. For once, I can’t find a single excuse for not calling Bryce Amoria.

What it boils down to: I hate being stagnant.

And, Cal’s right-I have to take a risk.

I have to shoot my shot.

After not even one minute of collecting and organizing my things and mulling things over in my brain, I’ve made a decision that even flusters me.

I’m going to call the art gallery guy.

You know, give the good old impulse another shot.

Right now.

Because honestly, screw off, Professor Osgood Ramstraat. Screw. You. Screw you, and your mean, stupid article, and for being such a jackass on the biggest day of my life. I’m going to prove you and the whole art world wrong. For years, your criticism was my mantra-I’m not good enough.

It’s over. Revenge is a dish best served cold, so they say. My revenge burns like a thousand fires-and it is a need to prove Ramstraat wrong.

I can draw.

I am an artist.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Chumphead, I have an important phone call to make.

The art world is waiting.

Gosh, I miss the girl I was before the review.

Talking to Kelly’s friend Bryce won’t hurt-at all. I take out my phone and dial his number with trembling fingers.

“Hi, this is Seraphine,” I say. “I got your number from my friend Kelly, who’s a friend of a friend.”

“Hey, Seraphine. Bryce Amoria speaking. You’re not Seraphine Gray by any chance?”

“The one and only,” I reply jokingly, wondering for a moment if he knows my name from the Ramstraat magazine article three years ago. Surely, he must know.

Amoria chuckles. He has a smooth, calming voice, and even though my heart is going a mile a minute, I’m instantly put at ease. “Seraphine? May I call you Seraphine?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for my answer. “Meet with me next week. No obligations. No expectations. We’ll just talk about art, and you can show me your newest portfolio.”

“Sure, let’s meet,” I agree before I lose my nerve. “When would be good for you?”

“Well, I’m deep in this month’s show, so the only time I have available is Friday. Friday the fifth. Does that work?”

Friday. Why does it have to be Friday? Life is crazy. That’s the day I’m supposed to sign the papers and officially take over from Marie.

“What time?” I ask. The meeting with the lawyer isn’t until late afternoon.

“Around 9:00 a. m.? Here in my office…or you know what? There’s a cute little cafe right across the street that makes a mean cup of coffee.”

“Great. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful! Can’t wait to meet.”

I end the call before I can change my mind.

Dammit. Why did I do that?

But this is such a huge opportunity, deep down I know I can’t let it pass me by. Also, the meeting won’t take any longer than an hour or two. Tops.

I find myself more excited than anything else. Stirred, intoxicated, almost feverish. I sink onto the couch, twirling my phone nervously between my fingers.

It’ll be fine. This is a good thing.

My stomach rolls, and a wave of nausea washes over me. Oh, God, here comes the anxiety. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose before exhaling through my mouth. The nausea doesn’t subside for some time.

It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine.

Oh, crap, I need to update my portfolio. I need to take out the drawings of my ex and put in the newer ones of Cal. They’re some of my best work, and the more I think about showing my stuff to Mr. Amoria, the more enlivened I get.

I can’t wait to tell Coltonabout my meeting.

I won’t bring my sketchbook and the canvases to the cafe of course, that’d be too much to carry. My portfolio is digitized in a folder on the cloud. I’ll need to take photos and add them to my online folder. But which ones to add? I’ve done so many over the last month that there’s a wide range to choose from.

Coltonfinds me in the living room about an hour later, surrounded by artwork. I must look like a madwoman with my hair in a messy bun and my work clothes still on. Charcoal covers my hands and arms from handling my drawings. Actually, I might have smudges on my face too. Not entirely sure.

“Hey,” he says on his way to the bedroom. When he sees the mess of artwork and the look on my face, he halts. “What’s going on? You okay?”

I look up from my sketchbook. “I’m fine.”

“Sera, you have crazy eyes.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, and charcoal across your forehead. And on your cheek. What’s going on?”

“I called Mr. Amoria a little while ago.”

He pauses.

“The art gallery guy.”

His lips curve up slightly. “And…?”This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.