Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
There is something about revealing art that is so personal, so vulnerable. The concept for this window came straight out of my head. No one approved it. No one said, yes this will work. It’s a flying leap. It’s believing in an idea—and since everyone has ideas, this is when the imposter syndrome kicks in. What makes me think my idea was going to stop foot traffic on Fifth Avenue? What makes me think I’m artistically gifted at all?
Just like at that PTA art show, it’s my parents whose reactions mean the most.
But this time, they’re not here. They’re not going to show up with big, enthusiastic smiles on their faces, armed with praise and a suggestion that we stop for celebratory ice cream on the way home. They don’t even know I have this job.
Maybe they’ve completely moved on with their lives and aren’t thinking of me at all.
That possibility threatens to take the wind out of me, so I push it away. I remind myself that if I can do well at window dressing, if I can prove to myself what I’m capable of, I’ll eventually attempt to prove it to them, too. I’ll try again with my parents. In time.
Up ahead, some of the upper management employees are gathered at the window. Jordyn is there, along with Mrs. Bunting, the head of human resources who I met on my first day. I notice she seems to be on familiar terms with Aiden’s grandmother, who is skeptical of me right off the bat. She watches me approach the way a house cat behaves when their owner brings home a puppy. Can’t say I blame her. I’m probably younger than she was expecting, went a little heavy on the eyeliner this morning—an attempt to keep Aiden at arm’s length that clearly didn’t work—and now I’m exiting a foggy-windowed vehicle with her grandson. Not to mention, my eyes are still crossed from…whatever just happened.
What did just happen?
I think Aiden and I almost skipped kissing and went right to the main event. In a parked car on one of the busiest avenues in the world. I’ve never lost myself like that with a member of the opposite sex. Granted, I haven’t even breathed on a member of the male species in four years, probably longer, but I would remember the feeling of having my stomach levitate, my intimate flesh squeezing, heart going bananas beside my eardrums. I definitely would recall feeling safe and cherished and required.
Unable to stop myself, I turn and glance at Aiden over my shoulder. I’m not the only one who is shaken up. Little sweat speckles soak through the front of his white dress shirt, his bow tie a touch off-center and that curl graces the center of his forehead. His gaze travels from me to his family ahead and darkens with…I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. Worry, yes. But there’s a sort of fierce protectiveness in those depths, too, that gives my knees the consistency of wet paste.
When he returns his attention to me, I lift one corner of my mouth to let him know I’m good to handle whatever his family throws at me. Even though I’m not exactly sure of that fact. All I know is I’ve already gotten too much special treatment recently. From the judge, the prison system itself and now Aiden.
If my window isn’t a success, I need to take that result on the chin. And if I don’t get another chance to prove myself, well most people don’t even get a first one, right?
I just really, really hope they like it, because this has been the best week of my life. I spent the last four days decorating a Vivant window—for Christmas, no less. And it was a constant rush. Hours sped past in colorful blurs of enjoyment and creative impulses. Not only that, I had the means to follow those urges and watch them come to life. There is nothing, no job in this world, I want to do more. But as I come to a stop about ten feet from the glass, forcing a smile for Jordyn, that nervous PTA art show feeling has me convinced the paper will be torn down and there will be a pile of dirt sitting on a plate.
What if the last four days was a hallucination?
Something warm and solid brushes against the back of my fingers and I realize Aiden is standing next to me, his hand grazing mine in secret. His jaw is bunched up tight, but his eyes are reassuring. Confident in me. But they turn wary when his father and grandmother darken the sidewalk in front of us.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Aiden?” says the grandmother, her sharp attention zipping upward from my second-hand combat boots to my cat-eye makeup.