Chapter 18

ROONEY

The man was going to fight a butterfly for you?” Talia shouts as she hangs my latest string art piece up on a freshly painted white wall in her new gallery. She and her business partner, Isla, who’s based in LA, have officially opened and have even sold a few paintings and sculptures already.

“If it came down to it, yeah. You know how I get with butterflies,” I say as I sprawl on a light brown velvet couch in the shape of a croissant. I’m taking a break from stringing a small-scale installation in the gallery for someone to hopefully buy. It’s one of my older ideas that I’ve done before in art school. I hate recycling ideas, but these are desperate times.

“I thought you were there to return a lost ID?”

“We were, but we took a detour. It happened so fast,” I tell her.

“And he took a cat home for you?” she asks.

“It’s not for me. I think Jack has a secret soft spot in his heart for cats. He’s been going house to house around the neighborhood asking about her. The microchip wasn’t useful because it wasn’t registered to anyone.”

Talia makes a sad face. “And I take it those sweaters are for Sprinkles?”

I lift my knitting needles in the air to show off my handiwork. “She’ll have one for every day of the week. Can I ask you a question now? Do I go short sleeve or long sleeve?”

“Short and above the elbow. Makes it easier to jump,” Talia says as she joins me on the croissant couch. She comes bearing two individual chicken pot pies for our lunch.

“Was this meant to look like a French pastry, or…” I ask, running my hand along the back of the couch.

Talia laughs. “You should always be surrounded by things you love.”

“It makes me hungry, but I do love it.” I squeeze the yellow pillow next to me. “This also looks like a pat of butter. Really completes the look. This place is coming together. How are you feeling?”

Like many galleries, the architecture is understated, and the walls are bare so that the art stands out. Unlike many galleries, Talia and Isla wanted the space to feel cozy and welcoming. The concrete floors are covered in layered rugs and there are sheer linen curtains draped over the ceiling-to-floor windows. It’s a place where you can sit back on a croissant-shaped couch, have a warm cup of tea, and envision the art on the walls being in your own home.

“There’s such a different vibe on this coast,” Talia says, opening her box of pie. “It’s been great being able to work with Isla again in person and to dream about expansion plans. I can’t believe we’re here.”

“It means a lot that we get to be here together,” I say, lifting the lid on my own pie to let it cool.

“And I’m glad you’re still working, even if they’re not new creations,” Talia says, nodding toward my string art hanging on the wall. Even from across the gallery the red string really pops. “I think they’re going to sell well here.”

“I can only get away with repeat work for so long,” I say, locking eyes with a hound dog made of string. “I’ve been spending time with different teams and learning a lot. Still no breakthroughs for installations, but we’re working on it.”

“We?”

“Jack and me. With Red String Theory,” I say, focusing a little too intently on one stitch.

“And Red String Theory is… the name of those Fate Tests, right?” Talia asks. She sweeps her long, curly brown hair over her shoulder. “You think they’re going to work?”

“It’s too soon to tell, but I hope.”

When I’m not at JPL, I’m working around the clock to make as many generic animal string art pieces as I can, so Talia and I haven’t had time to update each other on our lives. I quickly catch her up on what Fate Tests we’ve completed so far, what’s in progress, and what we still have left to do. Since telling Jack about the Cloud Lovers League, I’ve signed up for an account and posted several photos of clouds. I tend to mostly see the food-shaped ones for some reason.

“The Cloud Lovers League has actually been fun,” I share. “In fact, I’m in talks with a couple of people in the LA area. I made plans to meet up with a group next week. One of them thought my dumpling cloud looked like a—you’ll never believe it—he thought it looked like a croissant,” I say, gesturing to the couch we’re sitting on. “They’re everywhere!”

Talia and I laugh together. “You can never have too many croissants!” she says. “And Jack is doing all this to help you get inspired?” She narrows her eyes at me before proceeding to scoop out a bite of chicken and potatoes.

I take a break from Sprinkles’s sweater and set my needles down. “What’s that look for? The success of the program is important to him. I told him about the auction and being creatively blocked. He wanted to help. He also has a promotion on the line.”

“Uh-huh,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“What?” I ask, nudging her leg gently with my foot. “You don’t think the program being a success is important?”

I watch intently as Talia mixes the crispy pie dough with the chicken filling. “Jack obviously wants to spend time with you outside of work. What did your mom say when she learned it was the Jack?”

“It’s Wren, so you know, she questioned how a man who works at NASA could improperly provide something as basic as a phone number, though it was me who got the ones, fives, and nines all mixed up,” I say. “I think it’s all a disguise for her being as shocked as I was. If you can believe it, she gets more freaked out by fate-itious moments than I do. There’s nothing to get weird about, though. Jack and I agreed to keep our relationship strictly professional.”

Talia laughs with a hint of disbelief behind it. “And how’s that working out?”

“Everything that we’re doing is for the benefit of our careers, so it’s great,” I say, swallowing down a bite. “We have our trip to Florida and Texas at the end of the month. I’m hopeful that an idea will come to me in time for the first installation. I don’t want to continue having to re-create things I’ve done in the past. That is not what NASA is paying me for.”

“I have an auction update, but when I say this, don’t freak out,” she starts.

I break out in a full body sweat. “Never start sentences like that! What is it?”

“The auction is being moved up by two months. It’s now happening on January twenty-third,” Talia says, glancing up at me to gauge my reaction.

My spoon pierces through the puff pastry, sending crumbs all over the velvet. It’s looking more like a real pastry by the second. I try to wipe the flakes off, but they bounce in place. “No! That’s the day of my first showcase! We needed to use that exposure to drive sales of portraits. Hopefully get some more shows in local galleries and museums. Maybe even some private commissions on a larger scale.” I roll the ball of yarn for Sprinkles’s sweater back and forth across the width of the couch. “Now what?”

“Will NASA be posting behind-the-scenes photos on social media of your suit-ups?” Talia asks. “Without your face in them, obviously. Maybe that will remind people that the idea of you exists. That art is on the way.”

I pull up their Instagram feed and scroll through recent posts. “There are a few pictures here and there, though that’s clearly not helping much. Do you know the range of what the auction house thinks it’ll sell for yet?”

“I spoke to someone, and they’re estimating that it could be double or triple what it sold for last,” Talia says, doing an admirable job of remaining calm. “There’s a resurgence in video art interest.”

I balk. “They think it could be twenty to thirty thousand dollars? I won’t have that in three months. NASA gave me half of my payment up front, but that plus my savings won’t cover it. I have fourteen thousand right now.”

“I’ve doubled the price of your commission pieces now that you have NASA to your name. That’s been a draw when I tell people. I’m featuring your work in our next newsletter. Can you create more pieces to have ready for when your showcase happens?” Talia asks. She lifts the half-formed sleeve of Sprinkles’s sweater. “Think there’s a market for hand-knitted animal clothing?”

A small laugh escapes my lips. “Don’t tempt me,” I say, a capsule collection of pet knitwear already forming in my mind. The joke helps relieve some tension, but the stress returns when I attempt to do mental math. “My prices weren’t very high to begin with, but raising prices could still help. I need more collaborations and shows with other museums, if possible. Maybe more pressure is what I need to jump-start my inspiration. In the meantime, more string cats and dogs.”

“Once the first showcase happens, you’re going to explode.” Talia gestures with her hands for effect. “People need to see what you’re about first.”

“Right now I’m all about my past work,” I mumble. “I’m not going to be able to buy this piece back, am I?”

Talia pats my knee. “It’s going to be great. It’ll work out. We got this. Don’t lose hope. Ideas are going to overflow on the trip, and you’ll come back to LA reenergized and reinspired. Especially since you’re going with Jack,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. She’s trying to comfort me by using Jack’s name and it’s kind of working, even with her insinuations.

“Talia! Jack is, well, I don’t know what Jack is. My liaison. Some might even call him a colleague. A coworker.” I move the spoon back and forth in the dish. Eating is the last thing I want to do right now. I need to get back to work.

Talia throws her head back. “Oh, please! He’s hardly either of those things. Your situation is different than if he was someone you met at the office. You knew him in a different way before working together ever came into the picture.”

“Maybe us meeting in New York was so that we would ultimately come together now. Maybe it was never meant to be romantic,” I say, not fully believing my own words. “Our belief systems about love are different, too. It’s not that I was expecting my stringmate to believe in the Red Thread of Fate, too, but maybe being open to the idea that there’s something bigger at play would be nice? At least some common ground there?”

“You believe it. Isn’t that what matters?” she says, setting her empty pie dish on the glass coffee table in front of us. “But also, as a fellow Red Threader, I completely get it. That pull, that feeling, the signs, that can matter, too.”

I nod, feeling seen in her validation.

Talia makes a face and pokes at her pie. I can tell she has more thoughts.

“It’s too weird, right? Jack and I finding each other again,” I say. “Ever since that night, I feel like I can’t get a good read on any of the signs. What do you think it means that Jack and I were lost to each other?”

Talia considers this. She opens her mouth and then closes it. Then she shakes her head and says, “You know what? Forget being neutral. Your fated night in New York? The party? And let’s not forget how he kissed you…”

“I know!” I bury my face in my hands. “Believe me, I’ve thought about that night every which way. Broke it down, tried desperately to understand what it all meant. But it was six hours! That’s hardly any time to make big, important life decisions,” I justify. Who was the last man I spent that much time with? No one comes to mind. “It’s not like we didn’t want to stay in touch. He gave me his number, and who knows where we’d be right now if I had typed in his number correctly. It’s pointless to speculate because the fact remains that it didn’t work out.”

“But you like him,” Talia replies. I can’t tell if it’s a question or a comment.

“Of course I like Jack. Ever since New York I’ve liked him,” I admit. It’s the first time I’m saying this out loud. Thoughts can remain in my head without consequence, but now they exist in the world. Like with everything else in my life, it’s easier to stay in hiding and keep emotions like these concealed.

Talia reaches for Sprinkles’s sweater and gives it a little stretch. “You’re happy when you’re around him. Carefree in a way I’ve never seen before, especially with your entire life hidden from the public and most people. I think you’re in too deep, but you don’t even know it.”

“Like how if you’re on the moon, you can’t see its phases,” I say, testing out another forest replacement idiom for Jack.

“Totally,” Talia says. “You’re too close to the situation. That’s probably why everything’s confusing.”

I groan. “Jack knows practically everything about me, and I’ve only known him for, collectively, eight weeks, five days, and one night. Less if you count the time we’ve actually spent together. There’s too much at stake for us both for me to follow a thread. Especially if it leads nowhere. And especially because we go back to New York in ten months.”

I think about what Jack’s told me and how hard it is for him when people leave. I can’t imagine what he must’ve felt when he believed that I purposely hadn’t texted him after our night together.

“Maybe it’s worth tugging that thread a little, to see what happens,” Talia says as she runs a hand through her hair and flips it to the other side. “And I did not mean that in a sexual way. Then again…”

My jaw drops. “Tal!”

“For this trip, are you both staying in different hotel rooms or is this going to be a One Bed type of situation?” she presses.

I roll my eyes and whack her with the butter pillow. “This is real life. Not a rom-com novel. We’ll each have our own separate rooms on this work trip,” I say, carefully articulating the last two words.

Between us on the couch, my phone lights up with a text message from Jack.

Talia peers over to see who it’s from. “Looks like you got that phone number situation sorted out,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

I grab my phone and hold it close to my chest dramatically. “Your point has already been made.”

Before Talia gets up from the couch, I reach for her. “Hey. You know you’re the best friend ever, right?”

“I mean, I know it, but it’s nice to hear it,” she says, flipping her hair back over her shoulder dramatically.

“Thank you for being here for me,” I say.

“I’m not here for you. I’m here with you,” Talia says, pulling me in for a hug. “And I know it feels like I’m helping you, but the RSG name has drawn a lot of attention to the gallery. That’s helped sales in general. Your time will come.”

While Talia makes tea, I read what Jack texted.

Sprinkles has landed.

I smile at the attached photo of Sprinkles peeking out from a cardboard box with a rocket-shaped cat house printed on the side.

Another text comes through. He likes the box the cat house came in more than the actual house.

In the corner of the picture, I spot a stuffed star and a tub of catnip. The thought of Jack shopping for cat toys makes me smile harder.

I flop back against the croissant. It’s official. Wherever it is I am, a dense forest or a phaseless moon, I’m in too deep and am way too close.