Jackie

“Are you all ready for the show yet?” Sharon asked. She had come over to pick up Kayla and noticed the general chaos and lack of dinner preparation. So she dialled up some Chinese take out, and thus gave me more precious time to work on my paintings. Now that we lived so close, we were in and out of each other’s places constantly, just like when we were next-door neighbours.

“I’m wiring all the paintings. Everything is done—well, there’s one painting that I’d love to work on a bit longer, but the time is up. I have to wrap everything up and take it tomorrow. Ugh.”

Sharon pulled out a landscape and admired it. “Your new paintings are so good. What inspired you to stop painting flowers?”

“I felt sad about moving, so I decided to paint all the things I was going to miss. The house. My regular running trails. I did sketches and photographs, and then used a combination of references and imagination.”

The end result was eight new paintings. Four were scenes from my old house, like a sunny corner of the living room with Minx snoozing on a brightly upholstered armchair. The outdoor ones showed the Arbutus trees and rocky crags looming over a woodsy trail or the ocean lapping up against a pebbled beach.

Sharon was admiring the most colourful one, which showed the chaos of the family room with one of Tristan’s Lego masterpieces in the centre. “I really like this one. How much are you charging for it?”

“Sharon! After everything you’ve done for me, I would never charge you for a painting. If you like it, you can have it.”

Not only had Sharon arranged the show in the first place, she helped me turn a dark basement room into a bright and cheery studio space by installing new lighting and shelving. I now had my own dedicated studio. Being able to leave my art supplies out had made me much more productive. If I had a spare half hour, I could come down here and paint.

“Well, I’m not going to take it before the show. You could sell it and make money.” She found the price list on a table. “You’re practically giving them away anyway. You need to raise your prices.”

“Are you kidding? It’s my first ever show. If I sell even one painting, I’m going to explode with happiness.” Of course, I’d “sold” paintings to Wayne’s leasing company, but that wasn’t the same as someone walking in and choosing a painting.

“I’m so looking forward to the opening tomorrow. Who’s coming?”

“I have no idea. I invited tons of people, but there’s no RSVP or anything, so unless I ran into people, I don’t know if they’re coming. You. The kids. Oh, and Brent is coming with Margaret.” Which only made me more nervous. What if I flopped miserably in front of my ex and his successful girlfriend?

“Did you invite Wu-wu-wendy and Wu-wu-wayne?”

I sighed. “Yeah. But they can’t come. Wyatt has soccer practice.” That wasn’t a real excuse, since obviously Wayne could do practice while she came. Surprisingly, I didn’t miss many of my friends from back in West Van. We had been friends because our kids were friends and we shared the same neighbourhood concerns. But once I moved away, I realized we didn’t have a ton in common. There would be a few people I’d still see, like friends from my art class.

“She was always jealous of you,” Sharon commented.

“What? Why would she be jealous of me?” Wendy had more money, a nicer home, a smarter kid, and a husband, and those were her priorities.

“You were cooler and more fun than her. You had a more stylish home despite her expensive designer. When Brent left, she saw her chance to feel sorry for you and to feel superior. Then you began to work and date someone younger and sexy. That pretty much blew her mind.”

I stared at Sharon. Was this for real, or did she still resent the way Wendy made over her house?

She shrugged. “Think about it and you’ll see it makes sense.”

That idea actually explained a lot. Why Wendy was so against me working with Wayne. The flirty way she had acted when she met Leo. And the worst part, why Wyatt abruptly cancelled on our holiday. It felt like Tristan’s moving away from West Van made him not good enough anymore.

“You are scary smart,” I told her.

“Unfortunately, I am a better judge of the lousy side of human nature. You were lucky enough to come through a divorce with undamaged optimism.”

“I guess.” There was still a creeping darkness on the edges of my days and especially my nights. I had been occupied with the move, the new house, getting the kids settled in their new school, and then the art show. Now that it was all done, I would have too much time to spend in my head.

“So, how early are you going? Is Sid picking you up?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? I broke up with him a couple of weeks ago.”

She frowned at me. “That didn’t last long.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t working out.”

At first, dating Sid was the perfect way to move on. He was smart, considerate, and funny. He brought me flowers on our first date and planned every outing with care. But the more I got to know him, the worse he got. He was too possessive and needy. And he tried to act like a father to my kids, which they hated.

The final straw was the night that Leo showed up at the game. Sid had insisted on leaving right away to go to some fancy bar where I was going to be underdressed and bored. As I was leaving, I turned around and saw Leo in profile—leaning against the wall, his hands jammed in his black coach’s jacket, and I felt this pang that was almost audible. I wanted to stay with Leo at the rink. But since that was impossible, my second choice was to go home with Tristan and hear his excitement as he relived the game and his goal. I’d ended things with Sid that night. My immediate relief was proof it was the right thing.

But men weren’t important at a time like this. My first art show was the real accomplishment.

I drove the paintings over first thing the next morning. Darlene was the woman curating the space, and she helped me hang the show.

“Thanks so much for all your help,” I told her. It was such a thrill to see all my work properly hung on white walls.

“No problem. At least you only have eight big paintings. One show the woman did a hundred tiny paintings, which took hours to arrange. I still have nightmares of that installation.” She pulled a ladder out of a closet. “Next we have to readjust the lighting.”

“Oh, I thought we were done,” I said.

Darlene laughed. “Nope. We still have to do the lighting, the labels, and set up the table for the opening. “

There was a lot more to hanging a show than I expected. We worked steadily for another hour and a half until Darlene declared everything looked good. I took in the whole gallery and agreed. There was energy between the colourful paintings that animated the whole room. I felt both accomplished and humbled. The paintings looked bright and cheerful on the surface. Yet each painting reminded me of my struggles: Brent leaving, selling a house I loved, my sleepless nights, and everything that happened with Leo. I began tearing up.

“Jackie, are you okay?” Darlene asked.

“It’s such a huge moment for me. Painting’s been my therapy, and I feel like my whole soul is laid out here.”

She walked over and hugged me. “Then your soul is a very beautiful place.”