Chapter 18
Olivia
My father’s phone call shook me to my core. He yelled and screamed, which wasn’t anything new, but the finality that he spoke with was enough to shake me. They were done—my parents were done. With me and with my art. They weren’t going to support me in any way if I didn’t agree to go home and start my “real life.” My father raged about how irresponsible I was, how much of a failure I was sure to become.
“You aren’t talented,” he said on the phone. “If you were, this would be a different conversation. Maybe then we would consider helping you, but what’s the point, Olivia? You’re only going to fail.”
“You can’t know that,” I argued weakly.
“I do,” he said. “You’re going to fail. Just come home now. Come back to New York, and we’ll get you back in school. You can still make it as a lawyer or even an accountant.”
His words hurt me more than anything ever had. I knew my parents didn’t support my art career. They never had. But to hear him tell me I would fail was heartbreaking. No matter how many times they yelled and screamed at me, this was the worst.
Part of me wanted to give in, to just let him have his way. Maybe then he would finally be proud of me. Still, I knew I couldn’t do that. I would hate myself forever if I walked away from my dream of becoming an artist. I loved to paint and to sketch. My life was my art. I couldn’t turn my back on it any more than I could magically become someone else. It wasn’t possible and more than that. I didn’t want it to be.
My art was what kept me sane throughout my entire life. When my parents neglected me, I turned to art. I’d been drawing for as long as I could remember, and when I first held a paintbrush, I finally felt at home. This was more than my passion, more than a hobby. It was my entire life, and no matter what my father said, I couldn’t turn my back on it. I just couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I’m sorry, Dad. I can’t. I can’t do what you’re asking.”
“Then we won’t help you anymore,” he said simply. “Not with money. Not with anything.”
He hung up the phone, and I broke down on that bench. There were a thousand things I wanted to do, but I didn’t know where to begin. I thought about calling him back and begging him to understand. I even considered calling my mother, but I knew she would have the same response as my father. My mind turned quickly to Brad. I knew he would comfort me, but I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not while I was still this upset.
Instead, I went to the one person I knew might understand. Carla’s. I wasn’t scheduled to work that day, but it didn’t matter. I needed her wisdom. I needed a fellow artist to reassure me, to promise me everything would be okay.
I walked through the doors, letting the door slam shut behind me. Carla looked up with a smile on her face, ready to greet a customer. When she saw me, the smile faded slightly, and she waved me over.
“What is it?” she asked immediately. “What happened?”
Carla wrapped her arms around my shoulder and led me behind the counter. She held on to me while I told her about my father. I cried and sobbed, letting out every emotion I’d ever felt. She stroked my hair and handed me tissue after tissue while I desperately tried to explain everything that happened.
“I don’t know how it got this bad,” I said through my sobs. “My parents never supported my dreams but this? They didn’t just cut me off financially. They cut me off from everything. From the family. My dad said they won’t do anything for me now—nothing. He said they don’t even want to know me anymore. How could he say that? What kind of father could say that to his only child?”
“A shitty one,” Carla said firmly. “He’s a piece of shit, Olivia. They both are.”
“What am I going to do now?” I asked weakly. “How am I going to make it without a family?”
“You’re going to pick yourself up,” Carla said, wiping my cheek. “And you’re going to channel all these emotions into your work. No matter what happens, you are an artist, Olivia. I see it every single day. Your work is incredible.”
“I don’t know…” I began, but she shook her head firmly.
“Listen to me,” she said. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, sweetheart. A long time. I know talent when I see it, and you are talented. Your father? He’s an idiot. He wouldn’t recognize true potential if it came up and kicked him in the balls.”
I laughed and sniffed, wiping my eyes and letting Carla’s words soothe me. She was right, about my father at least. He wasn’t exactly the artistic type. If he didn’t think I had talent, who cares? He didn’t know anything about it, so why was I letting him get in my head?
I shook myself and groaned deeply. Even before my father called this morning, I knew I would be on my own for a while. They already canceled my credit cards. Financially, I’d been on my own since I arrived in Santa Fe. The only difference was, now I felt alone. I felt like an orphan, wandering around the streets without a family to go home to. That fact, more than anything, was what weakened me. It hit me in the stomach with a painful punch and left me heaving, unable to move forward.
Carla kept stroking my hair and whispering words of encouragement, but I barely heard her. I wanted to believe he was right but it was hard.
A few minutes later, we both jumped when the first door banged open. Looking up, I saw Brad hurrying toward me with a look of concern on his face. The sun was already beginning to set outside the window. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, jumping to my feet.
“Your father came to the garage earlier today,” Brad said quickly. “He paid for the Jeep and then took it with him. He said he was having it towed back to New York.”
I nodded and sighed, my father had already said as much on the phone. He didn’t say he was going to leave me stranded, but I wasn’t surprised. When the Storms gave up on someone, they really gave up on them.
“I’m sorry,” Brad said desperately. “I didn’t know what to do. I was just so angry that he would do that. I didn’t have a choice. I had to let him take it.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said, reaching for his hand. “This is my father. This is how he does things.”
“Still,” Brad said, “I should have done something, anything, to stop him. He didn’t have the right to take your car!”
“He did,” I said with a nod. “He paid for it.”
“It’s such bullshit,” Brad said angrily.
I smiled and sighed. He was right. It was bullshit, but I had bigger concerns now. Like what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
“I just don’t know where to go from here,” I said softly. “I knew I would be on my own for a while but deep down, I always thought I would have them there to help if things got bad. Like, if I really needed the money, they would provide it. Now that comfort is gone, and all that’s left is me. Just me.”
“You can do this,” Brad said quickly, squeezing my hand. “I know you can.”
“How?” I asked, looking from him to Carla and back again.
“You rely on your talent,” Carla said simply. “You paint with everything you have, and then we’ll display those paintings here. Plus, there’s a local farmer’s market that will let you set up a booth. I’ve sold there a few times myself. You can make pretty good money in just one afternoon.”
“Do you really think I can do that?” I asked. “That I can make a living off my art?”
Carla nodded, and Brad did the same. They both looked at me with a confidence I’d never seen before. No one had ever supported or encouraged me the way they were now. I felt my chest grow warm as I took in their faces, wanting to remember this moment forever.
Whatever else happened, at least I had two people in my corner. That was more than most people had and I felt lucky.