I finish paying the cab driver and get out of the cab, extra careful in my heels and long dress. I had the driver drop me off at a bodega about a block down from the gallery.
I had a weird desire to have cigarettes in my purse. I don't smoke anymore, aside from that one relapse a few weeks ago, but I have this craving for it tonight. I won't smoke it though. I hope. I just felt this weird need to have a pack in my clutch. If Greyson and Taylor do end up showing up, I might actually need to smoke it.
This night is stressful enough as it. It's the culmination of my program which means that not only am I showing off my artwork to some of the top curators, artists, and upper class folk of New York, but I'm done with my trial period. I'm going to have to make a decision within the week about whether or not I'm going to stay in New York for a year or go back home.
God, maybe I do need to smoke a cigarette.
"Can I get a pack of Marlboro lights? Silver please," I say to man working at the bodega, as I pull out cash from my black clutch.
"A little dressed up for a cigarette run, huh?" He asks with a smile, handing me my pack.
"Long night ahead of me," I respond, nodding at him to keep the change before sticking the pack in my clutch and beginning my walk down the block.
I'm catching a lot of stares, unsurprisingly. I'm decked out in a long tight satin emerald green dress that accents my eyes and has a slit to accent my long legs. I paired it with gold jewelry and sparkly gold heels that bring out my yellow undertones and naturally tan skin. I'll even admit to myself that I look great, not to mention Connor's nonstop compliments when I facetimed him earlier, but I feel anything but it.
Talking to Connor, thinking about going to this gallery showing, thinking about having to make a decision about New York, about having to talk with Greyson. All of it makes me sick. Frankly, I feel fucking dreadful, but hopefully a glass of champagne will fix all of it.
When I arrive at the gallery and walk in, immediately it feels like all eyes are on me. I'm the fresh meat after all. All the other artists in the program have a few gallery previews under their belt already, meanwhile this is my first one.
Rose makes her way to me, looking something like a greek goddess in her soft blue gown. "Oh, Jo, darling. You look absolutely ravishing. Every man in this gallery is going to be after you."
I stick up a forced smile which she can see right through. "Don't worry," She adds. "I'll ward them off for you."
"Thank you, Rose. I'm a bit nervous about tonight," I admit to her. "For more reasons than one." My eyes dart towards the door as more people make their way in, but I see no signs of Greyson and Taylor.
"Expecting someone?" She asks with raised eyebrows. I look at her knowingly. "Ah, I see. Well, don't forget to enjoy yourself some tonight. Regardless of your decision next week, know that I am so beyond proud of all your work and you should be too. You were meant to be an artist, Johanna and no matter your choice, know that is your true path."
Her kindness warms me. She's become something of a mother to me over the past month. If I decide to stay, she will be one of the reasons why.
She air kisses me on the cheek as she waves to someone behind my shoulder. "Duty calls, darling. Have fun."
I bid her goodbye and instantly head towards the waiter carrying glasses of champagne. I grab two, downing the first one rather quickly before placing it back on the tray and sipping on the second one as I watch the room.
I make my way around the gallery until I land on my section of work. I sigh as I stare at the art in front of me.
This is everything I've ever dreamed of.
My art in a gallery. My art in one of the top galleries in the country. I never imagined I could ever reach this level. I still remember five-year old me sitting in my room at home, drawing pictures and showing them to my mom and her in awe of my talent.
"You're going to be something one day, baby," I remember her telling me.
And here I am. All the nights spent alone painting, drawing, escaping my world. Art helped me through everything. When my mom stopped showing me love after my uncle died, I turned to art. When I had to deal with his death alone, I turned to art.
When I needed to escape the pain of Logan's abuse, I turned to art. I recall the nights where I would sit in front of the fireplace in my room with my sketchbook, letting the heat dry up the tears on my bruised and bloodied face. I would sit there for hours, drawing, escaping the physical and emotional pain I was in.
Art saved me. And here I am, all these years after abandoning it, all because of Greyson. I want to hate him for it, but I can't. He made me rediscover my true passion. Whatever my decision is, I'm moving forward with art. I'm no longer leaving it as a second choice.
"Are you the artist?" Someone asks to my right. I look to see an older man, maybe in his sixties, in a black suit.
"Yes, I am," I say bashfully.
"Amazing," He says, turning his eyes back to my work. "You have a depth to your art that no one else here has. I can tell you paint with a real passion and a real-" He stops himself, examining my art further. "A real pain. Your artwork has a lot of pain."
I stare at the art and notice the theme as well. "It's the only way I know how to express myself," I say honestly. "Words don't come too easily for me."
He looks at me again. "Rose is lucky to have you."
"I'm not officially in the program yet. I'm from California, actually."
He smiles. "Me as well coincidentally. Rose and I go way back and she invited me out here specifically for this showing. I have several galleries back in California."
Oh Rose. Always scheming. "I'm Jo, Jo Spencer," I say reaching out a hand to introduce myself.
"Richard Lowe," He says, shaking it. The name is once again familiar. I've been to one of his galleries before and to say he's famous in the art world is to put it lightly. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out his card. "I'd love to have a conversation with you sometime, if you decide not to stay in New York, of course. Otherwise, I can imagine you're in perfectly good hands."
I smile and thank him as my eyes meet the door and I watch Greyson and Taylor walk in. His eyes meet mine, like they always do.
Like they are always searching for each other in a crowded room.
"Would you excuse me a moment?" I say with a smile as I make my way towards them.
Taylor looks unsurprisingly stunning in a long strapless black dress that is sinched at her waist and flows freely below it. Greyson looks all dressed up as well in a black suit. Even though he skipped out on the tie, he still looks the best out of every guy here.
Together they look perfect.
I make my way over to them with a soft and somewhat uneasy smile. "Hi guys, I'm really glad you could make it," I say.
My eyes meet Greyson's and I look for a semblance of what Taylor described to me the other day but fail to see it. He looks normal. He doesn't look broken, or confused, or shut down like she described. He looks normal, content even. Or maybe I'm just not as good at reading him as I used to be.
"Thank you obviously for inviting us. I love art showings actually," Taylor responds. Undeniably kind of course. "Can you show us your work?"
My artwork has always been deeply personal. It's been my outlet to express myself when words fail me, as they usually do so you can imagine that with the whirlwind of a month it's been, my art has begun to reflect that.
I guess it's not explicitly clear what it's about, but to the people that know me and know my head, it's pretty crystal clear what my art is about. I clear my throat. "Uh, yeah of course. It's right this way," I say with a slight smile as I lead them to my section of the gallery.
I watch as they both examine my artwork. Taylor makes all these compliments about the depth of it and my talent and Grey makes the occasional acknowledgment of agreement, but otherwise he stays generally silent. He hasn't said much of a word to me since he's arrived anyway.
Taylor notices someone across the room and puts a hand on Grey's shoulder. "Oh Marco's here, I'm going to go say hi," She tells him before turning back to me. "Excuse me for a moment, Jo."
Now it's just me and Greyson staring at my section of art that we both clearly know has pieces about him. "So you've met Taylor then," He finally says to break the silence.
"Yeah, we ran into each other at a coffee shop the other day," I say, running the fingers along the rim of my champagne glass. "She's really great, Grey."
"She is."
"Don't hurt her," I warn him. His eyes finally meet mine and for the first time in a long time, I actually see something in them. He looks confused. He doesn't know what to do.
He clears his throat. "Do you want to dance?" He asks, gesturing to the people out on the dance floor who are moving along to the beat of the soft song currently playing. Who knew these events would be so fancy? I notice Taylor dancing with a man on the floor, Marco, I presume.
I raise my eyebrows at him. "Just say yes. One dance won't hurt," He insists. He reaches out a hand and after downing the rest of my champagne, I take it, following him onto the dance floor. I reach one hand up to his shoulder and hold his hand with my other. I feel his hand meet my waist and I instantly tense up.
This is really the first time we've been close in years. That he's really touched me. That he's held my hand. It feels familiar, but not so much in a good way anymore.
"Taylor told me, you know. She told me that you've been retreating, not speaking, shutting down," I tell him, his eyes avoiding mine. "Greyson." His eyes finally meet mine, our faces closer than they have been in a long time and I can see his brown eyes clearer than ever. "You can't do that, not to her and not because of me."
"Trust me, the last thing I want to do is hurt her. I love her," He says. "I really do."
"So what's the issue?" I ask. "Every time I've seen you, you've seemed fine. You have seemed entirely unbothered, mostly just like you want to make amends to make yourself feel better about what you did."
He looks at me for what feels like forever, probably just because our faces are so close. "That's not true, Jo." But he doesn't say anything else and then I start to feel angry because it feels like I'm talking to a statue every time I'm with him. He doesn't give me anything, nothing at all. No emotion, no context, no explanations. Nothing. I'm ready to walk away, but then the song changes and with it, every feeling rushes back.
I recognize it instantly because it's our song.
Those eyes by New West. It first played at our senior prom and I remember thinking that this song was perfect for us, how well it described us. Greyson's eyes made me feel some type of way and he would say the same about mine. So this became our song thereafter. We would listen to it together all the time and it would make me fall right back in love with him.
Our eyes meet immediately and while I can't read his, I know he can read mine. It's all there. All those feelings, all the love. It's still fucking there even though I wish it wasn't.
"Jo," He says, and then stops for a moment either unable to continue or unsure of how to. "I missed you. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped-" He stops and looks away for a moment before finally gaining the courage looking back at me. "Seeing you again-you don't even know what it did to me. Just because I put on a face doesn't mean a damn thing and you should know that better than anyone."
His eyes soften and inside, I feel myself pushing down the instinct to reach a hand up to touch his face like I used to. "I thought you didn't care anymore. I thought I was feeling confused for no reason."
"I feel confused too. I don't know what I feel," He says and in that moment I start to feel awful. This isn't right and this isn't fair.
Not to me, not to Greyson, not to Taylor and not to Connor. This isn't right at all. It's not okay.
But it sure as hell is painful and there's nothing I can do to stop that pain. I couldn't even if I tried. "This isn't right," I tell him. "We can't do this."
"I know, but-"
I push myself out from his hold and drop my hands from him. "No, Greyson. We can't. I can't."
And I run off before I fall apart in front of everyone.
* * * * *
when ppl comment rude shit on my book like "jo is so annoying i'm leaving" or "this book is getting boring" LIKE HI just fucking leave i don't need u here on my book giving negativity to the shit i spent probably years of my life working on
i genuinely don't understand the need to comment hate or comment that ur stopping to read this book. like ok just leave ?? i don't need to know that ur leaving ?? why don't u write something of ur own that u put your blood sweat and tears into and i'll go comment stupid hate comments on it. who raised u ppl bc i was raised to be kind and respectful to others and that shit is not kind so think before you are hateful thanks.
now that i'm done w that, sorry for the late update but don't expect an update next week i have SIX FUCKING FINALS in the span of five days and i seriously want to jump off a cliff but after that's done i'll be free and i'll have almost a month before my internship starts so i'll try to write a ton
han