I huffed a little laugh, turning away and wiping my eyes.
“Soph, is that honestly what you think?” He reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. “You know I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”
“I know. But sometimes your advice sounds like you don’t trust me to know what’s best for me.”
Cal’s quiet for a beat. “That’s fair. And actually, that’s exactly what Liam said—that you already know who you are, even if I can’t see it yet.”
I cross my arms, pretending I’m not melting inside over Liam defending me to my brother.
“So are you two…?” Cal settles himself on one of the stools, waiting.
I shake my head. “It was just a thing.”
“I’ve known Liam Blake almost my entire life,” he says. “He doesn’t do anything half-assed. God love him, but he doesn’t start things he’s not serious about.”
He waits for me to reply, but I can’t quite form words. My thoughts spiral back through the summer—egg sandwiches waiting for me every morning, him always knowing exactly where I’d dropped my keys. The way he started buying almond milk without me asking, how he’d wordlessly hand me a sweatshirt before opening windows. All those tiny gestures I’d ignored suddenly feel like the gentlest way someone could say “I care about you” without ever saying the words.
“I’ve known you yourentirelife, Smudge,” he goes on. “You don’t half-ass anything either. But you also don’t always ask for what you want. You tend to say what you think others want. Like that time you told Mom you wanted tacos for your birthday dinner—even though they’re Dad’s and my favorite, not yours.”
He nods at the painting over my shoulder. “Or saying that’s not real art because some pretentious professor decided your abstracts were more emotionally complex.”
I look away, but he’s not done.
“Or suggesting a fling to a guy you really care about because you couldn’t believe he could want the same thing.”
“But we agreed,” I mumble, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
“You can try to tell yourself that you don’t matter to him, but I’ll tell you this, when I saw Mr. Snowflake, I knew you were here. But it was when I saw the look of fury on Liam’s face when I suggested whoever he had here didn’t matter to him, that I knew it was real.”
My mind buzzes with everything Cal just said. I can’t seem to process it all—that maybe what I was feeling, he really was feeling too. That maybe I could trust myself enough to ask for what I want.
My eyes flick up to my painting—the skyline suddenly seeming to represent so much more. To me. To us. To what we were starting, even if we both were too scared or stubborn to admit it.
I told Talia that the artist creates the art, not the other way around. I had been ready to turn down Senator Langford’s commission, to tell her I couldn’t create what she wanted. But I suddenly had another idea.
I opened the text thread between the Senator’s assistant, Vandy, and me. I explained I had a new direction for the Senator’s piece, one that would more accurately represent who I was as an artist and, I think, the vision she wanted for the art in her home. I sent the picture of the skyline, along with a few other things I had painted this summer. The art that came out of the magical summer with Liam, when I stopped trying to be what everyone else expected and just let myself feel. The stuff I created when I felt truly inspired to paint for myself.
I hit send on my new idea.
If she hates it, that’s okay. At least I know I was honest.
As soon as I send it, my first instinct is to text Liam. I know he’d be so proud that I’m finally following my heart asan artist, that I found the courage to be authentic. But that would be hypocritical. When he got that call—his dream opportunity—I should have celebrated with him. I should have told him how proud I was, how much he deserved it. Instead, I let my own fear turn his victory into my loss.
“I think I fucked it up, Cal.”
“The good news is sometimes you get a second chance at a dream you thought was over.” He pulls two tickets from his back pocket and slides them across the breakfast bar. “I have an extra ticket to the Giants-Cubs game tonight.” He taps the ticket. “In the family section. Any interest?”
My eyes flick to him, going wide with disbelief.
“He got called up, Soph,” he says, with a little lopsided smile. “He made it to The Show.”
Chapter 28
Liam
“Okay, Giants fans, we don’t normally cheer for the opposing team, but let’s make an exception for San Francisco’s own, Liam Blake, at his first at bat in the big leagues for the Chicago Cubs.”
I can hardly believe Mike Krukow just said my name.
