Chapter 31
ROONEY
Isee a woman with blue hair lost in the waves,” Mom says. My back faces the artwork, my arms crossed and eyes closed. “There’s an essence of Hokusai’sThe Great Wave off Kanagawain this.”
We stand in a large white room with paintings dotting the walls of the Museum of Modern Art doing a Walk and Talk. Ever since I could talk, when we went to any museum around the world, Mom and I would play this game where one person turns around while the other describes the piece of art for the other person to guess. In the early days, I didn’t know artist names or titles of artwork, so it was a huge learning curve. Now, with a broader knowledge of art under my belt, the competition has become more intense.
I thought this would cheer me up. I’m in one of my favorite museums where I’ll get to create an installation. Despite losing the auction, I should be on Cloud 9. Instead I feel hopeless because I’m 2,700 miles from Jack.
I furrow my eyebrows in thought. “Drowning Girl.Lichtenstein?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to sound so gloomy about it,” Mom says.
I turn around to see the painting she picked. “Really? You had to pick this one?”
“She reminds me of you,” Mom says with a shrug.
“I don’t look as glamorous when I cry,” I joke.
“Eh, well at least you’re real. How does it feel no longer being Red String Girl?” Mom asks.
I shrug. “In my heart, I’ll always be Red String Girl, but it does feel freeing not to have to hide.”
The nearest window overlooks the street. It’s a bright, overcast February day. People in puffy jackets point up at skyscrapers, seemingly in awe of this city and all that it has to offer. It reminds me of Jack on that first night. I haven’t talked to him in over two weeks since we said good-bye at the showcase. It’s still morning on the West Coast, and it’s Sunday, so he’s probably eating sundaes with his Gong Gong.
Mom links her arm through mine. “I didn’t know how to step aside to let you burn bright on your own, huh? I took up too much oxygen.”
“The last thing I would’ve wanted was for you to stifle your own light for mine to grow stronger. I lived under a shadow that I created in my mind,” I admit. “We’ll never know what might’ve happened if I had started out as Rooney Gao instead of Red String Girl. Maybe people would’ve seen you… or maybe they would’ve seen me.”
We round the corner to another room, the organized maze of art a comfort.
“You really came into your own out West,” Mom says, turning more pensive. “I—I’m proud of you.”
I stop in my tracks, pulling her to a stop with me. “Thank you.”
“I mean it, Roo.”
“Something I learned recently is that not all missions are successful. Sometimes things go wrong and what you planned for doesn’t work out, but you don’t quit. You persevere. That’s what I’m going to do. One day, I’ll get that video back. So I’m proud of myself, too,” I finally say. “For not giving up.”
Mom smiles. “Good, that’s the only opinion you should letinfluence you.” She reaches into her pocket. “And now I have something for you.”
Before I have even a second to guess what she might have enclosed in her fist, she turns her hand upside down, palm facing up. In it is a CompactFlash camera memory card.
My jaw drops.Baby Being Bornis written in small letters on tape across the top.
“It’s yours,” she says. “I waited to tell you until I had the thing in my hands. They took their sweet time verifying it and getting it shipped out.”
“You won? I thought it went to a museum,” I say, shocked.
“Once it went past your range, I started bidding,” Mom admits. “I saw the look on your face and knew you weren’t able to go more than thirty-five thousand. There was some back-and-forth for a while, which leads me to believe I was up against a museum, but we’ll never know.”
“You let me say all that when you had this in your pocket the entire time?” I ask, covering my mouth in disbelief. My body is buzzing as I try to accept our new reality. The video is back in our hands.
Mom extends her hand closer to me, as though willing me to take the memory card. Like if I don’t, it’ll burn an imprint into her skin. “Are you mad that I stepped in?” she asks.
“Am I mad? I’m grateful,” I say, elation filling me up. I takeBaby Being Bornfrom her, examining the piece of plastic. It’s amazing how something so little can hold so much. “I tried. That’s the important part. I didn’t want it to be handed to me, but the last thing I wanted was for this to be public. I’m going to work to pay you back. I mean it.”
“Sure, whenever you can,” she tells me.
