ROONEY
The man was going to fight a butterfly for you?” Talia shouts as she hangs my latest string art piece up on a freshly painted white wall in her new gallery. She and her business partner, Isla, who’s based in LA, have officially opened and have even sold a few paintings and sculptures already.
“If it came down to it, yeah. You know how I get with butterflies,” I say as I sprawl on a light brown velvet couch in the shape of a croissant. I’m taking a break from stringing a small-scale installation in the gallery for someone to hopefully buy. It’s one of my older ideas that I’ve done before in art school. I hate recycling ideas, but these are desperate times.
“I thought you were there to return a lost ID?”
“We were, but we took a detour. It happened so fast,” I tell her.
“And he took a cat home for you?” she asks.
“It’s not for me. I think Jack has a secret soft spot in his heart for cats. He’s been going house to house around the neighborhood asking about her. The microchip wasn’t useful because it wasn’t registered to anyone.”
Talia makes a sad face. “And I take it those sweaters are for Sprinkles?”
I lift my knitting needles in the air to show off my handiwork.“She’ll have one for every day of the week. Can I ask you a question now? Do I go short sleeve or long sleeve?”
“Short and above the elbow. Makes it easier to jump,” Talia says as she joins me on the croissant couch. She comes bearing two individual chicken pot pies for our lunch.
“Was this meant to look like a French pastry, or…” I ask, running my hand along the back of the couch.
Talia laughs. “You should always be surrounded by things you love.”
“It makes me hungry, but I do love it.” I squeeze the yellow pillow next to me. “This also looks like a pat of butter. Really completes the look. This place is coming together. How are you feeling?”
Like many galleries, the architecture is understated, and the walls are bare so that the art stands out. Unlike many galleries, Talia and Isla wanted the space to feel cozy and welcoming. The concrete floors are covered in layered rugs and there are sheer linen curtains draped over the ceiling-to-floor windows. It’s a place where you can sit back on a croissant-shaped couch, have a warm cup of tea, and envision the art on the walls being in your own home.
“There’s such a different vibe on this coast,” Talia says, opening her box of pie. “It’s been great being able to work with Isla again in person and to dream about expansion plans. I can’t believe we’re here.”
“It means a lot that we get to be here together,” I say, lifting the lid on my own pie to let it cool.
“And I’m glad you’re still working, even if they’re not new creations,” Talia says, nodding toward my string art hanging on the wall. Even from across the gallery the red string really pops. “I think they’re going to sell well here.”
“I can only get away with repeat work for so long,” I say, locking eyes with a hound dog made of string. “I’ve been spending time withdifferent teams and learning a lot. Still no breakthroughs for installations, but we’re working on it.”
“We?”
“Jack and me. With Red String Theory,” I say, focusing a little too intently on one stitch.
“And Red String Theory is… the name of those Fate Tests, right?” Talia asks. She sweeps her long, curly brown hair over her shoulder. “You think they’re going to work?”
“It’s too soon to tell, but I hope.”
When I’m not at JPL, I’m working around the clock to make as many generic animal string art pieces as I can, so Talia and I haven’t had time to update each other on our lives. I quickly catch her up on what Fate Tests we’ve completed so far, what’s in progress, and what we still have left to do. Since telling Jack about the Cloud Lovers League, I’ve signed up for an account and posted several photos of clouds. I tend to mostly see the food-shaped ones for some reason.
“The Cloud Lovers League has actually been fun,” I share. “In fact, I’m in talks with a couple of people in the LA area. I made plans to meet up with a group next week. One of them thought my dumpling cloud looked like a—you’ll never believe it—he thought it looked like a croissant,” I say, gesturing to the couch we’re sitting on. “They’re everywhere!”
Talia and I laugh together. “You can never have too many croissants!” she says. “And Jack is doing all this to help you get inspired?” She narrows her eyes at me before proceeding to scoop out a bite of chicken and potatoes.
I take a break from Sprinkles’s sweater and set my needles down. “What’s that look for? The success of the program is important to him. I told him about the auction and being creatively blocked. He wanted to help. He also has a promotion on the line.”
“Uh-huh,” she says with a roll of her eyes.
“What?” I ask, nudging her leg gently with my foot. “You don’t think the program being a success is important?”
I watch intently as Talia mixes the crispy pie dough with the chicken filling. “Jack obviously wants to spend time with you outside of work. What did your mom say when she learned it wastheJack?”
“It’s Wren, so you know, she questioned how a man who works at NASA could improperly provide something as basic as a phone number, though it was me who got the ones, fives, and nines all mixed up,” I say. “I think it’s all a disguise for her being as shocked as I was. If you can believe it, she gets more freaked out by fate-itious moments than I do. There’s nothing to get weird about, though. Jack and I agreed to keep our relationship strictly professional.”
