Sadie narrows her eyes at me. She doesn’t buy what I’m selling.
“You’re lucky I have something else I want to talk to you about, so I’ll let this go. For now. We can circle back to the town’s celebrity later. Do you have a few minutes for a coffee?”
With a quick glance at my watch, I decide I do.
Sadie makes our coffees with her fancy machine in the back of the shop, and we sit on stools behind the counter with our drinks. A few people are browsing, but it’s a quiet morning.
“So, what do you want to talk to me about?” I ask, blowing on my coffee.
“You know the hardware store next door?”
“Of course. It’s only been there my whole life.”
“Well, did you know that Mr. Madeiros is retiring and will be selling the building?”
“What? No!”
“Yes! His daughter, who lives in California, has a new baby, and her husband skipped out on them. Mr. and Mrs. Madeiros are moving to help her out as soon as they can. Do you know what this means?” Sadie asks with an excited gleam in her eyes.
“Uh, that Mr. Madeiros’s son-in-law is a jerk, and I have to find somewhere new to buy a hammer?”
“There is that. But also, you can buy the building and have your own art studio on Main Street! We’d be neighbors. Storefronts never open up here. I love having you rent my back room, but we both know it’s not big enough for you.”
“I can’t buy a building.”
“Why not? I know you’ve been wanting to purchase a house. You’ve been saving forever for it. The building comes with an apartment upstairs, so you wouldn’t need to have two mortgages. Plus, you have all that money that you were saving for your wedding. Don’t look at me like that. It’s true, Poppy. You can use the money for something better. For your own studio. With the space next door, you could give lessons, classes, even have a gallery to sell your work. Maybe this is meant to be.”
“A gallery? What work would I show, Sadie? I barely have time to paint.” My thoughts are racing. The hardware store is similar to Sadie’s shop. They both have the same beautiful high ceilings and big windows. And the hardware store isn’t dusty or dated. Thanks to Mrs. Madeiros’s perfectionism, I’ve never seen it without fresh paint and gleaming hardwood floors. Sadie is right. The spaceisperfect.
I’ve been saving since I got my first job. But I don’t know if it would be enough. Could it be?
“I thought your substitute teaching job ends next week. You’ll have the time to paint then,” Sadie says.
“But I also won’t have a steady income. I’m thinking about taking that fourth-grade position in January.”
My parents and my former principal are pushing me to be practical and take the job. It’s the only way to keep teaching at Snowflake Harbor Elementary. Otherwise, I’ll have to move to a school district that hasn’t cut its art funding yet, but those schools and positions are far rarer now. I’d likely have to move towns, possibly even the state. And I can’t imagine living anywhere else or leaving my friends and family.
The problem is, though I’ve always loved teaching, my heart is in art, not the regular classroom.
I’ve often daydreamed about having a studio. And here it is, the type of space on Main Street I’d always dreamed of. It would get lots of tourist foot traffic to sell my paintings and perhaps to feature other artists. In addition to the gallery, I would have a place to hold art lessons. Maybe I could even expand the free classes I teach at Kids Creativity Center for at-risk youth. The center doesn’t have the space or equipment for me to do all the lessons I’d like to offer.
“You could make it work,” Sadie urges. “And that upstairs apartment would give you a reason to move out of your parents’ house,” she says with a grin.
I laugh. “That’s very tempting. I love my parents, but I’m going to lose my mind if I live with them much longer.”
I can just imagine what they would say about this idea. They want me in a secure job with benefits, not long-term substitute teaching like I’ve been doing since school began again. Or risking it all on a start-up business.
Here it is—the fear of making a wrong choice. The regret of a missed opportunity wars with the risk of making a stupid financial move and failing. I know what my heart wants, but I also know what my brain is telling me.
“If you can’t get the loan on your own, maybe you could take on a partner. Your parents could help. I’ve got a little saved that I can lend you.”
I frown. “You know I can’t do that.”
“You’d do it for any of us in a hot second.”
But that’s the thing.I’mthe giver. Not the other way around.
“It’s so risky,” I hedge. “To make the mortgage and the business expenses, I’d have to have full workshops, as well as steady private lessons and sales.”
