A nap overtakes me, and when I wake up, it’s nearly twilight.
I check my phone and it’s now 8 p.m. I peek out the window, and Iris is still at it.
I remember what she told me about typically forgetting to stop to eat, so that decides my next move.
I head out the side gate and decide to walk downtown rather than take a car, since most of the available street parking in this town is taken by tourists.
Fortunately, it’s only about a ten-minute walk to the food truck area, and I let my nose guide me to the best vegan option.
While I’m waiting in the long line, the volunteer with the braided beard, Leonard, from the pottery tent, finds me. “Hey, there you are. Leave me your number. We’ve only got one more piece of yours that hasn’t sold yet,” he says, handing me over a wad of cash.
I thank him profusely and give him my number, and he gives me his. Look at that. I’ve been here less than a day, and I’m already networking.
I load up a selection of Lebanese vegan falafel, tabbouleh, and stuffed grape leaves. My stomach growls all the way back to Iris’s house.
As I crest the hill at the end of the winding road and head toward the rental, my phone rings.
“Man, where have you been? I’ve been trying to text you all day,” my brother, Finn, says when I answer. I explain that reception is not the best up here. I look around and I’m at the exact spot where Iris said was the best spot in town to make a call with my phone plan.
“She was right,” I say, laughing and parking myself on a bench.
“Who was right about what?” Finn asks.
“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m in Songbird Ridge for the week, looking at galleries to maybe display my work.”
My brother is supportive of the idea but thinks I need to push harder to try to get into galleries in big cities.
“I’m so burned out by that,” I say. “I’m actually thinking I might open my own place.”
We’re both silent for a second.
“Well…good. Shit, that’s a great idea,” Finn says. “Where?”
I swallow then say, “Here. In Songbird Ridge.”
“Seriously, Oliver?”
“The rent is much cheaper. And you know they have a full-fledged artist colony here. If I live here for two years and go through the vetting process, I could earn a base income to do my pottery full-time. Stuff sells here, I’m telling you.”
“This is not your worst idea,” says my brother.
“And you could help me renovate if I find a space,” I say, speaking his language as a contractor. “And I’d pay you.”
“Now I’m all ears,” he laughs.
“And then there’s Iris,” I say.
“Wait, who’s Iris?”
I don’t know why I’m blurting all this out. I guess I need to express the thoughts that have been roaring in my head all day.
“The woman I’m renting from. She’s incredible.”
A long pause follows, then my brother says, “Oliver, what did you do?”
“I ate her biscuits, and I fell hard.”
Finn splutters in his momentary panic. “Ol…Oliver, just listen to me, okay. You are emotionally compromised and you’re not thinking straight.”
