She did, trying not to fidget with the hem of her dress as Inez opened the file folder closest to her. Even from this vantage point, Emma could recognize that it was her résumé, though she couldn’t make out what was written on the Post-it Note stuck to the middle of it.
Inez didn’t bother to look up as she said, “Right. Well, this shouldn’t take long. I think we know—”
Her cell phone came alive on her desk, buzzing and blinking and cutting her off.
Another sigh. “Excuse me for a moment.” She didn’t wait for Emma to reply before she answered. “What is it?” A pause while she waited for whoever was on the other line to reply. “Honey, I’ll look at it as soon as I have time to check my email, but I’m in the middle of something right now. Can it wait ten minutes?”
Emma blinked. Ten minutes? Surely an interview for a position at the Met lasted longer than that. Or maybe not. Maybe this was all leading up to a polite dismissal, a “thanks but no thanks” moment that would fuel her nightmares for years to come.
“I will look, but I’m sure it’s airtight. That’s why you hired an attorney, right?” Inez continued, her tone soothing. “Okay, love you too.” Then she hung up and turned back to Emma. “Sorry. My wife is starting her own business and it’s consuming both our lives.”
Emma smiled. She tried to sound unbothered. “What does she do?”
Inez leaned back in her seat. Her smile looked forced. “She’s starting an art advisory firm. They connect artists and galleries with people looking for modern art for their homes: people who want art that speaks to them, not just expensive pieces.”
Emma’s interest was piqued. “Like art matchmaking.”
Inez’s smile changed. It wasn’t the same curt smile as before—this one was more genuine, like she was pleased. Maybe even a little impressed. “Yes. Exactly. Art matchmaking.”
“I had no idea that was a real job.”
“It’s a growing niche,” Inez replied. “She used to work at the Whitney and started the company as a side project, but there’s been so much interest that she’s doing it full-time now. She needs to hire some staff, though, or I’m going to start invoicing her for these phone calls.”
Emma laughed. “It’s nice that you both work in the same industry.”
“I suppose. But art in the home is different than art in a museum. Here we want to educate the public, preserve and study the work. But what she does…” Inez considered for a moment. “She says it’s about finding pieces that make a house feel like a home.”
Something deep in Emma ached and she let out a long breath. “That reminds me of my mom,” she said, almost to herself.
An eyebrow cocked up Inez’s forehead. “Oh?”
Emma blinked. She hadn’t meant the words to come out, and her mouth fell open as she tried to think of how to explain them. “She… she died when I was young. I don’t remember her, but I remember the art she collected. Where she hung each piece in our house, how she arranged the furniture around them. Those paintings felt as much like home as my actual home did. And then…” She let her voice trail off. She had been so close to telling Inez the rest of the story, about how her father had loaned those same paintings to this very museum. How she had come here after school so many times just to find a way to be close to them again. But it would reveal too much. So she just shrugged, careful to censure her words. “And then, when they were gone, it felt like she was gone too. Like I lost her again.”
Inez’s smile dimmed, but her gaze was still keen. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Art is about emotion. Many people forget that.”
Emma nodded. “It’s true. I know my mom because of the art she loved. And somewhere along the way it became something unique to me. Yes, I love art, but I also love what art means to people. How we interact with it. I mean, this is the Met. Thousands of people come here every day to see art. But do they really interact with it? Or are they just spending a few seconds in front of a masterpiece before moving on to another one?”
“Are they actually appreciating its perfection,” Inez said, nodding.
Emma’s head tilted to the side as those words rang in her ears.
Inez watched her reaction. “You disagree?”
“It’s just…” Emma’s tongue darted out of her mouth, wettingher lips as she tried to grasp the realization still forming in her mind. “They’re not perfect, are they? And that’s kind of the point. Even the masterpieces have flaws. Mistakes the artist tried to fix or hide. But that’s not a bad thing. Those flaws don’t detract from art’s value. If anything, they add to it. They make it more real. More human. And no human is perfect, just like no work of art is perfect. The mistakes and idiosyncrasies are what make them unique. It’s what makes them worth something.”
Like Nadine, she almost said.
Like Knightley.
Like me.
The thought landed squarely in her brain, so large and overwhelming that it took a few moments before Emma was aware of Inez’s astute gaze on her.
Oh God. Why did she derail from her planned answer and say something so… personal?
Inez tapped her pen on her desk as if she was considering. “Very true.” Then she cleared her throat, returning her attention to the folder in front of her. “So, Emma,” she said, her voice returning to its sharp, professional tone. “Tell me why you’re the right candidate for our Executive Internship Program.”
They talked for a few more minutes, Emma answering Inez’s questions with the rehearsed answers she had practiced for weeks. But just as she was beginnning to relax, Inez closed the folder again, as if she had an internal stopwatch counting down those predetermined ten minutes. Then she offered Emma that same tight smile from when they first met. “Thank you for coming in. I think that’s all we need.”
