He introduces himself and thanks our sponsors. My heartbeat must be banging loud enough the folks next to me can hear, and I’m not even up there yet.
“The desert has a special magic,” he says to the room. “Having grown up not far from here, I didn’t always appreciate my hometown. But after spending some time in Harlow as an adult, I can see why people love it. Life is meaningful in every small moment there. You’re surrounded by nature and wildlife that’s as beautiful as it is life-threatening. Harlow’s a mixture of awe and danger, of bliss and risk. I didn’t get it as a kid, but I think I do now.”
Max didn’t rehearse this with me. He only asked for a few talking points that I thought would be important to hit. I put a hand to my chest, touched to hear him speak about his hometown in a way that sounds so…loving. I couldn’t have explained that connection better myself—it’s like he lifted the thoughts from my mind.
“I wanted to explore that dichotomy with a pop-up in Harlow—big and small, young and old, near and far—and how one ecosystem can encompass all of that, all at the same time. This is howDesert Dazecame to be.”
I smile when he announces the name. We’d been sitting around with the gallery assistants when Max said my nickname, and their eyes went wide like it was the most brilliant idea. At first, I thought they were all joking, but the name stuck.
“Before I talk about the artists you’ll see just over a week from now, I want to say how nice it is to work with people like Daisy, who many of you have already met.” He gestures to me, and I lift my hand in a timid wave. The countdown until I’m up on that stage is ticking lower and lower, and my breathing has already gone shallow.
“I spent years as the curator for pop-up museums with Impressions.” Max does an expert job of scanning the roomas he speaks, making eye contact with every single person. Everyone pauses from eating their canapés and drinking champagne, intent on him. “While I’m proud of the work I did during that time, I’m not proud of who I worked with. So you can imagine what a relief and joy it’s been to be on Daisy’s team for this.”
As he introducesDesert Dazeand some of the star artists he’s lined up, pride rises in my chest like a wave in the ocean. I had told him, rather than avoid talking about his previous workplace, to face it head-on. Talk about it before anyone else, and let them knowDesert Dazeis his. Ours.
“While she’s never worked with artists directly like this before, she has curated memorable experiences at The Mirage, a boutique hotel in the heart of Harlow’s rugged landscape. With our project, Daisy has created opportunities locally and taken care of each artist we have, whether they’re flying in from Paris or they have a pottery shop down the road. Honestly, I should watch out. She’s as good as me at my job, maybe even better.”
He pauses for the light laughs, locking eyes with me for a breath. Then he smiles.
“You’re up next,” the coordinator says, tapping me on the shoulder. My stomach drops.
Max introduces me, and I clamber onstage. The lights blind me, which means I can’t see anyone in the audience—excellent—but I also can’t see anything on my index cards—terrible. As my eyes adjust, familiar faces like Gwen, Bob, and Dawn come into view. Their presence does virtually nothing to relax me, but I’m glad they came tonight.
Then my sights land on Max, who has carved out a spot on the left-hand side of the crowd. Knowing where he is calms my nerves. He has an almost imperceptible grin on his face, and he’s leaning casually against a cocktail table.
Just think about one person who matters.
“Hello everyone.” My words get thrown back to me in a loud screech of microphone feedback. I cover my ears and wince. The sound technician at the far end of the room looks at the electronics in front of them, tweaks some knobs, then flashes me a big thumbs up.
“Sorry ’bout that,” I chuckle. “Um. Hello. Hi. I’m Daisy, the owner and manager of The Mirage, the site ofDesert Daze.”
Everyone is waiting for me to say something brilliant. Something funny or worthwhile. I rehearsed this speech endlessly, but every word has escaped me. Without letting my head dip too low, I catch the notes written on the damp index cards creasing in my death grip.
“I’ve been at The Mirage for decades. Some of my happiest memories are on that property, growing up there with my parents. My mom ran the place, and The Mirage was her baby. It was sort of a weird sibling relationship, but I managed.”
This gets some chuckles from the audience. Dawn added that joke to get some laughs, and the sound puts me more at ease.
“So…” I glance at my note cards again. Dawn and Max probably wanted to keep my speech easy and predictable for me, so we lifted a lot of the wording from the hotel’s website. But now that I think about it, the audience could just as well get this information by scrolling on their phones. Max gave an amazing speech, and I want to do the same.
When I look up, the lights assault my vision again, and I’ve lost the spot where Max stood. He’s the person who matters.He’s the person who matters.
I lick my lips, which have become dry as dust, and I imagine him in the general direction I saw him before. With a deep breath, I continue.
“For a really long time, since my mother passed, I tried to keep everything the same. You know, really honor her. And I haven’t done a whole redesign and turned all the rooms into thatboring shit you’ll find in all the chains.” Dawn had advised me to avoid cursing, but the delighted murmurs amongst the audience make me think they don’t mind. “The Mirage is what it always has been: this perfect, tucked-away oasis where you can exist in this world, just you and what matters. A place where you can feel insignificant. And I know that’s probably not anything you’ll ever see on a travel brochure, but it is quite special.”
I haven’t taken my eyes off the dark, blurry area where Max is. He’s the only person who matters, and the realization makes me want to run and hide. But I can’t anymore.
“Desert Dazeis a wild child of an idea. So different from anything I’ve done before. But somehow, it fits—as if it was supposed to have been here all along, and I just needed to be ready for it. Now I am.” I refer to the note cards out of habit and realize I might as well just toss them because I’ve veered away from my original speech. “What I’m trying to say is, what you’ll find at The Mirage is always gonna be there. It’s my whole heart. And I hope you can love it, and love this museum, as much as I do.”
Applause takes over the room, the sound tech brings back the music, and conversation fills the air again. My legs want to march me straight to the bar for the strongest drink possible, but I scan the crowd instead, looking for Max.
I spot him, smiling and handsome and perfect. But he’s not scouring the room for me in return—a gorgeous woman almost as tall as he is has glued herself to his side.
And all his attention is on her.
“Thank you for all your help.” I hug Dawn as other attendees trickle out of the restaurant, slipping on coats for the chilly evening. Gwen and Bob left after my speech—the pregnancy has tapped Gwen’s energy—but Dawn wandered the floor withme, talking me up to elegant strangers and drumming up more interest in the silent auction.
“I did nothing,” Dawn says. “That speech was all you. The student has officially become the master. You should be proud of yourself.”
