“An artist?” Mom laughed, and Fern’s heart pinched. “You cut hair. You could’ve gotten an art degree and had some claim to that title, but you decided to be a dropout instead.”
Blinking gormlessly, feeling stupid for testing her unearned label, it took a second for those words to sink in. “Are youkiddingme? You forced me into accounting or business!”
“And you droppedout. That was your choice, sweetie, not mine. You should have changed majors again if you wanted to be anartistso badly. At least a degree would tell people you can follow through on things.”
Fern wanted to puke. With shaking hands and shaking words, she re-wrapped her sandwich and said, “Mom, you’re being cruel for no reason. I don’t know if you’re jealous that I’m finding happiness or if you just hate me, but I like it here. Olivia and my new friends are wonderful, I’m creating things, business is good, and I don’t need you to bring me down. Either support me or leave me alone.”
“I’m not— Fern. The economy! You need a 401k!”
“Thanks, Mom. I need to get going. I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up and promptly went to shower with an audiobook blaring. It was easier to imagine hockey sticks could voluntarily provide orgasms than deal with her mom beingsuch a fucking bitch.
Cleaned and conditioned, Fern felt far less frazzled than before—externally—and tossed on some spandex shorts with Elliott’s T-shirt... which was technically dirty, but she wanted the comfort.
That was weird, right? Being so into someone so quickly couldn’t be healthy. She was insane. He said he didn’t want a relationship, and they decided on a friends with benefits situation. Yes, there was “potential there,” but what thefuckdid that even mean?
She really needed to get it through her head that they were just friends, withpotentialto become more. But for the moment,just friendswho happened to be working on a project together: an art project—forherbest friend—because she was a fucking artist, or she wanted to be, even if her mom disagreed.
Stomping to where she’d left her phone blaring smut on the bathroom counter, Fern rewound a few minutes of missed story, paused her book, and pulled up her texts, desperate to calm her twisting thoughts. She fired off a check-in text to Ren, asked Liv how she was feeling, then opened her conversation with Elliott.
Fern
Hey, dude
Elliott
Hey sugar
Home from work?
Fern
Yeah. How’s the wedding stuff?
He sent through a picture of his arm. Hand flexed and veins protruding, Elliott gripped the edge of his open kiln. The rest of the shot—most of it, actually—featured a bunch of small white chips surrounding the platter she’d painted, ready for firing.
She’d just zoomed in on his hand when his name popped up on her screen. With a squeak, she answered his incoming call.
“Hey, I figured it would be easier to update you like this.” A timber wall swayed up and down behind Elliott as he rocked in the chair on his front porch, his loose hair riding the soft breeze.
Heart rate gaining momentum as hope nipped at her heels, Fern crossed to her futon. So,sononchalantly, she asked, “Sure, what’s up?”
“Not much. Did you get the pic? It’s from a few hours ago. I almost sent it then, but I didn’t want to distract you at work. The magnets showed up, too, for the backs of the chips.”
“You can text me while I’m at the salon.” She chuckled. “Does that mean we’re working on wedding favors this weekend?”
“How about we start tomorrow? An art-weekend-extravaganza?” He raised a brow, pushing the question over to her.
“Is this like a... summer camp/sleepover thing?”
Elliott smirked. “I’m not sure what kind of summer campyouwent to…”
“Is that a yes?”
“Is that a yes fromyou?” he shot back.
She squirmed, wishing she were there, straddling him on the rocking chair with her fingers locked around his neck and his hands yanking on her hair. “I’ll be there.” Her answer came out breathier than intended. “I mean, I have work tomorrow, but I could come by after that?”
“Yes.”
