Always the Last to Know(50)

I latched on to one woman who owned a gallery in Greenpoint, my voice high and fast as I tried to describe the references to Warhol and my love of Venice in my sculpture, only to find that her gallery had closed last month and she was going back to school to become a physician’s assistant. The art critic from the Village Voice glanced at my display as she moved across the space and didn’t even slow. My heart cracked.

I didn’t sell a single piece, except to my dad.

My parents were staying at a hotel; Noah came back to my dorm room. My mind buzzed and fretted as I swallowed the sharp tears in my throat.

I hadn’t been discovered. All those trips, the thousands of photos I’d taken, the open heart and mind I’d kept for four years had resulted in the Village Voice reviewer walking right past and my father pity-buying the Zach knockoff.

I’d have to keep working. Be more daring. Be different. It would be hard, but wasn’t it better this way? Who cared if you were discovered at a school show, especially at Pace (which had been good enough until this moment but had now completely failed me as an institution).

No. A much better story would be of Sadie Frost who, believe it or not, was told she was unoriginal by her own art professor! I’d be in the same league as J. K. Rowling, who was rejected a zillion times, or Gisele Who Married Tom Brady, once told her nose was too big for modeling. Bill Gates. Oprah. I’d be in great company, goddamnit.

Then Noah got down on one knee.

“I know we’re young,” he said. “But I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old, Special. Marry me. Come home. I promise we’ll be happy.”

The timing . . . it really sucked.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked, my voice squeaking with disbelief.

His dark eyes lost their light. “No.”

“Noah. Honey. Come on. I haven’t accomplished one thing I want to. I can’t marry you! I can’t quit before I even get started!”

He stood up. “I’m not asking you to quit. I just want us to be together. I love you. You love me. Why are we wasting time?”

“Because I have to be here!” I said. “Noah, I’ve never wanted to live in Stoningham. That’s your dream. Mine is something different. You move here, and we’ll see how it goes.”

He wasn’t going to move here. It was loud. Dirty. Crowded. The air smelled bad.

“I have to stay here,” I said. “And you know what? I love it here. This is where I have to be right now. If I leave, I’ll never prove I’m good enough.” My voice broke.

“Sadie. You’re more than good enough.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so, and Noah, I’m sorry, you just don’t know that much about art.”

“I do know about you, though.”

Tears slid down my cheeks. “Then you know I have to stay.”

“I’ve saved money so we can travel, and I’ll build us a house where you can have a studio with the right light—”

“You’re not listening to me. We’re twenty-two, Noah. I’m not getting married this young. And I don’t want to move back to Connecticut. Maybe ever.”

He closed his eyes.

“So let’s just keep going this way,” I said, reaching for his hand. “Long-distance. We’ll figure something out. Weekend lovers. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough.”

“No. It’s not.”

The weight of those words seemed to squeeze all the air from the room. “Are you going to dump me because I have ambition, Noah?” I asked. My throat felt like I’d swallowed a razor blade.

“I’m just saying you can have ambition and work from anywhere in the world. I’m asking you to make a life with me. I thought it’s what we both wanted. You can’t raise a family if one parent doesn’t live in the same state.”

“Okay, it’s way too early to be thinking about raising a family,” I said. “You can work from anywhere, too, Noah. You could get a job here in a heartbeat. There’s a housing boom, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I don’t want to live here. I hate this city.”

“Well, I hate Stoningham.”

“No, you don’t! You just think you have to because it’s small and quiet. It’s not part of the story you made up about how New York would fall over itself when you came to town.”

Oh. His words sliced me right through the heart. They were so big and painful—and true—that I was frozen where I stood.

And then I said, “So you won’t move for me, and I won’t move for you. I guess we’re at an impasse.” I couldn’t bring myself to say, I guess we’re breaking up. Not to the wild boy who loved me. Whose pet name for me was Special. Who lit up my heart in such glorious, vibrant, pulsating color.

“All right, then.” His eyes were shiny. I’d never seen him cry before, and I couldn’t now. I looked away. “I’ll wait for you, Sadie,” he said, his voice rough. “But not forever.”

“Same.” The lump in my throat was strangling me. I still couldn’t meet his eyes, and while I was staring out the window, he left.

At dinner that night, my mother asked, “Why isn’t Noah here?”

“We’re taking a break,” I answered, the words wooden and hard in my mouth. I drained my martini, even though I hated martinis, but it was what Zach had ordered the last time we’d all gone out, and . . . and God, I was so fucking unoriginal.