Arden Grey by Ray Stoeve

Author:Ray Stoeve
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2022-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

A little bird told me you have your first gallery showing today! Remember me when you become a famous photographer.

Love, Mom

I stare at the words. They hardly make sense.

“How did she . . .”

“I told her, honey. I thought she’d want to know.”

“You told her?” I look at him. He’s grinning, but it starts to slip, and I remember what I need to do. I smile. It feels like a death mask. “Thanks, Dad.”

His face lights up with relief. “I know you kids haven’t talked to her yet, but she asked about you both the other day and I thought I should pass the good news along.”

“Yeah! Totally!”

“Well.” He looks at the flowers, then back at me, still smiling. “Shall we?”

The street outside is cold, the sidewalk still wet from the afternoon rain, but the night sky above us is clear. He rambles on about Patti Smith as we walk, and I half-listen, thumbing my phone screen awake over and over. My body feels numb, his words coming from far away. Still no text from Jamie, and I texted him hours ago. A reminder. Just in case.

I wish we weren’t taking space. I need to talk to him about this.

About Mom.

After three months, and this is her first contact? Flowers? And a card telling me not to forget her? I squeeze my free hand into a fist inside my jacket pocket.

Someone rounds the corner and I have to dodge aside, behind Dad. The surprise brings me back to my body as Dad chuckles. I fall back into step beside him.

“Where was I? Oh yeah. Just listen to Horses,” he says. “Her seminal work. First album. One listen.”

“Sure,” I say, and he pumps his fist.

The hallway behind the gallery’s glass door is lit by a blue-white bulb, and people flow in and out, some gathered outside smoking and laughing. I sneak glances as we pass: someone in a leather jacket covered in patches, a girl with her head tipped back and tattoos crawling up her neck, two boys kissing against the building’s wall. In the hallway, we pass people whose genders I can only guess at, but won’t, because I know that’s rude and it doesn’t matter anyway. Everyone seems to know each other, and everyone is older than me.

People fill the gallery, hands curved around wine glasses. Dad heads to the open bar to get a beer and I hover by the table of food, eyeing the crackers and cheese. I don’t want to eat though. Someone might see me eating and that would be weird. I’d be chewing, and what if I accidentally choke on a cracker crumb, or take too big a bite, or they try to talk to me while my mouth is full? A glass of ginger ale is safer. I pour one and sip it, even though I hate carbonated drinks.

I wander into the crowd, trying to find the open spaces so I don’t accidentally brush against anyone. The photographs are merciless in their beauty, almost painful to look at.

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