Noah rolls his shoulders, attempting to ease the tension. Oh, crap. This is going to be bad.
“Before I tell you this, I want you to know that it’s okay to stay. You earned everything that’s happening to you, but I want you to be prepared for the fallout.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
“Hunter’s pushing off Meredith’s spot in the program for a year. That’s how he created a space for you.”
My intestines cramp. I had no idea I was stealing anyone’s place, much less Meredith’s. “This is awful. She left her home over this. Her family practically kicked her out.” Panic causes adrenaline to rush in my veins. “Noah, I don’t think she has anywhere else to go.”
Noah cups my face and inches it up so that I’m staring straight into his eyes. “This does not diminish what you’ve worked for. No one can fault you for choices Hunter makes. You didn’t know that you were bumping Meredith out when you accepted, and you still wouldn’t if I hadn’t told you.”
“Until I started the program.” Then plenty of people would have been more than happy to gossip about it, hence why Noah mentioned a fallout. He’s preparing me for the impending rumors.
“You’ve done nothing wrong, Echo. Find Meredith. Make peace with her then take the spot and hold your head high.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the patio door opens. With one glance, my heart jumps to my throat, inhibiting my ability to breathe. Going rigid, Noah wraps an arm around my waist and brings me closer to him.
“Your call on this,” he says so only I can hear.
I nod, because I can’t talk.
“Hello, Echo,” Mom says as she releases the door from her grasp and steps into the night. She’s wearing a form-fitting red dress that spills out near her ankles. Sort of like she was a sparkly mermaid. Her hair is a blazing red and just as curly as mine, but she wears it up, and I wore mine down.
I’m not my mom. My choices are different.
“Hi.” It comes out garbled, and I clear my throat to try again. “Hi.”
“You look beautiful tonight,” Mom offers softly. “And may I ask who your friend is?”
“This...” Can’t seem to think or talk. “This...ah...is Noah. He’s my boyfriend.”
Mom surveys him like he’s one of the paintings in the gallery, and I can’t tell if she likes what she sees. “I’m Cassie, Echo’s mother. It’s nice to meet you.”
I blow out a long stream of air. I can imagine the two million replies Noah would prefer to give her, and I’d bet my brother’s car that most of them begin with a word that starts with the letter f.
“Echo said you would be here,” Noah says.
Oh, Noah, I could kiss you. No bad words. No telling her she’s the antichrist. I don’t kiss him, but I do peek up at him in appreciation. It’s lost on him as his focus remains on my mother.
Mom points behind her, to the gallery. “I saw your work. It’s beautiful. Especially the constellation Aires.”
Her forehead wrinkles, and she readjusts the silver bag attached to her wrist. “I like that you painted Aires, and I like your technique, with the deep black around where the star Hamal is...like you created a hole.”
“Thanks,” I say, and the word tastes weird. All summer I’ve been searching for other people’s approval. To be honest, part of me was hoping for her approval, but now that I’m here, listening to her, listening to other people, I realize the approval I desired was my own.
“But what I really appreciated,” she continues, “was how you portrayed Hamal as a new star, like it had just been born out of the dark hole. It spoke to me, Echo.”
I altered the constellation. It’s something I did after Noah and I laid out our pain. The spot where Hamal should have been is dark, but off to the side...close by but far enough away to alter Aires, I painted a new star. One that had just been born. One to show that new things can come to life after there’s a death.
“Your painting spoke to me,” Mom repeats. “It spoke to me and, from listening to others, it’s reaching them, as well.”
I know. It’s what I want to say, but I don’t. This is where I experience the high, the giddiness. Not that people like my work, but that my work spoke to them. That there was a part of their soul that was touched.
“It made me feel like anything is possible,” she says so quietly that I strain into the night, wondering if I heard her correctly.
I added the star to the painting because I lost a piece of me I’ll never reclaim. The blackness of the loss will always be there, but I’ve gained new things in my life. A new path. A new love. A new outlook. Like the star, I’ve been reborn.
Mom’s gaze flickers between me and Noah. “Can I talk to you alone?”
“No.” But I do ease away from Noah. “But we can talk over here while Noah stands over there.”