I smoothed my dress to camouflage the fact I wasn’t sure how to answer. “Did your mom what? Do what she loved? Of course she did. She loved kids and teaching art and making clothes and she loved being your mom. That was top of the list.”
“Why didn’t she just, you know, be an artist?”
“It’s not always easy. You know that, right? But she really always wanted to teach.”
Shay turned her head and looked at me, as if the side-eye would force me to reveal the truth. That was the truth. Celia always loved kids and always loved making art. When she realized she could be an artist and a teacher, she was sold. One night she mentioned moving to New York to try the starving-sidewalk-artist lifestyle, but when I brought it up again, she laughed, citing temporary insanity. I wasn’t always sure why she had tucked away her dreams for a picket fence, but Celia had always promised me that Miles and Chance were enough. I only half believed her until Shay was born, then I knew she was telling the truth.
“How about you?” Shay asked.
“What did I always want to be? I always wanted to be a photographer. But you! You wanted to deliver pizza until you were five. You thought that was the best job ever. We saved pizza boxes and you wore a hat and went outside, rang the doorbell, and delivered pizza to your mom and me about fifty times one night. Lucky for us you thought a nickel was a great tip.”
Shay opened her eyes wide and laughed. Then she pointed to a brochure tacked to the board. “OMG, look at this.” She unpinned it and handed it to me.
Union County Art Council Photography Contest
I unfolded the page and looked at last year’s winning entries. First place—a covered bridge at sunrise, half-bare trees, leaves scattered on the road, high grasses curved from a breeze. Cliché, perhaps, but beautiful. Second place—an outstretched arm and open hand poised to catch a twirling, blurry baton. Third place—I closed the pamphlet. Maybe this year Shay could win. I’d definitely come back for that. “I didn’t know you were into photography too, Shay. That’s awesome.” My heart pattered with delight and I bent into Shay, our heads almost touching.
“Not me, Aunt Tee. You. My next class is on collage, anyway. No offense, I’m really into multimedia stuff. You totally should do it though. I bet you’d win.”
“Oh, that’s not for me, sweetie.”
“Why not?”
Where to start? “Well, I’m here to shoot the wedding, and I don’t live here anymore, it’s for residents of the township.”
Shay grabbed the brochure and rifled through it, then pointed and tapped.
Ages 18 and up
Subject: My Ohio
“Look, it says it right here. The subject has to be Ohio. The photographer doesn’t have to live in Ohio, just have ties to Ohio.”
I had ties all right, and at the moment they felt like a noose.
“Oh. You’re right. I don’t have any pictures of Ohio.”
Shay tapped me with her shoulder. “Just take something while you’re here. You said I should do what I love. Don’t you love taking pictures? Not the wedding ones. The other ones.”
“What other ones?”
“The art ones.”
I swallowed as if I’d been caught in a lie. “I do love taking those kinds of pictures.” I did, didn’t I? I knew I had.
“So what’s the problem?”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“You hate it here.” Shay snatched back the brochure.
“I don’t hate it here.” I took back the paper.
“You haven’t been here in years. I hear what people say, you know. That you took off during Mom’s funeral.”
I felt dizzy and touched the wall for balance. “It’s more complicated than that.”
Shay rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“Not whatever. I’ll tell you what happened, but not here. Not now. Okay?”
“Fine. But that doesn’t have anything to do with the contest. Don’t you think there’s anything here besides a stupid wedding you could take pictures of? Is that why you left? Because there’s nothing here?”
“You’re here. I came back because you asked me to. You know that.”
“So what’s the big deal in entering a contest while you’re here?”
“Shay, look. I’m a professional photographer. And if you believe the hype, I’m good at my job.” I laughed as I said this, hoping she would laugh too. No such luck. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to enter. Would it?”
“Nothing is fair.”
“What are you talking about?” I knew damn well what, so I draped my arm around her. “You know what I mean.”
She looked away, as if so disappointed in me she didn’t know what to say, or did know. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Honey, I wish I could do the contest, but the thing is—”
“Don’t you think you could win? Because if that’s the reason then that’s lame.”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, talking to myself more than to Shay. “I haven’t thought about doing something like this for a long time.”
I didn’t want to be part of anything here except Shay’s life—and the wedding, as its photographer. Because of Shay.
“Please say you’ll think about it, Aunt Tee, okay? C’mon, be brave.”
She may have been mocking me, I wasn’t sure, but I gulped back a swell of emotions. That’s exactly what Celia had said.
That time, I’d said no.
I’d been sitting on the edge of Celia’s hospital bed and we were playing War, like we had when we were kids, the card piles resting on her lap. “I want you to be brave,” Celia had said, lifting one of my hands and holding it between hers, gripping as hard as I knew she could, which wasn’t hard at all. “And I want you to promise me something.”
“This isn’t a real war, you know, it’s a game.”
Even the joke hadn’t warded off the chills that crept up my neck, urging me to shiver. I would promise her anything.
“I want you to promise me you’ll leave,” Celia had said.
“What are you talking about? I just got here.”
“No, Tee, listen to me. I want you to follow your bliss, your dreams, forge your own path, dance like nobody’s watching.”
I’d rolled my eyes on purpose.
“Go ahead, roll your eyes.” Celia laughed and then exhaled. “You deserve to be happier than you can be here. It was right for me, but it’s not right for you. I want you to be brave and leave Chance.”
“Hell no,” I’d said.
Celia never knew that I’d done as she’d asked. But, running out on her funeral, abandoning my apartment, and driving away with my foot on the gas, ignoring the rearview mirror as if I were living inside a chart-topping country song, was anything but brave.
And here was Shay using that same damned word.
“I’ll think about the contest,” I said. “That’s all I can promise.”
Shay grabbed my arm and jumped up and down like she wanted a dollar for the ice-cream truck. I felt like she’d just reached into my gut and ripped out an organ. Maybe two.
“What are you going to think about?”
It was Miles.
“Nothing,” we said.
*
In the parking lot, Miles and Beck fist-bumped like fraternity brothers.
“See you soon,” Beck said.
“Absolutely,” Violet said.
“We’re going for ice cream, Aunt Teddi.”