Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I turn my attention to Mom. “Thank you for dinner. I’ll call you next week.”
Leaving the untouched plate of food, I walk out of the dining room.
“I’m so upset,” I hear Mom tell Sadie. “I don’t know how to get through to her. It’s only a matter of time before your father disowns her. I can’t handle all this stress.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Sadie replies, and it has me walking faster.
I slip out the front door and make it down the stairs before I hear Sadie call out, “Lillian. Wait.”
Stopping, I close my eyes and pray for strength before I turn around. “What?”
“Why do you have to make everything so hard? Mom and Dad are upset, and you’re just going to leave?”
“I didn’t start the fight.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and with her light brown hair and amber eyes, she looks like a mini version of our mother.
Mark also has brown hair and amber eyes.
I’m the only blonde in the family, and sometimes I wonder whether I was adopted.
But I have my father’s gray eyes.
“No one’s telling you to stop painting. You can still do it as a hobby while you practice law,” Sadie says.
I shake my head at her. “I don’t want to practice law, Sadie. I understand you and Mark love it as much as Dad, but that’s not me. I love art. I can’t change who I am because you all demand it of me.”
“We’re not asking you to change who you are. Just be realistic for once. Art doesn’t pay as well as law.”
“God help me. If I have to hear about how little art pays one more time, I will scream,” I mutter angrily. “I don’t need to be a millionaire. Not everything is about money.”
A disappointed look settles on my sister's face. “You’re being impossible.”
Exhausted, I say, “Let’s just agree to disagree. I’m going home.” I give her a half-hearted wave. “Night, Sadie.”
As I walk away, frustration and loneliness wrap around me like a dark cloud.
Am I the unreasonable one?
Is it really asking too much for them to support my life choices?
Chapter 13
Lillian
I’ve spent the rest of the week securing stalls at two different markets. One is in Hastings-On-Hudson every Saturday from eight to one, and the other is on the last Sunday of every month at The Westfield Garden State Plaza.
I’ve also looked at two apartments, but they cost more than I’m willing to pay. I’m determined to find a two-bedroom apartment that will cost less than two thousand five hundred dollars a month, so I’ve started to look at neighborhoods and villages on the outskirts of New York.
I’m considering living in Hastings-On-Hudson, as I’ll work in the vicinity every Saturday. I can travel to New York whenever the need arises.
Whatever I decide, I have three weeks to get my life in order before I start working at the stalls.
Excitement fills my chest at the thought of selling my art, which is a reminder I need to retrieve all my paintings from storage.
I also have to create new pieces because I’m not selling the collection I’m currently working on. Those paintings are reserved for whatever gallery gives me an exhibition.
Being busy has helped me get through the rough week. I sent a message to my mom to apologize, and she replied a day later, saying we’ll talk once my dad’s calmed down. Other than that, I haven’t heard from my family.
Even though my life sucks right now, I’m trying to remain positive. Soon, I’ll start selling my art and prove to my family I can look after myself. I’m hopeful that if they see I don’t live in poverty, they’ll be more accepting of my life choices.
But today, I have a date with Callan, and I refuse to worry about my problems. I just want to have fun at the State Fair.
After looking at my finances, I’ll only be able to hire Callan twice more. After that, I’ll have to stop.
Unless I sell a lot of paintings.
I’ve prepared two coffees in travel mugs and bacon and cheese sandwiches for the long drive to the State Fair.
I’m waiting in the lobby when I see Callan’s Bugatti stop in front of the building. I’m still nervous and a little embarrassed that I have to hire someone to spend time with me. Not wanting to ruin the day, I try not to think about it.
Callan gets out of his car, the expression on his face almost predatory, until his eyes land on me. A smile curves his lips, making him look happy to see me.
Damn, will I ever get used to how intense he is?
I’m awestruck because the man looks unbelievably good in jeans and a white T-shirt. The jeans wrap around his thighs in a delicious way that makes my abdomen clench.
I’m pretty sure he’d look good in anything.