Page 93 of The Paradise Problem

“Hi.”

“Are you sitting down?” she asks, and a vibration spreads through my blood at the smile I hear on the other end of the line.

“No, in fact I essentially just hit the eject lever and launched myself out of a chair. What’s going on, Mel?”

“Your paintings sold,” she says.

Her words bounce around inside my ears before landing. “Which?”

A pause. “All of them, Anna. And they went for a thousand dollars each.”

I stare out at the beach, unseeing. “What?”

“Your paintings sold,” she repeats, laughing. “All three of them. Snatched up.” Mel waits for me to say something, but my entire vocabulary is stuck in a traffic jam in my cranium. “Anna?”

Finally, I become unstuck, and it sinks in. I sold my work. I, Anna Green, sold three paintings. This might be the start for me. The path to a career I chose and trained for, a following—even a small one. Hope makes me feel weightless. “This is—this is amazing, Mel, oh my God.” I walk in a small circle in front of the restaurant, my free hand in my hair, and when I look over, I see Liam at the table on the patio, craning his neck to watch me. I beam at him, lifting my hand to give him a thumbs-up.

And only a man worthy of these enormous feelings ballooning in my chest would smile in sun-bright relief back at me like that. Holy shit, I am so gone for him.

“Is there anything you need from me?” I ask.

“Not yet. We’ll touch base when you’re home, but for now, I’ll get to work on finding some more openings for you. Congratulations, Anna.”

We hang up and I stare at my screen for a few astounded moments.

And then, in my palm, the phone rings again.

But this time it’s Vivi. And Vivi never calls.

Panic spreads in an icy chaser, and I let it ring twice, three times, wondering whether I’m hallucinating this or whether the universe really is this fucked up. The best news ever followed by the worst. If something happened to my dad while I was here, sunbathing and fucking and drinking—

“Hey,” I answer just before the fourth ring. “What’s going on?”

“No emergency,” she bursts out, immediately. “My texts weren’t going through, and I had something time-sensitive to run by you.”

I fall gracelessly onto a bench outside the restaurant, relief making my head swim. I drop my head into my hand, willing my heart to start beating again. “Jesus Christ, Vivs.”

“Sorry. Your dad is okay. He’s kicking my ass at chess right now.”

“Why didn’t he call instead of you?”

“Because he won’t pressure you into this like I will.” She laughs.

“Pressure me into what?”

“So—okay, he mentioned that the oncologist recommended some in-home rehabilitation care?”

I nod, still shaking. “Yeah, um, a few weeks ago they gave us the order, but we were waiting for insurance to approve it while we sent out some requests to different agencies.”

“Insurance didn’t approve it,” she says bluntly. “The letter came yesterday. Which is very unfortunate, since we heard back from one of the agencies and they have someone who can start now. But she isn’t cheap.”

“Oh.” I take a deep breath. “I mean, that’s okay, right?”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Vivi says, and in the background, Dad calls out, “No way, Anna. There is no way you’re doing this.”

“He’s worried about the money,” Vivi says with a meaningful lean to her words.

“Well,” I say, “I just sold three paintings.”

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