Page 22 of Falling for my First Crush

“She’s watching a movie,” I say, shaking my head.

“Maybe when we get more into the venue, she’ll want to help decorate,” Joe says, although I know that he feels as doubtful as I do.

“Maybe,” I say. “Come on. We can work in the kitchen.”

We settle in at the kitchen table, and Joe pulls out a thick binder with all the hard copies of our plans in them. We keep digital copies, too. But like me, Joe likes to have a hard copy to hold in his hands. The past three weeks of planning have been crazy, and I’m not sure that the tribute is having the desired outcome on Sabina’s mental health, as we had deeply hoped; but I also know that this project has become bigger than I envisioned.

“So, we need to get a full list of the events of the evening,” Joe says.

“And we need to finalize the menu,” I say. “Are we aiming to get that all done today?”

“I think that’s a good idea. We could meet again tomorrow to do more,” Joe says. “After that, I’m on at the fire station for forty-eight hours.”

“Right,” I say. “I remember now. Maybe we should get the menu done today first, since the caterer needs it by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“Good plan,” Joe says.

We pull up the list of potential menus from one of the caterers here in town who had the best prices. Now we have to sift through their sample menus and compare the prices. We need to keep our costs down, if we’re going to manage to make any money for the hospital’s new program. Both Joe and I know how important the program is going to be. If it does well somewhere small like Cranberry Creek, there is no telling how impactful it could be in larger areas.

We spend the next two hours comparing every detail of the menus. We make notes about things that we want to see about swapping or modifying. I didn’t know that there was this much planning that went into events like this, but I have a much deeper appreciation now for all the people that do event planning.

“This looks great,” Joe says, as we send the email to the caterer. “I think we did some really good work here today, Jackie… and I think we make a great team.”

“Me, too,” I say, as I walk him to the door, feeling very pleased with our work today.

Later, when I get to Violet’s studio, I’m brimming with updates. She has our easels all set up, and we are painting before I can even tell her about the menu we picked or how devoted Joe has been to the cause. I think that was smart of her, though, because with the music playing softly in the background and the colors from my paintbrush gracing the page, I can feel myself instantly relax. There is plenty of time to tell my friend about everything on my mind. The first thing I need to do is get out all of the pent-up emotions that have been plaguing me.

After I start to feel the sense of calm that I have come to expect in our painting sessions, I say, “Joe and I picked the menu today.”

“That’s great,” Violet says. She doesn’t take her eyes off her canvas, but I know her attention is on me. It’s odd, but I can just feel it. “Did Sabina help?”

I sigh. “Not today. I keep hoping that something will change, and she’ll suddenly want to be involved. I don’t even know if she likes the idea.”

“Maybe she just can’t find the words to express how she feels about it,” Violet says. “We all have different ways of dealing with our stress, and in Sabina’s case, her trauma.”

“That’s true,” I agree. “I know painting with you like this has helped me express myself in ways that I didn’t even know I needed.”

Violet beams at me. “I’m so glad,” she says. “Are you getting along better with Joe?”

At the mention of Joe’s name, I feel my face heat up for some reason. “I guess so,” I say. “I know he likes coming around the house, because he thinks he’s going to see Maia; but I know how much this tribute means to him, too.”

“It’s good that you can find common ground,” Violet says. “That’s the most important thing in any relationship.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” I say quickly.

“That’s not what I mean,” Violet says with her usual calmness. “You have a working relationship, in the very least, and you used to be the best of friends. So it’s important for you to have common ground.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I say quietly, as we go back to painting.

While the music swells and jumps and jives, I think about what Violet said. It doesn’t matter if Joe and I are friends now. What matters is that we can work together for the good of others, for our community, and for issues that are important to both of us. For Sabina. I’m cheered by this thought, and I appreciate Violet for reminding me of what’s important.

“Thanks, Vi, for all of this,” I say. “The painting lessons, the chats. All of it. You have no idea how much it helps me.”

“I’m glad,” Violet says, smiling at me again. “You are one of my dearest friends, Jackie. I just want to see you happy.”

I start to tell her that I am happy, but I stop myself.

Am I happy? At this exact moment in time, I would say yes. But overall? Not so much. I feel like I’m moving toward happiness, but there are things that I need to do to get there, things I need to take responsibility for. Maybe then I will feel this thing called happiness, or at least contentment.

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