Page 24 of The Painter and His Poet

“It never occurred to me,” she replies, still very obviously annoyed by the whole situation.

“Harlow, will you stay a while? I’d love to hear you sing some more,” Robert offers, and it feels like an olive branch, one my mother will expect me to ignore.

I shift on my feet awkwardly, lifting my gaze from Robert to my mother as she approaches, settling beside him on the sofa. Her mouth is pressed into a hard line, her eyes screaming at me to deny him.

“I was just heading to bed. Maybe another time?”

He nods, disappointment skirting across his features.

“Goodnight then,” I say, stepping away from them both.

“Wait a moment,” Robert says, reaching for me. His fingers curl around my wrist and I pause, hating the way my mother’s eyes fix on the spot where he’s touching me. I gently pull my arm from his grasp.

“Yes?”

“How would you feel about singing at our wedding?” he asks.

“You want Harlow to sing at our wedding? I’ve already made a shortlist of musicians that I’d like to perform at our reception,” my mother says quickly, not quite able to hide the surprise in her voice.

“Not at the reception, but perhaps Harlow could sing at the ceremony?” he suggests.

“Harlow has no experience performing in front of an audience. I’m sure she would find it overwhelming, wouldn’t you, darling?” she says, hiding her annoyance behind a sickly sweet smile, incorrect in her belief that I’ve never performed for an audience before, but wholly correct in her assumptions that I would find it overwhelming. Performing as Friday Love is one thing, but as myself, quite another.

“You’ll be amongst friends,family,” Robert continues. “I think it would add such a personal touch to the ceremony. Not to mention, a voice as beautiful as yours should be enjoyed.”

“I don’t think so, butthank youfor asking. It means a lot,” I reply pointedly.

I don’t know Robert well, but I do appreciate his kind words. It’s more than I’ve ever received from my own mother, and that alone makes me warm to him a little more.

“That’s a real shame, Harlow. I do want you to feel involved in this wedding, as I’m sure your mother does too. Why not sleep on it?”

“She said she doesn’t want to, Robert. Harlow isn’t one to be center stage, she just doesn’t have it in her,” my mother says, eyeing me.

What she really means is that she doesn’t want anyone else to take away from her on her big day, and even though I would never want to do that, her cruel remark just makes me want to defy her.

“You know what, I’d love to,” I reply, and before my mother can say anything to the contrary, I turn on my heel and leave.

SEVEN

STERLING

“How are you?” my mother asks, resting her hand on mine as we sit together in a quiet corner of a café overlooking Central Park, the scent of percolating coffee and freshly baked bread only adding to the comforting atmosphere. Outside the leaves on the trees have already begun to change to burnt orange, deep maroon, and ochre as the season slowly transforms from summer into autumn.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I reply, squeezing her fingers as I take in her gentle smile. Despite her almost serene appearance, her pretty ice-blue eyes, that are so similar to mine, are tinged with a lingering sadness that she can’t hide from me.

“You know I’m fine,” she says, gently patting my hand.

“Fine is not the same as good,” I argue, frowning a little.

“Then I’m good.Truly. You need to stop worrying about me. It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around. How are you enjoying New York City? Have you made any friends? Are you happy?” Her voice trails off as I sigh heavily.

“Stop changing the subject. I know you’ve heard about dad’s upcoming wedding. Christ knows he’s called me often enough to gloat about it. I imagine he’s taken great pleasure rubbing it in your face too. God, I fucking hate that man.”

“Firstly, I’m not changing the subject, I’m simply interested in my handsome, talented son’s life,” she insists, reaching up and briefly cupping my cheek. “Secondly, yes, your father has informed me of his plans to marry again. I’m happy for him.”

“You are?Why? He hurt you, Mum.”

“He did, you’re right, but I prefer to live in the present with forgiveness than wallow in the past with bitterness,” she says, tucking a strand of silver-blonde hair behind her ear. “Nothing good ever comes from holding hate in your heart, Sterling. It was important to me to move on from my marriage to your father with grace and humility. Besides, Iamhappy. I have a good life. I get to travel the world and see all the places I always wanted to visit before I met and fell in love with your father. I also get to see you doing what you love. Your art is… My gosh, Sterling. It’sextraordinary. I’m so very proud of you.”

---