Page 77 of Love on the Waiver Wire

“Sometimes you just have a good day, you know? What can I help with?”

I point her in the direction of the broom, wanting one last sweep. Amara definitely dropped a couple crackers on the floor.

* * *

A half an hour after opening, there’s only been three visitors. Three visitors who looked a little more interested in Amara’s grazing board than any of my paintings on display.

I’ve changed into a pretty blue lace dress, put my hair up in a messy high pony, and threw on some makeup about ten minutes before we were set to open, but the first person didn’t enter until about ten minutes after that.

“That painting is so beautiful,” an older man says as he stands in front of one of my paintings of the city.

“Thank you, it’s one of my favorites,” I tell him as we stand next to each other, looking at it.

I’m not super confident in a lot of my work, but there’s a few pieces that I really love with my whole heart.

Maryland is the state that raised me, but Baltimore shaped me into the woman I am today. There’s nothing more romantic than this city to me. Not even Paris.

“A lot of people hate this city you know,” the man mutters. “But it’s been my home for the last sixty years.”

I nod, smiling. “It’s a beautiful city, no matter what anyone says,” I agree.

How can you not be romantic about Baltimore? The people, the baseball team coming back to take it all two years ago, or the football team led by my big brother. There’s hope here.

Sure, there’s a lot of things that need to change. I acknowledge that looking at the city as romantically as I do comes with privilege. But one day I want to have enough money to give back. To make a difference.

I know my brother has donated to social programs, but at some point I want to go bigger.

When I look at Baltimore, I see a place for everyone to love, no matter what.

“I’ll take this one,” the man says, turning to me suddenly with an outstretched hand. I stare at it for a minute, wondering if he’s joking. “If you don’t shake on it I’m going to have to walk out,” he chuckles.

A grin takes over my face as I grasp his hand firmly in mine, shaking it. He cuts me a check right then and there. “Are you going to ship it to me or can I take it now?”

I look around. A lot of artists just mark a piece as sold, shipping it to the buyer afterwards or holding it for pickup so that other people have the chance to see it, but there’s not really anyone here.

“If you want I can have my friend help you box it up?” I ask, gesturing to Amara.

The man smiles, nodding. I take the painting down, heading to the back with Amara in tow.

Grabbing the painting, she makes quick work of it. We bring it back out front, sending the man on his way.

“Congrats!” Mila yells, hugging me. I can’t stop smiling. There’s usually one sale at showings, but it’s usually smaller pieces, not the big ones.

A few more people drift in, some of whom planned to be here and some who were just walking by and got curious. They’re all super friendly, but none of them seem super interested in buying right now.

I’m talking to a young woman who ventured in to escape the cold when the doors open, loud voices carrying through the small space.

Looking behind me, I find my brother and what must be half the Cobras team.

On one hand, I find it sweet, my brother showing up for me.

But as I watch everyone in the room turn to them, their eyes wide as they start whispering to themselves, taking out their phones, I feel myself slump.

More people follow them into the gallery, and when my brother comes up to hug me, a few people snap photos before interrupting us.

“Will you take a picture of us?” a teenager asks. He’s not here for my artwork, he’s here to meet the football team.

My smile falters, but I plaster it back on, nodding as I grab his phone and snap a few photos for him.

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