Page 165 of Hello Stranger

It’s also taken the pressure off Lucinda to be anything other thanher limited self. She still defends Parker. But sometimes I can see her side. What mother could possibly go against her own child?

Parker got transferred to Amsterdam for two years, anyway. So for now I have my father and Lucinda to myself, and we have dinner together from time to time.

Turns out it’s easier to be less mad at people when other parts of your life are happy.

Sometimes Joe and I try to place bets on Parker’s destiny. Will she always be evil, or will she grow out of it? He’s a bit more optimistic than I am, but he defers to my expertise.

She might grow out of it, though. Who knows?

People can definitely change. I sure did.

And if Parker does, I’ll cheer for her.

I’ll also lose a hundred dollars on that bet. But happily.

IT’S SO STRANGEto me now, looking back on that upside-down time in my life, how many good things came out of it. If you’d asked me at the time, I’d have told you everything was ruined forever.

But of course the fact it was all so hard is part of what made things better.

It forced me into therapy for a while, for one.

It forced me to rethink what making art meant in my life.

It forced me to reevaluate some ideas that I’d never questioned about who we all are and what it all means. Because things were so overwhelming, I had no choice but to accept some help. And then I found out that letting people help you isn’t so bad.

It’s definitely the kind of thing you can get used to.

I mean, a woman who didn’t believe in help somehow wound up madly in love with a compulsive helper.

Isn’t it lucky when we’re drawn to people who can teach us things we need to learn?

Like how to let other people make us tea, for example. Or run to the store when it’s late. Or walk the dog on a rainy night.

Sometimes, now, I’ll lie on Joe’s sofa and say, “Could you kindly help me out and bring me those cookies? And the fuzzy blanket? And a big cup of milk? And my book?”

And he’ll flare his nostrils at me like I’m annoying but adorable, and I’ll be like, “Hey. This is win-win.”

Peanut is also learning things from Joe. Because Joe’s trying to break his Parisian crepe addiction so he can keep Peanut in top geriatric shape. And he’s willing to hand-feed Peanut slivers of rib eye to do it.

It’s working, too. Peanut takes three walks a day and has the downy fur of a teenager. He’ll outlive us all.

It’s so funny to me now that I met Joe so many times before I ever actually saw him. Sometimes I study that face of his while he’s sleeping and wonder why every single encounter I ever had with it didn’t set off buzzers and flashing lights and confetti showers.

How could I ever have walked right past him?

Dr. Nicole was so right, of course. We see what we’re looking for.

Knowing how much I used to be missing has taught me to pay better attention. To pause from the hustle more often and just take it all in.

Of course, I’m not hustling quite as much now as I used to be because I’m no longer quite as broke.

That night of the contest? When my painting got zero votes from the judges? It really was an ugly duckling. A scout from a fine art gallery named Ellery Smith was there that night, and she loved my painting. In fact, the very thing that the judges and the other artists and the patrons all disliked about it—namely, the face—was the thing that she liked the most.

She liked the mystery of it. How hard it was to read. How full of emotion it all was. She said it left her fascinated. She could never get tired of looking at it. It raised more questions than it answered.

She got in touch a week or so later to see if she could represent me, and six months after that I was doing a show in her gallery of ten similar portraits. All of which sold for three thousand dollars a pop.

Seriously. Mr. and Mrs. Kim got a bargain.

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