Page 24 of All We Need

Only, since my family and friends have verbally backed my decision,I’mfilled with nerves and regret.Nervesbecause what if they’re blowing smoke up my ass, and customers hate the new dishes?Regretbecause what if this isn’t whatIwant?

The cracking of pool balls colliding together pulls me from my thoughts, andImentally shake myself.

I’m here, because it’s whatDadwould have wanted.

He’s not around to do it anymore andIneed to protect this place.

So, with a smile on my face, hoping no one sees the cracksI’vebeen covering for way too long,Ireturn to the conversation, poke fun atPatrick, and all feels right in the universe.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but foresight is better.

Sadly,Ilack both.

CHAPTER EIGHT

alessandra

The canvas leers at me.Thepatches of white peeking out between the layers of purple and blue taunt me.

Throw in the incessant notifications coming from my phone and my laptop, it feels likeI’mabout to be sucked into a thankless void.

I fling myself from the stool, frustrated, hungry, and tired.

Ilovemy job.Inmy senior year of high school,IknewIwanted to work with my family.Duringmy sophomore year at college, my penchant for business strategies and investments began.Tothis day,Ican’t imagine myself doing anything else.

My mom has always been proud of my brothers and me.Froman early age she instilled the importance of having an ambition outside of academia and later our careers.

For me, that’s painting.

It’s my escape.

A silent, colorful way to release my emotions.Afantastic ruin of colors whenI’msad or angry and a beautiful landscape of tranquility whenI’mhappy.

Without it,I’dlose myself in the landslide of emails, theconference calls filled to the brim with testosterone, and work trips that take me from east to west, then back again.

So long asIhad a way to burn off energy when things got too stressful, all was fine.SinceThanksgiving,Ihaven’t painted a single thing.Whichmeans, whenI’mnot working,I’mthinking.

Thinking is dangerous.

The longerIsit here with my thoughts, the more confidentIgrow that this is a huge mistake.

I’m not someone to concede defeat.IfIset my sights on something, that’s that.Noexcuses.Ifthere’s a start,I’llfind the finish.

Stepping foot inSuttonBaywasn’t even the start of my race.I’mwaypast the halfway point.Itisn’t a straight line to the finish either.Thereare unplanned hurdles.Bendsin the roadI’mscared to turn.

My shoe-box apartment is suddenly too small.

The people of this town alarm me, and there is no place to hide.Noone knows me, because why should they?I’vemade no attempt to form friendships.Quinnfrom the bakery has tried to make small talk with me.Johannawaved at me from across the street the other day.Thetown’s local chef is a relentless flirt with his sights set on me.Theidea of getting to know them has my head swimming.

The four walls stifle me, and beforeIknow it,I’mwrapped up in layers, and walking the streets, desperate for a sign.

After almost an hour, the only signsIhave are frostbitten fingers asIwander the small park aimlessly.Mostof the trees are bare, their naked branches twisting and curling up into the sky.Theevergreen pines offer a splash of color to the bleak gray and white surroundings.

I still have no clue whatI’mdoing, but the cold air calms me.

I’m heading back up the hill toward my apartment whenmy phone rings.Pullingoff my gloves with my teeth,Idig into the deep pockets of my coat and see my mom’s name.Iswear the woman has a sixth sense becauseIcould really do with her guidance.

“Yassou,Mama,”Igreet.

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