Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
As long as they understand that, it suits me just fine. So does seeing her looking so radiant.
Let her shine.
Let her have the night of her life.
I’m happy to stand back and watch and when the time is right—we’ll see.
When I pull back, her eyes are glowing.
“I can’t believe it’s going so well,” she whispers. “Maybe dreams do come true.”
“They do when you put in the work,” I remind her. I couldn’t count the late nights and sixteen-hour days as she’s worked on the displays and with the restoration team.
So many pieces with the international crowd coming in.
Still, it’s like what happened in New York set her free, like transferring a plant from a pot to open soil. Or maybe it’s what happened after, when I took her home and moved her stuff into my room, and we sat Kit down and said we’d try to make a thing of this.
Or maybe it was her old man finally going into rehab and cleaning himself up. I could see the strain Gordon put on her, the way she hated seeing him wasting away, poisoned and bitter.
Some wall around her broke in that second.
All the pieces on the wall and mounted to small podiums in this room means something. Even to me, and modern art still feels fucking indecipherable.
It’s not all her textured wall pieces, though. She’s included some pencil sketches. A couple tasteful nudes, both female and male.
A winding river.
Fiery fall foliage.
Landscapes, real and dreamlike, colorfully haunted.
I see Kit’s silhouette painted in dusky blue. No name ID, of course, but I know my daughter. She did that one while my little girl was working intently at a canvas.
All these little fragments of her life committed to living memory. Despite being on display for all the world to see, it doesn’t feel like I expected.
There’s no privacy violated here. If anything, it feels more like a soft confession to the world, and where’s the harm in that?
I love her. I love her chaos. I love her spark.
Finally, late into the evening, the crowd starts to thin. I’m actually laughing as an animated Gordon talks about the time a glass sculptor in Vegas left him a five-hundred-pound life-sized bear and he had to figure out how to ship it home. His eyes are brighter and his skin doesn’t have that papery pale look anymore.
Even though Clee’s smile hasn’t dimmed once, I can see she’s getting tired, a little overwhelmed.
Once Gordon walks off, more alive than ever, I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“I have something for you,” I say, leading her through the last gaggle of smiling people. “One more piece that never made it to the floor, waiting in the back.”
She frowns. “There’s something else?”
“Just follow me, Clee. You’ll see.” I rest my hand on the small of her back, guiding her.
Kit’s been back here for ten whole minutes, bursting at the seams and staying up past her bedtime on what should be a school night.
The door says No Entry. I push it open anyway.
“Oh,” Cleo says faintly when she sees the black walls and lighting. There’s a single tall object under a sheet. Beside it, my daughter beams.
“Hiii!” she chirps, throwing me an anxious look. “Are we ready?”
I nod.
Just like I planned. It’s now or never.
My heart lurches.
Kit grins and drops the sheet, revealing a set of three sculpted hands and forearms, rising up from the pedestal, holding a brilliant gold ring. They’ve been painted in the same brilliant blue and white stripes and gold of the Hera Egg.
Cleo’s breath catches.
She presses a hand to her mouth.
For a second, I’m afraid she’ll hit the floor.
“Kit’s idea.” I clear my throat. “I could’ve done this the normal, boring way, but you know I’m no wordsmith. You remember when she did that project a couple months ago, casting our hands from clay? She needled me until I did one, too.”
“I remember,” Cleo breathes, her eyes gleaming. “I thought it was just for school…”
“It was!” Kit says brightly. “But I had a thought, and Dad liked it. So I painted it.”
“She did a bang-up job,” I say. “So good, I knew it was perfect.” Clearing my throat again, I grab the ring off the palm of the big hand and sink down on one knee. “Clee, you’re the love of my life. Tonight was your dream come true, and you’re mine. Will you marry me, woman? Will you let us share the same dreams forever?”
The hand over her mouth shakes. A hot, glinting tear spills down her face as she nods vigorously.
“Holy… Holden, I would’ve married you months ago!”
Dammit, I grin.
And I spring to my feet, pulling her into a hug, flattening her against my chest.
“I love you,” I growl into her hair.
“I love you, too.”
Kit’s laughing grin turns into a ten-year-old’s grimace as I catch Cleo’s chin and bring her lips to mine.