“Can’t she cover for you?” Paige leans against her car. “We could go to the Visionary Art Museum. It’s for self-taught artists. Outsiders. Have you ever been?”
Des tugs her red Curious George T-shirt down over her hips. “No. I really can’t, though. Gram has physical therapy.”
“Desdemona. Come on.” Paige levels her with a stern, gray-eyed stare. “She totally takes advantage of you. You know that, right? You’ve been working ten-hour days, six days a week. Half the time, you don’t even get a real lunch.”
Des shakes her head. Paige doesn’t understand. Gram’s done everything for them. Not every grandparent would raise four orphaned girls and take on a small business that was barely in the black. “She’s not taking advantage! She had major surgery. She’s still recovering.”
“And your sisters can’t help out? There are four of you, aren’t there? How come you’re the only one I see working her ass off at the store? And at home too. Has anybody else been pitching in to cook and clean, or is it all you?” Paige asks.
“I don’t clean that much.” Des bites her lip. “I should, the house is a mess, but—”
“Des, stop it. You’re not fucking Cinderella.”
Paige has a point. Why should Des be the one to cook and vacuum and dust and scrub the bathtub and do everybody’s laundry? Okay, maybe the bathtub is on her, because she stained it blue when she dyed her hair. But it’s still blue, two weeks later. None of her sisters has thought, Hey, Des is busy working ten hours a day at Arden and then cooking us dinner every damn night. Maybe I could at least scrub the bathtub for her.
She thought they would step up more after school was out, but they haven’t.
“Well, they’re all really busy,” she says. “Bea has her internship, and she’s working on a raft for the race.” Still, Bea has enough time to stay out until midnight lately and then stress bake until two a.m. “Kat has rehearsal every night, and she’s been working at your grandma’s place during the day.” Des is still annoyed that Kat got a job somewhere else—conveniently, where her new boyfriend works—and that Gram let her. “And Gram doesn’t want Vi working alone yet. She’s only fifteen. So, like, theoretically she worked with me the other day, but mostly she and Cece sat in the pirate ship and talked about books for two hours.”
Paige puts her hands on her skinny hips. “Let’s be real, okay? You’re making excuses for them. Fine, they have lives; whatever. You deserve to have a life too. You’re letting them walk all over you. It’s not cool.”
“I have a life!” Des snaps, wounded.
“Do you? How much time have you had to work on your art this summer?” Paige asks.
“My art?” Des blushes. The other day, Paige stopped by Arden on her break, and Des showed her two potential lettering options for the tattoo. While she was helping a customer, Paige flipped through her sketchbook and saw some of the quotes Des has been illustrating lately.
“Yes. Your art,” Paige says. “You are an artist. You’re really talented, okay?”
“I thought you were just high,” Des admits.
Paige cackles. “Nah. I mean, I was, but I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. You should be doing something with your work.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk.” Paige looks blank, and Des tugs on her earring. “You heard Grace. You could sell these. Start an Etsy shop, or”—Des thinks for a minute—“sell them at the farmer’s market. People sell all kinds of stuff there: handmade candles, soap, fancy wooden cutting boards, photographs—”
“I’ll do it if you do it,” Paige interrupts.
Des twirls the turquoise ring on her finger. “What? No.”
“Yes.” Paige is nodding, her purple ponytail bouncing. “Yes! People would absolutely buy your quotes. They would probably buy them even if you weren’t very good, because you’re Desdemona Garrett, and everybody loves you and your whole crazy family. But you are good, so you’ll sell twice as many. Let’s do it. Let’s get a table at the farmer’s market. Do you think we could get one for Saturday? There’ll be a billion tourists in town for Tea Party.”
Des’s eyes go wide. “That’s in four days. I can’t have anything ready in four days!”
“You could if you took some time off work,” Paige says.
“I can’t.” It’s automatic.
“You can. You just have to tell your gram and your sisters what you need from them.”
Des twirls the ring around her finger faster and faster. “But it’s not really—I’m not really—”
“I mean this in the nicest possible way, but if you say that you’re not a real artist one more time, I’m going to punch you,” Paige says. “I’m not fucking around, okay? I’m telling you, those quotes are rad, and people will pay money for them. I’m not suggesting you quit your day job, but if you love doing this—”
“I do.” Des is nodding like a marionette. “I really do. I just—I’ve always thought of it as this nerdy hobby.” Practicing your handwriting, Em said.
“Look, you have to take yourself seriously if you want anybody else to.” Paige pokes her in the shoulder. “I want you to say it out loud. Say, ‘I am an artist and my art is rad.’ Say it!”
“Ouch!” Des ducks away, but she’s laughing. “Okay! I am an artist and my art is rad.”
“Hell yeah, it is.” Paige slings an arm around her. “All right. Let’s go home, Desdemona.”
• • •
Three hours later, Des rushes into Arden, the bell clanging above her. Gram sits in the flowered armchair near the counter, her leg propped on a red tasseled footstool. A mom with two kids is browsing in the children’s section. Mr. Dixon, Des’s eighth-grade Maryland history teacher, is scanning their nonfiction shelves.
“I’m sorry I’m late!” Des texted Gram to let her know she would be an hour late and then texted her again when they got stuck in traffic. “I’m sorry you had to reschedule your physical therapy. Bea couldn’t leave the paper early?”
“She had an interview with Lydia about the grand reopening,” Gram says.
Des can’t read the look on her face. “What about Kat?”
“Kat was rearranging furniture so the photographer could take pictures to accompany the article. Vi was out with Cece. And it wasn’t their responsibility.” Gram’s blue eyes are narrowed behind her glasses. “Des, this isn’t like you.”