"Yes, I am. You must be Serena."
She opened the door and ushered me in.
"Marco told me you might pop by. Come in. We have some tea brewing if you want some."
"Thanks."
I entered the space and saw that it was divided in two, with Marco's work on one side and Serena's work on the other. Marco was busy applying gesso to a new canvas, bending over the frame and using broad strokes to cover its surface. He stopped and smiled at me.
"I'm just about done. Take a look around. Serena's brewing some tea."
"Thanks, I will," I replied and peeked at his canvases. Half a dozen lined the walls. They were quite different than I imagined. Bright colors and broad strokes of downtown San Francisco streets. At first, the colors seem positive, vibrant, but then I examined the subject matter and found it was all back alleys, empty parking lots. Garbage bins overflowed, discarded bottles lined gutters, a homeless man sat against the brick wall in an alley, a hat partially shading his craggy and weathered face.
Marco was talented. His choice of subject was critical. It seemed like he was making a comment on the forgotten, the discarded.
"These are really good," I said, honestly impressed.
"Thank you," he said. "I grew up in that neighborhood. It's pretty rough."
"You've really captured it. I feel a sense of desperation in these."
"There's a lot of hardship on those streets."
I glanced over at Serena's half of the space and saw that she did portraits. Her canvases were all people and were impressionistic. The colors were muted, and the people's faces were dirty and their hair messy. I didn’t honestly know what to think of her work, but it was clear she had a point of view and was talented.
"Who are your subjects?" I asked.
"They're street people," she said. "Marco and I are activists. We're trying to show the people and places everyone forgets."
I nodded in understanding.
We had a cup of tea together and the two talked about their work and how they met in an art class at UCSF. It was a real love story. They seemed to be really in love by the way they looked at each other when they talked. It was sweet.
It made me feel a pang of regret that Drake had been so busy at the hospital working the evening shift that I hardly spent any time with him alone or with Sophie since we arrived in San Francisco.
I was determined to change that. Drake had a couple of days off coming up and I was going to make them memorable. We hadn't really made love for a while and I missed him. I missed that easy sexuality we shared. I loved Sophie madly but we were both so tired all the time that it was hard to find the perfect time for sex.
And we hadn't done anything kinky for a long time.
After our tea was finished, I said goodbye to Marco and Serena and left the building, driving back down the coast and to my father's house to pick up Sophie.
When I arrived, she was playing on the beach with Elaine while my father sat on the patio and watched.
I bent down and kissed my father on the cheek. "How are you?"
He squeezed my hand on his shoulder. "I'm great. Sophie and Elaine are down on the beach. They're having a great time. How are you? How's the studio?"
"It's wonderful," I said and sat beside him for a moment. "I honestly couldn't have asked for a better space. I can't wait to finish getting set up so I can start to paint again."
"Great to hear," he said and smiled. "You need to make a life for yourself outside of Sophie and Drake. If you do, it will make your time with them both so much more meaningful."
"You think so?" I said, sighing. "I was feeling guilty taking time away from them both, like I was denying them."
"Not at all," my father said and pointed to the beach. "You're allowing Sophie time with her grandparents. That's something great. You're allowing Drake time to spend with Sophie alone so he can establish his own bond with her. A father and daughter have a special relationship. I can't explain it, but it is special."
"I know," I said and squeezed his hand back. "I guess I feel selfish wanting time to myself to paint."
"Don't feel that way. You're more than any one thing. You're more than an artist. You're more than a mother and wife. You're more than a daughter. You're all those things together and more. You are more than the sum of your parts, Kate."