“I haven’t worn much besides jeans and sweatshirts in a long time,” Mallory admitted.
“Your body looks amazing,” Alexie complimented with all the honesty of a younger sister. “I remember you were so nervous when Zachery was born.”
“Not that it matters. Lucas hardly touches me, anyway.” Mallory cursed herself for already bringing Lucas into their discussion.
“How is that going?” Alexie was on Elsa’s side when it came to all things, Lucas.
“Oh, fine. I don’t know. I guess I love him.”
“You guess.”
Outside, the guitarist had begun to play “Torn” by Natalie Imbruglia. Alexie, bored of their conversation, clacked out in heels, leaving Mallory to glance at herself in the mirror. Her hair had dried into a soft frizz.
With the certainty of an older sibling, Mallory searched through Alexie’s things to find a phone charger. With her phone back on, she texted Elsa, brimming with annoyance.
MALLORY: Hey, Mom. Any update? How is the fever?
“Hey Mall! You want some champagne?” Alexie called.
“Um. Sure.” Mallory stared at the phone, demanding that her mother return her text immediately.Was it so hard to just send an update about an ill toddler?
“Come out here,” Alexie cooed.
Mallory muttered that she couldn’t, gesturing toward her phone. Alexie stepped into the doorway again, ruffling her pink hair. Mallory longed to snap a picture of Alexie and send it to Elsa, if only to make Elsa squirm. She could just imagine her mother saying, “My beautiful daughter has ruined her hair!”
“Zach is sick, apparently,” Mallory tried.
“Oh.” Alexie’s eyes showed a moment of empathy before she shoved it all away. There were bigger things to focus on that evening. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. Mom says that she’s taking care of it.”
“Mallory, it’s Mom. She’s Supermom. She’s got this taken care of. Besides, didn’t you tell me this would be your first weekend off from motherhood since Zach was born?”
“Alexie! This frame isn’t quite straight. Fixing it could throw off the rest of the ambiance in the room, though.” A woman who seemed partially in charge of the gallery called from behind Alexie’s shoulder.
Alexie lifted a finger toward her sister and turned back, headed for the painting. “The sharply crooked frame is supposed to represent our own alienation as we communicate with others, each coming together with the same language yet different ways of using it.”
ELSA: Fever ongoing but not getting higher.
ELSA: I’ll let you know if things get worse.
ELSA: Try to enjoy yourself!
Mallory thought this concept of “trying to enjoy herself” in the face of her son’s illness was laughable, especially in the midst of these artistic NYU students. Still, Elsa was right: there was no reason for Mallory to leap on a bus and head back home. At least she was with her sister, pink hair and all.
Mallory stepped into the gallery, listening as Alexie finished her description of her exhibition’s goal to the gallery employee. The employee herself wore earrings that rivaled architectural sculptures with their jagged lines and weight. Her earlobes hung toward the floor. Who’d told her that the earrings were worth their weight?
Someone handed Mallory a glass of champagne. She sipped it timidly; the bubbles floated across her tongue. Outside, more artists had gathered, and she fell into their crowd, grateful to be outside of the closing-in walls of the exhibition.
“I don’t know. It seems derivative to me.” A girl in a bright yellow vest with nothing under it spoke flippantly to a friend, probably about Alexie’s exhibition.
“I get what you mean,” the friend said, nodding.
“It’s just that she has no real voice. She seems to imitate everyone else’s,” the girl in the yellow vest continued.
Mallory stared at the ground. Being in art school meant putting yourself at the mercy of everyone else’s opinions. At least in Mallory’s life, she was surrounded by only friends and family who loved her to her core. Of course, there wasn’t much to be judgemental about in Mallory’s “chosen” career. She was a good secretary: incredibly organized, punctual, and, well, bored of it. Maybe all secretaries across the world were bored of it.What made Mallory so special?
Mallory sipped through her first glass of champagne without speaking to anyone, hopeful that soon, she’d find a way to talk to someone, anyone. When she went back for a second glass, Alexie beckoned for her to come over. She stood next to a muscular man who stood at no more than five foot five. He was handsome, similar in build to Greek statues Mallory had seen once in a museum but not in height. The shortness was interesting, especially because Alexie stood two inches taller than him.