Miriam sipped her cocoa before she answered. “It’s probably a thing. But not my thing. I do some restoration for clients with specific needs, who trust me. Most of what I do is using discarded, damaged, or low-value antiques as the basis for art pieces. And you should not feel bad about not looking at my Instagram,” Miriam assured her. “I’m not even famous, I’m…well-known in a very small circle. Although I’m kind of famous by Pinterest standards.” The wind whistled through the trees, and Miriam burrowed further into her blanket.
“Like, you make sculptures?” Noelle was intrigued now, in spite of herself. The idea of turning unloved antiques into art pieces appealed to her, keeping the past but reinventing it.
“Hmm, sometimes, but more often I decoupage a piece with interesting paper I think relates to it in some way, or I disassemble things and make them into shadow boxes, or take furniture with very classic silhouettes and paint it neon eighties colors,” Miriam explained, moving her arms as she spoke. “I’m not sure what these gestures are supposed to mean—maybe ‘I glue this weird thing to this other weird thing, then voila I sell it!’
“Plus a lot of kitschy, craft show kind of stuff. Aunt Cass used to have a bunch of them actually. There was an elephant lamp I covered in pages fromThe Jungle Bookand old tracts I found about the Indian Independence Movement and modern indictments of Orientalism.” She looked over at Noelle. “It was pink. It used to live in the front hallway, years ago. Cass sent me pictures.”
“You did Dumbo?” Noelle was stunned. “I love that thing.”
“It’s actually the first-ever Miriam Blum original, from before I started doing upcycling as a career.” Miriam tucked a curl behind her ear, looking sheepish. “I took a lit class in college where the prof taught Kipling without any context, and I turned it in as my final project. I called it ‘The Elephant in the Room.’ The professor was unamused, but Cass loved it. You really like it?”
Noelle nodded. “I stole it. It’s in my room. Is all the stuff up in the attic yours, too? The haunted doll maypole statue?”
Miriam hid her face in one hand and nodded. She took an embarrassed sip.
“Ah yes,” Miriam said, “some of my earliest work. Back when I was just messing around, before I became the Manic Pixie Dream Bisexual of the estate sale scene.” She vogued her hands around her face, and Noelle bit back a laugh.
“Your stuff is awesome,” Noelle said truthfully. “I’m really into the detail work you put into everything.” Noelle had loved Miriam’s art the whole time she’d lived here. She’d asked Cass about the pieces, but Cass had been cagey about where she’d gotten them.
“An up-and-coming young artist I want to support,” she’d said.
Knowing that Miriam had made all those pieces forced her to re-evaluate her assumptions. The flighty, thoughtless Miriam of her imagination who wasn’t serious about anything could not be the same person who had made that art.
Damn it, she was going to have to admit she’d judged too quickly.
It stung, but fair was fair. She still didn’t want to get to know Miriam better because being attracted to someone who was engaged and leaving in a month was a bad idea. But she’d promised Hannah, and now she felt she owed it to Miriam. Maybe art could be a space for them to negotiate a peaceful acquaintance. They could find this one piece of common ground and be pleasant to each other in that context. That would be safe.
How turned on could you get talking about glitter, after all?
“I want to go up to the attic with you, before you leave,” Noelle offered, “so you tell me about all those pieces.” This felt like a good olive branch. Maybe the gesture would make up for some of her earlier animosity. Which she did still feel justified in, given the information she’d had, but she didn’t have to tell Miriam that. She could be magnanimous. “And you should take whatever you want back home with you. I mean, you gave it to Cass, and Cass…”
Miriam shook her head. “I’m not going to take the inn’s art, unless you don’t want it. I gifted that to Carrigan’s. Besides, I would never willingly take pieces from someone who gets my work.”
“You’re famous on Instagram,” Noelle teased, a little sheepishly, nudging Miriam with her shoulder. Why hadn’t she looked Miriam up in the first place? “Lots of people get your work.”
“No.” Miriam shook her head, not taking her eyes off the night sky. “They like tohaveit, but most of them don’t take me seriously.”
“Doesn’t your fiancée like your work?” Noelle asked. She shouldn’t feel defensive of Miriam, but damn it, she was really talented.
“She likes the idea that I make art more than my actual art, I think.” Miriam said, without rancor, which Noelle didn’t quite understand. Why wouldn’t Miriam want her fiancée to like her work?
“Anyway,” Miriam continued more briskly, “to your original question, I do travel to pick out pieces. It’s mostly road trips down the Atlantic seaboard, or weekends at interesting estate sales. I go to Berkeley every couple of months for the Alameda Flea Market.”
Noelle watched Miriam first get excited and then even out her face, like she was trying not to seem too enthusiastic. Noelle was almost glad for the respite because Miriam geeking out was so luminous, she could hardly look. Miriam had every right to be passionate about her work, but some self-preservation instinct in her seemed to click on whenever she showed too much feeling. Noelle had wondered what caused Miriam’s internal light to go on and off, and now she was watching Miriam turn down her own dimmer switch. Had her dad ingrained that in her, that unwillingness to show deep interest in anything? Is that why Miriam had called him a monster?
“I’ve been to the Alameda Flea Market! That place is wild!” Noelle didn’t know why, because half an hour ago she’d hated this woman, but now she felt compelled to show Miriam that nerding out with her was safe. Miriam didn’t need to dim herself for Noelle. “Hey, do you ever road-trip through rural parts of the Midwest and stop at tiny junk shops in the middle of nowhere? I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“I do, with Cole,” Miriam said. Noelle wondered why Miriam wasn’t taking those trips with her fiancée. “It’s one of my favorite adventures.”
They made eye contact, and Noelle almost smiled. Looking away awkwardly, they sat quietly watching the night.
Chapter 6
Miriam
Noelle was talking to her now, and it wasnotbetter than being ignored.
Instead of avoiding her, Noelle was sitting close to her, smelling like Old Spice and citrus shampoo, talking to her about art. Miriam felt herself letting her guard down without even noticing. Being around Noelle felt like pulling on a new pair of jeans that unexpectedly fit perfectly. Miriam had to stop herself, several times, from leaning in to bury her face in Noelle’s neck. She liked women—a lot—but she rarely wanted to nuzzle them within a few days of having met them.