There was no point.
“When are you leaving for St. Bart’s, Mom?” she asked her, to steer her onto neutral subjects.
“Two days before Christmas. I can hardly wait. I’m so tired of winter. I’m going skiing in Switzerland right after that. You should try to get away.” Her mother lived on a different planet, of parties and vacations, and never realized how hard Francesca worked. Whatever Francesca had, she had made on her own, and built from scratch. Her father had paid for her education, and she had supported herself ever since. And the money her mother had gotten in settlements from her ex-husbands she kept to herself. She felt she had earned it.
Francesca left their lunch feeling as she always did after seeing her mother, emotionally hungry. There was nothing satisfying about their exchanges, and never anything meaningful or deep. At least her encounters with her father were fun.
He stopped in at the gallery that week and bought a small painting for Avery that he thought she would like. Francesca gave him the partner’s rate, which made it ridiculously cheap, but he loved the work she sold. He was impressed that she frequently went to art fairs in other cities to discover new artists and spent hours in her artists’ studios, studying their new work with them. And he thought that most of what she had in the gallery was very good. He had a strong feeling that one or two of the artists she represented would have important careers one day. She told him that the artist he was buying had been selling well, and had sold several bigger pieces since Thanksgiving, although her father thought her prices were too low, and very fair. She commented that people seemed more willing to spend money right before the holidays. Her father was particularly pleased that he had just sold a very important piece himself. He was planning to buy Avery a new car, a Range Rover, with some of what he’d made. She had always wanted one, and despite her success, she still drove an ancient Toyota that Henry insisted wasn’t safe, and she had refused to let him replace it until then. He said he was going to surprise her with the car for Christmas before they left for Aspen.
It struck Francesca as she closed the gallery on Christmas Eve that neither of her parents was worried about what she was going to do for Christmas. They always made their own plans. It had made holidays more meaningful with Todd, but not this year. He had plans of his own, and she had none. There were friends and artists she could have called, but she didn’t feel like it. She had turned down two invitations. She felt melancholy this year and wanted to be alone. Todd was moving out in a few days, and his boxes were stacked in the hall when she got home. It was happening. She was ready for it now, but sad. It would have been hard not to be.
She watched movies and ate Chinese takeout on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t set up a Christmas tree and didn’t miss it. She wanted the holidays to pass as quickly as possible. And after the New Year, she could start a whole new life, alone again.
Both her parents called her on Christmas Day, and she saw Todd on his way out. He waved, smiled, and was talking to someone on his cell phone as he left. She noticed that he was wearing a suit, and wondered where he was going and with whom. It was hard to believe now that they had ever lived together, or had anything in common.
She took a long walk around the West Village that afternoon, and smiled at couples she saw, strolling with children. Some were carrying stacks of presents to someone’s house, and she saw a Santa Claus in a red velvet suit get out of his car, put on his hat and beard, and hurry in to a party. It was a strange day to be alone, but in a funny way she didn’t mind it. It was easier than pretending she was happy. She thought of her mother on the yacht in the Caribbean, hoping to meet a man, and her father and Avery in Aspen, and this year she was glad to be on her
“When are you leaving for St. Bart’s, Mom?” she asked her, to steer her onto neutral subjects.
“Two days before Christmas. I can hardly wait. I’m so tired of winter. I’m going skiing in Switzerland right after that. You should try to get away.” Her mother lived on a different planet, of parties and vacations, and never realized how hard Francesca worked. Whatever Francesca had, she had made on her own, and built from scratch. Her father had paid for her education, and she had supported herself ever since. And the money her mother had gotten in settlements from her ex-husbands she kept to herself. She felt she had earned it.
Francesca left their lunch feeling as she always did after seeing her mother, emotionally hungry. There was nothing satisfying about their exchanges, and never anything meaningful or deep. At least her encounters with her father were fun.
He stopped in at the gallery that week and bought a small painting for Avery that he thought she would like. Francesca gave him the partner’s rate, which made it ridiculously cheap, but he loved the work she sold. He was impressed that she frequently went to art fairs in other cities to discover new artists and spent hours in her artists’ studios, studying their new work with them. And he thought that most of what she had in the gallery was very good. He had a strong feeling that one or two of the artists she represented would have important careers one day. She told him that the artist he was buying had been selling well, and had sold several bigger pieces since Thanksgiving, although her father thought her prices were too low, and very fair. She commented that people seemed more willing to spend money right before the holidays. Her father was particularly pleased that he had just sold a very important piece himself. He was planning to buy Avery a new car, a Range Rover, with some of what he’d made. She had always wanted one, and despite her success, she still drove an ancient Toyota that Henry insisted wasn’t safe, and she had refused to let him replace it until then. He said he was going to surprise her with the car for Christmas before they left for Aspen.
It struck Francesca as she closed the gallery on Christmas Eve that neither of her parents was worried about what she was going to do for Christmas. They always made their own plans. It had made holidays more meaningful with Todd, but not this year. He had plans of his own, and she had none. There were friends and artists she could have called, but she didn’t feel like it. She had turned down two invitations. She felt melancholy this year and wanted to be alone. Todd was moving out in a few days, and his boxes were stacked in the hall when she got home. It was happening. She was ready for it now, but sad. It would have been hard not to be.
She watched movies and ate Chinese takeout on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t set up a Christmas tree and didn’t miss it. She wanted the holidays to pass as quickly as possible. And after the New Year, she could start a whole new life, alone again.
Both her parents called her on Christmas Day, and she saw Todd on his way out. He waved, smiled, and was talking to someone on his cell phone as he left. She noticed that he was wearing a suit, and wondered where he was going and with whom. It was hard to believe now that they had ever lived together, or had anything in common.
She took a long walk around the West Village that afternoon, and smiled at couples she saw, strolling with children. Some were carrying stacks of presents to someone’s house, and she saw a Santa Claus in a red velvet suit get out of his car, put on his hat and beard, and hurry in to a party. It was a strange day to be alone, but in a funny way she didn’t mind it. It was easier than pretending she was happy. She thought of her mother on the yacht in the Caribbean, hoping to meet a man, and her father and Avery in Aspen, and this year she was glad to be on her
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