Chapter 15: The Art Show
Nothing came of her admission for a while. There was the matter of the looming G.E.D., of course, and then the necessity of work and finally the most important thing of all - Porter and his very first birthday.
They kept it a small affair, inviting Joy and Maya, Leo, and even Gretchen and Mark from work. They had cake, Porter getting it all over his face and hands and the surrounding furniture while Emma waited, ready and armed with napkins and a damp wash cloth, wiping the delightfully squirmy baby off as Neal laughed, snapping photos. But she couldn't have stopped the impending stickiness and sugar high any more than Neal's obvious crusade to thoroughly spoil their son. More stuffed animals found their way into his collection, he got push toys to help with wobbly legs, baby drums and rattles to encourage his growing love of music, brightly colored blocks, and Pop Warhol's Top - a board book with thick pages and plenty of modern art.
Immediately, Porter neglected all of this in favor of a box.
(Really. He loved the box.)
Another New Year arrived, Neal was recruited to run the center's art show that Spring, and Emma's tutor, a seventeen year-old named Lisa with the desire to change the world and a clear-cut plan for her future, praised Emma's progress, announcing that, finally, she was more than ready to take her G.E.D.
Emma didn't feel nearly as confident but she took the test that March anyway and then waited on pins and needles for the ridiculously slow arrival of her results.
She passed and Neal marked the occasion by taking her out to dinner. They left Porter with Joy and Maya for the evening and Neal spent most of their time out telling her just how proud of her he was and how amazing it was to think about where they had started just a few years ago and then to look at them now.
"But it feels like I'm more excited about this than you," he noted.
"I'm excited," she said defensively and at his skeptical look, she became insistent. "I am."
Well, okay, she had started that way at least. Proud too. But her sense of accomplishment had faded quickly when Emma realized that even if she now had her high school diploma (or G.E.D., whatever) she still had a hell of a lot work to do and a number of potential roadblocks to navigate before she got where she really wanted to be.
Neal squeezed her hand, probably armed with some words of encouragement, but just as Emma opened her mouth, ready to share her frustrations, her phone rang and she snapped it closed, attention diverted.
It was Lucy. She was having the baby.
Neal drove her to the hospital, dropping her off at the entrance.
They had never talked about it, what Lucy was going through, though the inevitable visual clues meant that he had picked up on the basic gist of the situation without a single word. The silent support had been a comfort when Lucy had ultimately decided that she wouldn't be keeping the baby. Something that had hit Emma harder than it maybe should have and she had come home and stared at Porter asleep in his crib until tears stained her cheeks as she tried to imagine what life would be without him.
"Thank you," Emma had told Neal from tight in his embrace and he kissed her shoulder.
"For what?"
"Everything," she had whispered, but really, "staying."
When the time came Lucy decided not to hold the baby, turning her head pointedly when the doctor suggested it, determined to not even catch a glimpse of her daughter. And while Emma couldn't imagine never setting eyes on her son, she understood what Lucy must have been thinking in that moment. She wrapped her arms around her, letting her cry into her shoulder, removing what must have been a horrible temptation as Lucy clung to her, heart-wrenching sobs wracking her body, the only sound remaining as they wheeled the baby down the hall.
"Tell me again." Lucy demanded later, tugging on a red curl she unknowingly passed onto her daughter. They had gone over this several times now, almost like a ritual.
Emma smiled softly. "She'll go to a home where she'll have a family. She'll be loved and happy and safe. Always."
"And they found her a family?" Lucy asked, half-desperate. "A good one?"
Emma nodded. "In Maine, I think." Technically speaking, she wasn't supposed to know that information, let alone divulge it, but Emma found that solid facts were far more comforting than vague truths. "She'll never know the inside of a foster home."
A shadow crossed Lucy's face. "Good."
It was brave, Emma realized, what Lucy had done. Because it took just as much courage to admit that, maybe, you're not enough as it did to face down your fears and insecurities. Emma had done it once. She had kept her son and it was both the best and bravest thing she'd ever done.
So maybe it was time to be brave again.
A lot of work went into, first, finding a college with a program that would help Emma work around her already hectic schedule, and then putting together the applications. Something which Emma thought made her look horribly pathetic. What? With her whole history laid out in front of her, a stack of too many schools and mostly (less than) average test scores. But she had a whole list of people helping her too. Neal, of course, who had taken her essay and, with his expert bullshitting skills, managed to make her sound much more impressive.
"It's all you," he told her when she commented on this, "just with an extra shot of confidence."
Joy and Gretchen from work volunteered for Porter duty when she got down to the wire and she even found herself with plenty of recommendation letters, Leo and Marge and a few others from the Youth Center all adding theirs to the pile.
"We've built something," she said as if she had just realized it, sounding perplexed but touched, addressing an envelope with a careful hand. "Friends. A life. I like it."
Neal grinned. "Me too."
She still had a number of decisions to make though, including what, exactly, she wanted to focus her studies on. She had, mostly, decided that she wanted to work with children. Helping troubled youth or whatever. She had assumed youth counselor obviously, butthen, after thoroughly investigating the leaflets Marge had handed her, she did some more research and found psychology and teaching too (though she ruled out the latter almost immediately). Social workers and case workers made the list, though just the idea of it made her skin crawl. Because look at how little they had done for her and she hated the thought of somehow turning into that if she joined the obviously broken system. A system a single person couldn't ever hope to fix.
And then she found it.
"Youth advocate?" repeated Neal, brow furrowed.
Emma nodded, an anxious look on her face.
"What's that exactly?" he asked, eyes scanning the paper she had handed him.
"It's like support for kids. Like us back when," said Emma, "you know, kids that don't have a proper family and need help with the legal system or a mediator with, uh, certain authority figures or whatever. I'd go to bat for them."
Neal smiled softly. "That's you, Em."
Emma bit her lip. "Yeah?"
"I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have on my side." And, just to make sure that he drove the point home, he added, "It's time someone stepped up and started evening the playing field. Why not you?"
She tried not to think about that question. She'd just talk herself out of it. So instead, with nothing to do now but wait, she focused on Neal and helping him with last minute details for the art show the center was planning. It was the second they had put on since her and Neal's time there and the first where the bulk of putting it together actually fell on him.
She found it endearing, really, how nervous the whole thing made him.
"They wouldn't have asked you if they didn't think you could get it done," Emma would tell him whenever he started to express his concerns, reminding him that this wasn't even the first time that Leo had asked Neal to take on more responsibility.
But it was amazing to her, really, how far they'd come. Not just with the life they had built with friends and family, but they had grown. Like really. And a lot of that came down to the Youth Center, she thought. Especially for Neal. It had helped her find something, yeah, giving her an opportunity and letting her carve something out of it. But Neal? It had taken his strengths (like his people skills and his art thing and all that hopeful optimism) and just let all of them flourish and shine. So he deserved this – the chance to take those skills of his and really show them off. And she hoped, for his sake, he got even more opportunities just like it.
The counseling center, like they always did in the weeks leading up to a big event, saw an increase in traffic well before the art show. Kids worried about things like if their work was good enough and if their parents would like it, while some tearfully admitted that they worried no one would show up to see their display at all.
And while it wasn't the same, Emma always promised, "I'll be there and you can tell me all about your piece." Then later, long after they had left, Emma would find their file and look up their parent or guardian's number and leave a reminder on the machine with a (not so) gentle dig like: "It would really mean a lot to Billy-slash-Susie if you could be there."
Sometimes it worked and sometimes she got an earful about overstepping her bounds or whatever. Poor Marge often got stuck with those callers after that.
No one seemed more worried than Neal, however. He sat up late at night, long after he should have fallen asleep (causing Emma herself to worry, despite his reassurances, that his old nightmares definitely hadn't returned full time), but mostly, he would work himself up, fretting over something or other, doing things better left to the day light like going over floor plans and coordinating volunteers and designing (and redesigning) invitations and fliers.
She'd been right, of course, because it had turned out better than expected.
In fact, Emma could barely move.
The crowd shuffled along like a herd of cattle, elbowing her and jostling her about, the stroller containing her son the only thing granting her any sense of personal space. But for once Emma didn't care, pride in Neal's accomplishment outweighing even her trademark annoyance and okay, maybe she still held onto a tiny smidge of paranoia (this place served as a hotbed for germs if she ever saw one). But Neal had done this. He had put this whole thing together. Him and the kids. And it was clearly successful.
Emma squinted through her glasses, searching the crowd for any sign of Neal or Joy and Maya, sparing a friendly smile (genuine and everything) whenever one of the kids called her name, Porter's excited, "Dada" catching her attention, her gaze following his pudgy, outstretched arms, spotting him chatting with Leo just a few feet off to the side, Neal's own grin widening as he caught sight of them, setting down a glass of punch so he could immediately bundle Porter into his embrace, letting out a surprised laugh when Emma followed, throwing her arms around his neck in what was, for her anyway, a rare display of public affection.
She nodded at Leo when she pulled back, hands straightening Neal's rumpled jacket as she said, all pride and giddiness, "Did you see what my guy did?"
Leo smiled and raised a glass in their direction, "Pretty amazing, huh?"
"More than," Emma agreed, her attention back on Neal, staring up at him, pleased at what she saw there. All that joy and pride and nervous anticipation.
With a tinge of pink on his cheeks, Neal threaded his free hand through hers, telling Leo, "I'm gonna give them the grand tour," and then led her and Porter off as if worried she and Leo would start exchanging embarrassing stories.
Porter babbled happily, pointing at every brightly colored painting they meandered past, offering an excited, "Banna," each time they passed a still life of fruit and an even more enthusiastic, "Pup-pup," for anything that remotely resembled an animal. Nearly everyone recognized them as they passed, both she and Neal frequent enough fixtures now. Fellow volunteers thumped Neal on the back, offering him a hearty congratulations, while students offered a cheery hello, some even tugging on their arms, those lucky enough to have present and engaged families, wanting to eagerly introduce them to their parents or guardians.
"It's like I'm with a rock star," said Emma, half-giddy as she took back Port, freeing Neal to shake hands.
"This is all the kids," Neal said modestly, "I just helped organize it."
And of course Emma was happy for the kids too because obviously they had put a lot of effort into both their own works as well as setting everything up and clearly they all had more creative energy than Emma could ever hope to claim as her own (she could barely draw a stick figure). They'd have even more to take pride in when they got to the end of the night and they announced the grand total, seeing how much they had raised for the center. But that was just another part of what Neal had done – helping them, teaching them, inspiring them – and she desperately hoped he saw that too. Saw how far he'd come. Because it was amazing, really, what he had accomplished here.
He leaned over after pointing a parent helpfully in the direction of their kid and whispered, "There is one thing that's all me though."
Her eyes widened with anticipation, Porter letting out a happy squeal and a, "Again, Mama," when her excited energy caused him to bounce on her hip.
"The thing?" she asked, very carefully trying to replicate the motion for Port.
"The thing," he agreed, squeezing her hand, slowly leading them through the crowd, pushing Port's unused stroller along until they reached some dark, hidden corner (and, of course, he had put it there). "Keep in mind I don't usually use water colors so …"
Emma rolled her eyes, playfully swatting at his arm to get him to shut up before she stopped short, her lips parting, allowing an awed gasp to escape.
"Neal," she breathed, fingers reaching out before she remembered maybe she shouldn't. But he had painted her and Porter, fast asleep in their ridiculous orange recliner and fuck, it had to have been from those first weeks. Port, with his ridiculous hair and his mouth hanging open, nestled against her chest, and she had her cheek pressed against his head. And even if Emma distinctly remembered that time as nothing short of stressful and exhausting, she had the most peaceful look on her face, the picture of perfect contentment.
Neal fidgeted, looking nervous. "What do you think?"
"I love it," Emma murmured. So much so that she couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes away from the painting as she told him so. "I didn't actually do that though? Fall asleep holding him?"
"All the time," said Neal fondly, chuckling as her eyes widened with a certain horror because she couldn't remember that. At all. So much of that time was just a complete blur. "Just like that, too. That protective grip never wavering. It's why we did double duty when you'd feed him."
(She did remember that. Breastfeeding would just knock her out.)
Porter reached out and it must have been a good likeness of her because he kept repeating, "Mama," and when she pointed to the baby, telling him, "That's you, honey. That's Porter," he scrunched his nose in disbelief ("Well, we know he's your son," Neal would say, teasing her whenever he did this), and bashfully ducked his head, burrowing into the crook of her neck.
"It is beautiful, Neal," she insisted, leaning into his side and potential child endangerment aside, she had already started plotting places she could hang it and then ways she could, maybe, convince Neal to do another of Porter now.)
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple, and murmuring, "I had good inspiration."
X-x-x-x-x-X
With her decision about school and aspiring toward Youth Advocate, Neal had noticed the change in Emma almost immediately. Not that it was anything drastic. Not really. She didn't suddenly have a purpose because honestly she'd always had a sense of drive (he saw it every day with Porter). And the weight of unanswered questions hadn't suddenly lifted from her shoulders like it had when she had 'thrown away' her box of childhood mementos (though he knew that she had felt a sense of relief at finding something that she could, maybe, call an interest). But there was a spark. Just the beginnings of something. Confidence. And not the show-y, fake her way through life stuff she tried to put on. But the real thing. The kind that could only grow out of a sense of accomplishment, something that would surely blossom as time wore on.
He knew that she still worried, all that practical shit weighing on her because school would cost money and it would take up an awful lot of time, especially because she insisted on sticking with her other job in the meantime. But he'd stand by the fact that they could work all that out. Just like always. Because any added strain would be worth it if continued feeding that spark.
"But what about you?" Emma had asked when he had reassured her of this for nearly the hundredth time and when he furrowed his brow, she added, staring critically at a blank space on their wall, "Your job? You hate it."
Neal scoffed. "I don't hate it."
(He just didn't love it.)
(But the money made up for that, he thought, especially now that they had gotten better at managing it.)
"I don't even know what you do," she insisted, eyes narrowed, tapping a space pointedly, "you never talk about it."
"It's computers and data," said Neal with a shrug, positioning the painting he had done of her and Porter, Emma immediately scrunching her nose in distaste, "boring shit."
And despite the fact that they had already put Porter down for his nap, Emma pointed to the kitchen and, somewhat disgruntedly he shuffled over to the counter, stuffing a dollar into the swear jar, a product of their attempts to break their bad habit now that Port repeated everything he heard, his young mind absorbing things like a sponge.
"We promised we wouldn't settle," she reminded him when he returned, softening slightly as she took over positioning the painting, head cocked in her attempt to assess another spot. "I don't want you to settle."
"I haven't," he said, holding the frame in place, letting her step back to look for whatever she was looking for, "it's not the only thing I do."
And really, even if Emma clearly didn't believe him, Neal thought that coming home to her and the baby, along with the work he did for the center more than made up for his hellishly boring nine to five. Center or not, even, having Port wobble up to him, giant smile on his face as he offered a gurgled, "Dada," would have sustained him.
But he did have his class and the Youth Center and, while staring at a long string of nonsensical numbers, Neal had plans to make and projects to think about that made the time pass by quicker. He had gotten more involved too – they had put on two different arts shows during his time at the center, and this last one, the one he had mostly organized, had been deemed a success, raising a hefty chunk of change that was all going back to the kids. He still played on their somewhat improved baseball team, Leo invited him out for drinks or to a game at least once a week, and he'd gotten talked into helping with the sets for the next play (something called Into the Woods which, unfortunately, reminded him far too much of the Enchanted Forest, but Neal could mostly deal with that).
It was, all of it, enough for him, really.
Something that Emma seemed to accept as the truth after giving him a long, hard look, turning back to the wall, shoulders slumping. "It's too dark in here."
"Put it in the bedroom then," he suggested blandly. He'd prefer it there anyway.
Emma pressed her lips together, "No one will see it."
"Anyone who visits has already seen it," he said practically, leading the way into the other room, "I have the perfect place for it too."
"It better not involve the closet," she said, voice dropping to a whisper as Porter's gentle snores reached their ears (unnecessary considering he slept like the dead).
That would be a good place. It still kinda mortified him that Emma kept making such a fuss about the whole thing. It touched him, of course, that she liked it, but the only reason he had even bothered to display it to begin with was to inspire the shyer kids to do the same. The whole 'everyone is doing it' mentality.
"Here," he said instead, patting the place above their dresser and holding it up as Emma did that thing where she cocked her head and squinted. This time, however, she finished with a bright smile.
"Perfect," she announced, nearly clapping her hands together before a loud snore reminded her that maybe she shouldn't.
They had come a long way, the both of them really. And most of that, he knew, came down to his and Emma's own hard work. But the center, and Leo especially, had provided the means to do it. Leo had placed his faith in them and, in Emma's case, gave a persistent push. It was a debt that Neal wanted to repay, even though he knew that nothing they offered could ever really equate to what he had given him.
He had meant to do it over lunch, just to say thank you, but before he could get to any of that, Leo made an important announcement of his own over his salad.
"I want to thank you actually," said Leo, drizzling a dollop of dressing over his greens, "they're opening a new youth center down in New York and after the success of the art show the other night my application got pushed to the top of the list. They offered me Director."
"Congrats, man," said Neal, thumping the other man on his back. "That's great."
This marked a step up for the other man, Neal knew, as Leo had worked under Director Noble for several years now.
"Well, a part of it is thanks to you, John, really." Neal shook his head, but Leo didn't even let him get a word out, "No, it is. My application wouldn't have stood out nearly as much if the other night hadn't been half as successful as it was. And I was thinking, you know, about who I'd want to have on my team and about everything you've done at the center in the past … What? Year and a half now. You're good with kids, you understand what they're going through, and you've clearly got the management skills. I think you'd be a good fit for my number two."
Neal blinked and, for once, found himself at a loss for words. Then finally, he asked, his voice unusually thick, "you offering me a job?"
Leo nodded. "Just think about it, yeah?"
He thought about it. All the way home and then some.
Did he want the job? Yeah, of course he did. The work appealed to him far more than ordinary office drone. Not to mention it meant something. To him, yeah, but the job would make, hopefully, a difference in the lives of the people he would work with too. But while a part of Neal wanted to move forward with his usual gusto, he just couldn't. He had Emma and Porter to consider. They had built something here. He had a job already, with a certain amount of security. Emma had found something she wanted to do. They had friends.
They had roots.
It had taken him so long to find that again. And he didn't think Emma ever had it at all.
He couldn't stand the thought of risking it, of destroying something that already worked simply by pulling his family to the unknown and unfamiliar just for something he wanted.
Neal thought about this all through dinner, going back and forth, wondering what he should tell Emma, if anything at all. But, in failing to carry the conversation as he usually did, it didn't take Emma all that long to pick up on his distraction.
"Everything alright?" she asked, shooting him a glance between her attempt to entice Porter into eating his vegetables.
"Yeah, just," he decided to broach the subject hesitantly, "Leo's gonna head up a Youth Center in New York. They offered him director."
"Good for him," said Emma, still somewhat distracted as Porter had pressed his lips together, shaking his head stubbornly at the spoon in his mother's hand.
"Yeah," he agreed and he put a bit too much weight to the word because Emma shot him a piercing look that warranted Porter a break, the spoon lowering.
"You'll miss him," she noted, her lips pressed together in a sad smile. "I'm sorry. I know you two are good friends."
Neal shook his head. "No, it's just … he offered me Assistant Director."
"That's great, babe," she said, smiling brilliantly before furrowing her brow. "He can do that?"
"When he's the Director he can."
He watched her carefully. Waiting for it to sink in.
"He offered you Assistant Director," she said slowly. "In New York?"
"Yeah," Neal said.
"Apples, right?"
He had no idea what that had to with anything, other than the fact that Porter detested them.
Still he nodded. "But I'm not –"
But Emma cut him off, moving past the bullshit, and onto what she clearly considered the heart of the matter. "If the job was in Tallahassee would you take it?"
"Well, it would depend," Neal said carefully, "on the pay and if we could afford it."
Emma shook her head. "Never mind that. Would you want to?"
Neal didn't really have to think about it. "Yes."
"Then we're moving to New York," said Emma, surprising Neal because usually Emma worried more about practical matters and deciding to move willy-nilly was as impractical as you could get.
"Yeah, maybe, but I also said that I didn't want us to give up our dreams either," she said when he pointed this out. "This means something to you. It pays." She shrugged and then echoed a familiar phrase. "We'll figure the rest out."
Fuck he loved her.
But he didn't want her to just give up everything.
"Unfortunately bad parenting and child abandonment is a universal thing," she said to this notion. "I'll just find a school in New York instead of Florida." She shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "What's a few more applications?"
Still, they had a life here, as sparse as it looked sometimes, and given how long they both went without a proper home or any sort of stability he worried about uprooting it.
"Joy," he said pointedly.
Her response came less quickly this time. "I'll miss her, of course," she agreed, "but we both have phones and this is more important."
"Is it?"
Emma frowned. "Of course." Her lips pressed together and she gave him her patented 'don't be ridiculous' look. "Tallahassee isn't about the place, Neal. So call Leo. Tell him you'll take the job. And we'll build our lives in New York." She scrunched her nose playfully. "Even if it is infested with apples."
"I love you," he said, the words weighted down with warmth and awed gratitude.
She smiled softly, "I love you too." She turned her attention back to Porter as if they had just discussed the weather instead of a life-changing move. "What do ya think, Port? Wanna live in New York?"
Porter clapped excitedly.
