Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MADISON

My heart does a full-on paint splatter in my chest as I stand at the entrance of the art exhibit as the first guests trickle in. This is it, my shot at the big leagues. Every brushstroke, every sleepless night, it’s all led to this moment. I’m one unveiling away from proving to everyone, and myself, that I’m not just another dreamer messing around with canvases.

I fidget with the hem of my dress, tugging it down for the thousandth time. God, I hope I didn’t completely botch this. What if no one gets it? What if?—

“There’s our star of the show!”

Ryan’s voice cuts through my spiral like a perfectly placed paint knife. I look up to see him striding in, flanked by Amanda and Blake. The tightness in my chest eases a fraction.

“Hey, you made it!” I manage, my voice slightly wobbly.

Ryan flashes me that trademark grin, the one that still makes my stomach do a little flip. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Grimes. You ready to dazzle these art snobs?”

I roll my eyes, but nothing can stop my smile. “Please, like you know anything about art beyond finger painting.”

“Ouch,” he clutches his chest dramatically. “And here I thought I was your muse.”

Before I can fire back, Amanda swoops in for a hug. “These pieces look amazing, Madds.” She squeezes me tighter. “I’m so proud of you.”

I hug her back fiercely and push down the unbearable emotion in my throat. Focus, Maddy. Tonight isn’t about boy drama or secrets. It’s about your art.

“Thanks, guys.” I pull back and take in their presence. “Seriously, having you all here … it means everything.”

Blake claps me on the shoulder. “We’ve got your back, Cap. Now go show ’em what real art looks like.”

With a deep breath, I square my shoulders like I’m about to step up to the easel for the final stroke of a masterpiece. “Alright, guys. Let’s do this.”

Gratitude surges through me as I turn to greet the next wave of guests. Whatever happens tonight, success or failure, I’ve got my core group right here with me. And that’s worth more than any gallery spotlight.

As I mingle with the growing crowd, my mind drifts back to when Amanda moved back. The first night back, we had a heart-to-heart. We ordered pizzas and sprawled out on our apartment floor, and I finally spilled everything about my relationship with Ryan.

“God, Amanda,” I’d said, my voice thick with emotion. “I thought you’d be pissed I kept it from you.”

Her eyes had softened. “Maddy, you’re my best friend. I get why you felt the need to hide everything. I would’ve been there for you, but part of me is thankful you didn’t place me in a position where I had to lie.”

“You’re the only person I’ve trusted, but I couldn’t place you in that situation. It wouldn’t be right.”

Now, watching her chat animatedly with an elderly couple about one of my paintings, I feel a rush of affection. She’s been my rock through all this, never judging, always supporting.

“You look a million miles away.” Ryan’s voice snaps me back to the present. “You good?”

“Excellent. Thanks so much for being here.”

He leans down and kisses the side of my head. “Toots, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

I blink back tears and manage a smile. We’re lucky we’ve found our way back to each other. So many people don’t. My smile turns sad when my parents come to mind.

“What’s going on inside that head?”

I can never hide anything from him. It’s like we’re wired together, sharing the same frequency. “Just thinking about my parents. I’m not sure they’re coming.”

“Wait. They’re not?” The alarm in his voice makes me shrug.

“They didn’t commit.”

He curses under his breath. “No matter what happens, your art is sick. They’d be idiots not to see that.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, fidgeting with my necklace. “It’s just … they’ve always seen dentistry as my future, you know? This feels like I threw them a massive curveball.”

“Sometimes you gotta break the mold to make something beautiful.” He pivots to face me and looks me straight on. “Trust me, I know a thing or two about disappointing parents.”

I nod, grateful for his understanding. He and his dad are tight, but he doesn’t have a relationship with his mom, and by the looks of things, he never will.

The room’s getting packed now, a steady hum of conversation filling the air. My gaze keeps darting to the entrance. I hold my breath with each person walking in. If I keep up this rate, I’ll be passed out when they arrive.

“What if they do show and hate it?” I whisper my deepest fear.

“Then they’re missing out on seeing the real you. And that’s their loss.” Ryan squeezes my shoulder. “Seriously, Maddy. This work is master-level genius. It’s no wonder you won.”

I take a shaky breath. “Right. Okay. I can do this.”

“Damn straight.” Ryan grins and points to an art piece displayed beyond mine. “Now, wanna explain to me what the hell that blob thing over there is supposed to be?”

I laugh despite myself, grateful for the distraction. “It’s abstract, you Neanderthal. Come on, I’ll give you the dumbed-down tour.”

As I lead Ryan through the gallery, I can’t quite shake the nervous energy thrumming through me. But with my friends by my side and my art on display, I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, tonight’s the night I finally show my parents who I really am.

We stop at one artwork hanging on the wall that faces the entrance. I’m in the middle of explaining the piece to Ryan when my gaze lands on Mom and Dad. Their faces are unreadable as they scan the room, and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a canvas with one misstep away from ruining everything.

“They’re here.” I grab Ryan’s forearm.

“You’ve got this, Maddy. Remember, you’re the showstopper tonight,” Ryan says.

I take a deep breath and force myself to move forward. Mom’s gaze locks onto mine. Her approach is stoic, but I notice a hint of surprise behind her mask.

“Madison,” Dad says, his tone formal. “This is ... unexpected.”

I swallow hard. “I know. But I wanted you to see?—”

“What exactly are we seeing?” Mom interrupts, her eyes darting around the room and landing on my display. The pieces are arranged in a horseshoe-like shape, with the main piece at the center.

“Each piece is centered around the theme of ‘Hidden Stage.’” My palms are sweaty as I lead them to the first display. “‘Broken Masks.’” I point to the canvas. “It’s about the faces we show the world versus who we really are.”

I don’t think I breathe as they step closer. The painting shows a shattered porcelain mask that reveals glimpses of raw, vulnerable emotion underneath. Dad’s brow furrows. I swallow hard as I wait for his lecture about wasting time on frivolous pursuits.

Then his eyes widen.

“This is ... remarkable.” His voice has wonderment as he leans in for a closer look.

Mom’s hand flies to her mouth. “Madison, did you create this?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. The tension in my chest starts to unwind, replaced by a cautious hope.

“It’s so honest ,” Mom says softly. “I can feel the pain, the struggle.”

Dad turns to me, his expression softer than I’ve seen in years. “Is this how you feel, sweetheart? Like you’re hiding behind a mask?”

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. “Sometimes,” I admit. “I just ... I want you to see me. The real me.”

Mom reaches out, her fingers hovering over the canvas. “We’re seeing you now, Madison. And it’s breathtaking.”

My blood races through my veins as I guide them to the next piece. “This one’s called ‘The Puppet and Puppeteer,’” I explain.

The canvas depicts a lifelike marionette. Its strings are tangled and knotted, stretching to unseen hands. But a closer look reveals the puppet’s own fingers wrapped around some of the strings, fighting for control.

Dad leans in, mesmerized. “The detail here is extraordinary.” He traces the air above the intricate knots. “It’s almost like ... like the puppet is trying to break free.”

I nod, surprised he noticed. My voice comes out garbled. “Yeah, that’s … that’s kind of the point.”

Mom’s gaze flicks between me and the drawing as realization dawns in her eyes. “Oh, Madison,” she breathes. “Is this how you feel about your studies? About dentistry?”

I bite my lip and fight back tears. “I- I don’t know. Sometimes, I guess. It’s complicated.”

Dad’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, surprisingly gentle. “We never meant to make you feel trapped, sweetheart.”

“I know,” I whisper, leaning into his touch. “I just wanted to make you proud.”

They exchange a look, something unspoken passing between them. Then, without a word, they move to the next piece—“The Reflecting Stage.”

It’s a triptych, three canvases showing the exact figure in different poses. On the left is a perfect, polished image. On the right, a raw, vulnerable version. And in the center, a blend of both, caught in a moment of transformation.

Mom’s breath catches. “This is us, isn’t it? All of us?”

I nod, unable to speak. Dad’s arm tightens around me. I look up and blink. Is that tears in his eyes? Or maybe my own.

“We’ve been so blind,” he says softly. “You’ve been trying to tell us all along, haven’t you?”

“I didn’t know how,” I admit, my voice breaking. “I was afraid you’d be disappointed.”

Mom takes my hand, squeezing it tight. “Never, Madison. We could never be disappointed in this talent. We just ... we didn’t see it before.”

I feel something shift as they stand there, absorbing the full impact of my art—of my soul laid bare on canvas. For the first time in years, I feel truly seen.

I guide Mom and Dad to “Dual Shadows.” The piece shows two figures, back-to-back, their shadows intertwining in complex patterns. One shadow is filled with dental tools, and the other with paintbrushes and easels.

Mom’s eyes widen. “Oh, Maddy. Is this how you’ve felt all this time?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah, it’s like I’m always carrying two versions of myself. The dentist you want me to be and the artist I dream of becoming.”

“We never meant for you to feel so … divided,” Dad says, his voice rough with emotion.

“I know,” I reply, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “But it’s been hard, trying to be everything for everyone.”

They exchange a look that speaks volumes as realization dawns in their eyes.

We move to the final piece, “The Torn Script.” It’s a large canvas, showing a figure breaking free from a tangle of words and expectations, reaching for a bright, undefined future.

Mom’s hand clutches her pearls, mouth agape. “This is … you’re breaking free,” she whispers.

Dad nods slowly, his eyes never leaving the canvas. “It takes incredible courage to do what you’re doing, Madison,” he says, his voice filled with a pride I’ve never heard before. “To forge your own path, to … to risk disappointing us to be true to yourself.”

I feel tears pricking at my eyes. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

Mom turns to me, her eyes shining. “We might not have understood before, but we do now. This talent, this passion. It’s who you are, Maddy. And we couldn’t be prouder.”

Our dynamic shifts as we stand surrounded by my art and the truth it reveals. I can breathe for the first time in forever, and I am finally free to be myself. And looking into my parents’ faces, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I can have it all—my dreams and their love, without having to choose.

“Maddy,” Dad says, his voice rough with emotion. “We owe you an apology.”

I blink, stunned. Did I just hear that right? My parents, who’ve been pushing me towards dentistry since I could hold a toothbrush, are apologizing?

Mom reaches out, her hand trembling slightly as she touches my arm. “We’ve been so focused on what we thought was best for you we didn’t notice your incredible talent.”

“We didn’t recognize the artist in you,” Dad adds, his eyes filled with regret and pride. “And for that, we’re truly sorry.”

My mouth gapes as I try to find my voice. It’s like I’m standing at center ice, the crowd roaring, but I can’t hear a thing. “You really mean that?”

Mom nods. “We do, sweetheart. Your art... it’s opened our eyes to who you really are.”

Without thinking, I throw my arms around them both and pull them close.

“I was so scared if I showed you the real me, I’d lose you.” My voice is muffled against Dad’s shoulder, but he must hear me. His arms tighten around me.

“Never, Maddy. We might not have always understood, but we’ll always love you.”

“So,” I say, pulling back slightly to look at them both, “does this mean you’re okay with me ditching the dental floss for paintbrushes?”

They laugh, and the sound is like music to my ears. For the first time in forever, I feel like I can truly be myself—the artist, the dreamer, the wild spirit I’ve always been underneath. As I look around at my artwork and at my parents’ proud faces, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally found my place.