Painted Stars

“I quit!” I cry. “I can’t keep working with forty patients to manage and minimal help!”

“Cass-” The woman began.

“No! All you do is sit while I run around on my tired feet all day, and I’m done!” I rip off my name badge and slam it on the desk before her, sending documents whirling. 

The woman’s near-black eyes meet mine. She is beautiful in the haunting way older people often are. Her hair slick back into a tight bun, silver streaks across pitch-black strands. As my supervisor, she’s often cross in the eyes, especially now. She slowly tucks the name badge into a drawer. “If that’s how you feel, then leave Cassie.”

I huff. “That’s it?”

She puts her elbows on the counter, fingers clasped, and leans in. “Cassie, I’ve been working here for about fifty years, I’ve seen many nurses come and go. It’s not for everyone. I know you were expecting more.”

“I wasn't expecting more.” I point my finger at her. “I was expecting supervisors to care about their staff!”

“I do care.” She stands, she’s leaning completely over the table now. “And don’t you for one second think that I don’t.” She sighs. “You’ve told me before, nursing was never your dream.” I jerk my chin up. “And that’s why I knew this day would come.” She rests her hand on mine. I stay still. “So go chase that dream.” She squeezes my hand tight and smiles, it's wide and real. And now it’s hard to speak. The words can’t get past the lump in my throat and for some reason, I take her hand and squeeze it back.

“Thanks,” I say. She continues smiling. I look up, partly to stop from crying, and partly because her smile is so damn contagious, and I don’t want to be happy right now, not after all the crazy shit I’ve been through for this job. Most of which she asked me to do. I can’t look at her as I say, “Well, I’d better go. And actually, can I keep that name tag?”

“Of course hun.”

On the drive home I call Emily. She has short blonde hair and the cutest button nose. She’s been my bestie since high school softball.

“Hey girl!” She answers.

“Em, you won't believe what’s happened,” I say distraught.

“Oh no, is it your husband again?”

“No, we’ve been doing good lately. You see, I quit my job.”

“No way!” She squeals. “You finally cut ties with that dreadful place. Tell me all about it.” Her pride calmed me, but the feeling did not last. Once our call ended, a heaviness seemed to choke the air.

In the bedroom mirror, I look at myself in the scrubs I’ve worn for years. My silky black hair reaches just past my shoulders. I touch my face, olive-toned skin sticky with sweat, and dark circles framed by eyes. My hands find the neckline of the scrubs. I trace it idly, “I think I’m gonna burn them,” I say aloud to no one. And so I did. But I left the name tag alone, as a little memento.

When my husband arrived he found me on the bed, watching sappy romance movies, a tissue box near to hand, and snack wrappers scattered.

“Hi, babe, whatcha doing here?” His eyes catch on the tissues. He starts towards me. “Oh, sweetheart. Are you okay? Was it another bad day at work?” He sits down beside me and looks at me with those hazel eyes flecked with green. How handsome he is. I’ve always been jealous of his perfectly smooth skin. Reminds me of Hershey's kisses. Speaking of which I think I have some tucked away somewhere-. “Cass?” He asks again. Right, he was speaking.

“Sorry I- Yes I had a bad day. Well actually, a really bad day, and I-” My throat hurts again, and my face flushes red. I can’t speak. I look away.

“Hey, you can talk to me.”

“Jace.” I pause. “Today was my last day.” He doesn’t speak. “I just couldn’t do it anymore.” I start to sob, taking ragged gasps.

“It’s okay c'mere.” He pulls me tight against his chest. “We’ll get through this.” He caresses my head. “We’ll figure it out.”

It’s been a week and nothing’s been figured out. All I’ve done is eat junk food and binge TV shows. Jace has tried to comfort me but nothing works. And so he moaps because I moap, but now he sits me down at our breakfast table. “Do you want a drink?” He asks. “Tea or...”

“Do we still have the peppermint tea from last Christmas?” 

“Yes, and I’ll put it in a Christmas mug for you, cutie.” He flashes a grin before turning into the kitchen. 

Our house is small, after all, it’s just the two of us. The living room has an old gray couch and a squishy recliner. The TV is on the floor, we hadn't found a stand we could agree on yet. And the kitchen has tiles for countertops and orange-ish cabinets, but it was ours, and it had done the job.

“Your tea.” He sets the Christmas mug down in front of me. I lean over to breathe in the peppermint steam.

“Thanks.” I attempt a grateful smile and hold the warm mug.

“You know I’ve been in your shoes before. I’ve felt what it’s like to struggle for your job. I mean, every job has ups and downs and there’s never gonna be a job you truly like.”

My chest sinks. “Yeah.” 

“And well, it’s only a few more years to go and we could retire, probably save enough to have a family too, if you still want that.”

“I think so.” I test the tea with my finger. It’s too hot. “But Jace, five to ten years isn’t a short time.” I look at him.

“It is compared to how many years you’ve done already.”

“You don’t understand, that job was killing me, I was losing myself.”

“That’s why it's important to learn your limits.”

“I thought I had,” I clench the edge of the table, “but it turns out my limit is zero. I can’t do this job. I know that now.”

“Okay.” He sighs and rubs his neck with one hand. “Well, what do you want to do instead?” He puts his hand down. “Because you can’t just sit around and let me do all the work for our future.”

“No, of course, I wasn’t gonna-”

“I don’t want to be stuck with a partner that doesn’t pull her own weight.”

“I never said-”

“That wouldn’t be fair to me Cassie.” We look at each other. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Of course not, I’ve just been having a hard time with it. I’ll figure it out, I just, I can’t go back to nursing, you have to understand that as my partner.” I put my palm out and tilt my head. “Please.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t want you to be stuck doing something you hate so much. I’m just worried about you. About us.” He places his palm in mine.

I nod and take back my hand to test the temperature of the tea again. It’s cool now so I chug it down eagerly. 

He waits till I’m finished to say. “Well, if there’s a perfect job for you, what would it be?”

I hadn’t thought of it too much before. In school, I had thrown myself into my joy-deprived studies. I did it for the money and now I regretted it. But before then- I thought of my childhood.

“I guess, I would paint,” I say.

“Painting sounds like a great thing to do after we’re retired and can pursue whatever hobbies we want.”

I look at him. “But I want to paint forever. I think I always have. And I used to do it all the time in my childhood. I loved to paint.”

“I understand that you like to paint, but how are you gonna make a living out of it? I mean, I haven’t seen you paint in years.” 

“I don’t know exactly, but I’ll figure it out.” I rise from my chair. “I’ll rinse this,” I mutter as I head over to the sink. 

He follows. “I can help you think of job ideas if you want. We could probably even send you back to school if we really budgeted.” 

“That’s okay,” I say. “I wanna try this. You’ll see, I’ll get my work in magazines, an art show, or a museum even!”

“Right. You do that.” He walks into the living area and engrosses himself with the TV remote.

Upon returning to the bedroom, I pull out my laptop and search: how to paint, paint supplies.

A week later my supplies arrived in the mail. I set up an easel in the backyard and began putting my knowledge to the canvas. Only, this blue wasn’t as dark as I wanted, this yellow is too bright, and now this ocean scene looks neon? I don’t know about this. I think to myself. It looks stupid. I set my brush down, and replace the canvas with a new one. And so the hours passed like this.

Each painting that month was learnt from the last. An apple basket in greyscale, a fox in the snow, well kind of snow, and my favorite: a child under an oak tree, sleeping, a book falling out of her hand. When I sent a picture of it to Emily she called to tell me, “Wow, look at you, Cassie the painter!”

By the end of the season, I had a series of seven portraits, including The Dreamer Under the Willow Tree, not the original but a much-revised version. Sure they weren’t perfect, but art isn’t perfect, right? And everyone has to start somewhere. That’s what I told myself anyway. I took these portraits to get professionally photographed. “These are cool, did you make them?” The photographer had asked.

 “I did. I’m hoping to get them published somewhere.” I responded.

“I know how that goes. Good luck.” She had said.

After I received the photos I sent them to different magazines, contests, and art galleries. Proud of my achievement I called Jace.

“So,” I say, “I’ve been working all day and as of right now I’ve submitted seven different paintings to be reviewed for a bunch of places like magazines and stuff!”

“Cool.” He responds.

“I really want to get my work recognized.”

“Cool.”

Silence.

“Sorry, I’m a bit distracted.” He says.

“What about?”

“I’ve been thinking about ways to improve the system at work. It’s probably all really boring to you. You don’t want to hear it. Do you?”

“No,” I sigh, “that’s okay.”

“I figured.”

“Right.” I pause.

“I’ve been doing a lot of overtime training the new hire. I’m loving my job right now!”

“That's great. It’s good to have a job you love.”

“Yeah, it's awesome.” I can hear his smile.

“So I’ve been working all day and submitted seven different paintings to be reviewed.” I try again.

He chuckles, “you submitted?”

“No, it’s… It’s impressive.” My voice makes an unwelcome whine.

“I was just making a joke-” 

“It’s impressive to create and submit seven different paintings in only three months with hardly any prior experience.”

“I know, it’s cool. I was just trying to be playful. C’mon flirt with me.” He insists.

“Actually speaking of painting, I’m gonna keep working at it, I’ll talk to you later.”

“You know I’m busy tonight. Going out with my coworkers.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“We’ve invited the new hire, you know, so she can get to know us. I’ll be home late.”

“That’s okay, I'll talk to you later.”

“Okay, love you.” He says flatly.

“Love you too, bye.” I hang up quickly.

Just a few weeks pass before I get a call while driving home with more supplies.

“Hi, Is this Cassie Williams?”

“Yes, that’s me,” I say tentatively.

“Perfect. My name is Margret. I’m calling from the Melody Museum of Arts. We reviewed the painting you submitted, The Dreamer Under the Willow Tree. We’d like to know if you’d consider putting it on display for our seasonal up-and-coming artists collection. Of course, we will compensate you for the time it’s on loan.”

“Yes! You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Alright. I will email you the details. Have a great day Cassie, and Congratulations.” 

Beaming with trump I return home.

“Jace I have good news!” I rush inside and down the short hallway.

“Wait, don’t open the door-” He calls too late. I’ve already opened the bedroom door to see him in our bed with a woman. She has soft brunette curls and blue eyes wide with shock as she looks at me. Her clothes are on the floor, a lacy bralette among them. 

“Jace, what is this, who is this?” I half shout, half whine. The woman stands holding the sheet, my sheet, to her bare chest. She turns and grabs her clothes off the floor, the sheet is now completely ripped from the bed. “Let me give you two some privacy. Bye Jacey!” She squeezes past me taking the sheet with her, I hear shuffling, then the front door opening and shutting. Then silence.

Jace sits up, his lower body under the comforter, he tussles his hair and looks at me. “You arrived earlier than I expected. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.” He states.

I clench my fists. “Really? How were you meaning for me to find out then?”

“I don’t know.” It takes everything for me to stand still and listen. “But things haven't been working out for a long time. You know that.”

“No, I-” I start.

His voice raises, “You and I are living different lives. We have different goals now. At least Kaylee could pull her own weight.”

“But I was-” My voice catches. I swallow. “I was building us a future, we were gonna make it.”

“No, we weren’t. I’m sorry Cass. That’s just how it is. You choose this when you chose to quit your job.”

“No, you can’t say that.”

 He stands up from the bed and reaches for his shorts, putting them on without a word. When he’s done he says, “let's talk about it later okay? After some rest?”

“No, I can’t stay.”

 He shrugs. “Works for me.”

I’ve just driven around the block with a bag loosely thrown together in the back seat with the supplies I never unloaded from earlier and my seven paintings, loosely covered. Since I’ve been alone, I haven't stopped sobbing. It’s as though everywhere I look I see him, I see our future, I see it all gone.

I call Emily. “Hey, girl! How’s it going?” She answers.

“Em?” I choke out.

“Cass?” Her tone shifts to concern.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?”

“Well sure, hun, but what’s wrong?”

“I-I’ll tell you. I will. But when I get there okay?”

“Whatever you need.” 

“Thanks, see you soon.” I end the call.

When I arrive she offers a warm hug, holding my face in her hands and saying, “Omg you look awful, babe. Here. Let me take your bag.” I follow her into her apartment. It’s neatly organized, smaller than that what I’m used to, but cozy. “I hope you're okay with sleeping on the couch.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you.”

“A drink?” She asks.

“A beer would be nice.” I plop on the couch.

“Oh girl I can make you a drink way better than beer, but you have to tell me everything.”

Margarita in hand, I told her about Jace, how he cheated with some brunette, Kaylee. How she called him Jacey. Then I said, “my painting is going to be in an art gallery.” 

“Dang, you’ve had one crazy day. I’m proud of you girl. I hope you’re planning on divorcing that back-stabbing ‘Jacey-Pastry’.” We roar with laughter. “And then,” she says, “then you’re gonna become the best painter ever!”

“No way.”

“I mean it girl” she elbows me. “You got your first gig! We have to celebrate.”

“You know what. Yeah, we do. Screw Jace.”

“Yeah! Screw that Jacey!”

She made me another drink and we danced to old classics. Then late at night after we had both indulged, we climbed that big grass hill behind her apartment. At the top, she said to me, “look at how the city lights reflect the stars. I bet.” She points up, “I bet there’s a star for everyone who has and will ever live. And I like to think that you and me, Cass, are next to each other, burning brightly forever.”

“And I’d like to think that we can’t even see Jace’s star from here.” I make a face.

“Ew, heck no. He is in the furthest galaxy from us.” We giggle and collapse on the grass. She wraps her arm around me as we stare at the lights. After a while, she says, “you know, these next couple of months will be hard, but I’m here for you.” I lean into her shoulder for a moment.

“You know what?” I say looking at her.

“What”’ She looks back.

“I think I need to make a toast.” My eyebrows raise.

“Too bad we left the drinks.” 

I laugh. “It’s a toast for the world.” I stand and help her up. “I’m gonna shout it. You ready?” She nods. “Okay, here I go.” I turn to the city. “One day,” I yell, “I will become the most famous painter in the world! And I will make my best friend rich.” My voice softens. “And I’ll paint us a promise, you and me in the stars, side by side.”

“Crazy girl.” She says, “I always knew you were special, Cassie the Painter.”