Latin culture. It was just...
It wasn’t her job.
And when her parents called to see what she was working on—and they always wanted to know what she was working on—she wanted to tell them she was using her eye for design and color to decorate beautiful homes, not picking up dog mess.
It was important to her that she prove to her parents that she was successful, or at least supporting herself in a lifestyle that they saw fit. Her father was a high-ranking military official, and her mother was a mathematics professor at an Ivy League college back in her home state of New Jersey. They’d had big plans for their twins.
But none of them included being an almost starving artist, and that was just what Virginia had been before she’d opened her design firm. Moving from state to state, chasing boyfriend after artistic boyfriend and painting. Some of her pieces had sold for big bucks, but it was never enough for her parents. They’d never understand her need to splash colors onto a blank canvas. They were too practical to see how a painting on a wall could bring someone joy.
And while they would have much rather had her be an actuary or an engineer, they’d never denied her the opportunity to learn about the things she loved. She had a bachelor of fine arts in painting with a minor in interior design and a master’s degree in art history. She was educated, just like any child of Colonel and Dr. Andersen should be, and they felt she should have a job suited to that education.
She’d been all ready to ignore her parents’ wishes and follow her heart, until her heart had led her here to Miami. She had come here at the request of her last boyfriend. Burcet, a beautiful Moroccan man with striking bronzed skin and long, wavy black hair, had grown up in France and spoke the most perfect French. He was a sculptor, passionate about his work and incredibly sweet and sensitive.
She had followed him when he’d told her he was going to get his big break, asking her to support his dreams, promising that once he hit it big he would return the favor. But after six months here he had disappeared, leaving a goodbye note taped to her microwave, never telling her why he left, just saying that he couldn’t be his true self with her.
That was when she’d taken a long hard look at her life. She’d been twenty-eight then, sleeping on a mattress in an un-air-conditioned studio apartment because she’d wanted to live the bohemian-artist lifestyle. And because she’d thought she was in love. But what had she had to show for it?
Absolutely nothing but the thoughts her parents had put in her mind about coming back home and getting a sensible job and leading a sensible life.
But sensible meant boring to her. So she’d taken her savings and her design degree and decided to do something meaningful. She’d opened a design firm. But for the past year she’d only had a few high-paying jobs in Miami’s crowded market. Most of her clients of late were the little elderly ladies who lived in Mrs. Westerfield’s condo complex. And while she enjoyed doing neoclassic dining rooms, she wanted a project that she could really sink her teeth into. She’d only had a couple of those and she was afraid there weren’t going to be many more in her future. If things didn’t pick up, she was going to have move back home and get that practical job her parents were always suggesting. Her mother had an in at a university. Virginia could be teaching bored college freshman Art History 101 by fall. All she had to do was say the word. All she had to do was go home with her tail tucked between her legs.
But she didn’t want that. She wanted a career where she could be creative. Where she could be in charge of her own path.
The phone on her desk rang and she jumped. Mrs. Westerfield had her cell phone number, so it couldn’t be her. Her heart lifted at the thought of a new client. “Andersen Interiors. How can I help you today?”
“I’ve got a German shepherd that needs to be taken to the vet. Are you available?”
“Shut up, Asa,” she said to her twin brother, but she smiled as she said it. Her brother was the only one who really understood her because he’d been raised by the same parents with the same expectations.
He chuckled. “What’s going on with you today, Gin? I called your cell but it went to voice mail.”
“That’s because I took Mrs. Westerfield to get a pedicure and had to shut off my phone.”
“You took her to get a pedicure?”
“Yup. She wanted me there to help her pick out a color. One that went with her manicure but not one that matched exactly. Coordination is in, matching is out, apparently. Then, this afternoon she called me back and fed me excellent chicken salad and lemonade while we looked at drapes. She’s tired of the ones in her bedroom. In fact, she’s tired of her bedroom, period, and would either like a Paris in the twenties theme or a hard-bodied man to shake things up.” She doodled a sketch on a piece of paper as she spoke to him. “You keep yourself in good shape, why don’t you truck yourself down here and make yourself useful?”
“No, thanks. Why do you work for her anyway?”
“Because, believe it or not, I like her and she pays me for my time. I told her she didn’t have to anymore, but she says she’s rich and she can’t take it with her, and she likes having a decorator on retainer. Plus she feeds me. She’s taking gourmet cooking classes and she tries all her new recipes out on me.”
“Sounds as if she’s keeping active in her old age.”
“I want to be her when I grow up,” Virginia told him, meaning it. “She’s going on a world cruise next week. She’ll be gone for one hundred and eight days. I’m going to miss her.”
“What are you going to do without your only paying customer?”
“Panhandle? Do caricatures on the boardwalk? I hear they are looking for cage dancers at a bar downtown.”
“Or you could come home,” he said quietly. “Well, not home to Mom and Dad, but move to New York where I am. You could be with all your artsy people and I’m sure you could get a job teaching at a school here without Mom’s help.”
“I don’t want to teach, Asa. I like being an interior designer. I’m good at it, too. I just need more time to prove it.”
“I know, Gin. You’re a good painter, too. A great one, but you gave that up.” He knew she had to follow her own path, just as he had to follow his. He’d been on track to become a doctor, just the way her parents wanted, but he’d dropped out of medical school in his third year and become a paramedic. He was too much of an adrenaline junkie to do rounds and spend all day in one building. His choice had, of course, disappointed their parents. Both of them had disappointed their parents when they’d diverged from the paths laid out before them. “You do whatever you want, Gin. But you can always come home if you need to.”
“I know.”
“I know you know. Just don’t forget it. I’ve got to go. I’m about to start my shift.”
“Love you.”
“Yeah, me, too.” They disconnected. Asa used to drive her crazy when they were kids, but they had grown a lot closer as adults, though they lived hundreds of miles away from each other. He was protective, even though she was older by six minutes. He would make a good husband for some woman.
One day.
It was as if her brother was on a single-handed mission to date all the
