“It’s perfect as is,” Dad said. He came over and put his arm around me. Analemma sat down at our feet, leaning against my legs. Night had fallen, and the overhead light turned the windows into mirrors. Our reflections were partially transparent, so I could see the outline of tree tops through them, as if we were floating out in the dark. I felt as if we’d accidentally stepped into one of Joan’s photos. I felt her with us, pressing the shutter.

2023

Chapter 55

The Pearl Gallery is brightly lit against the March evening. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the darkness of Mass Ave is streaked with traffic lights. Dad brings me a huge bouquet of tulips; his wife follows with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

“I’m so proud of you,” Dad says, and he almost crushes the flowers as he hugs me.

“Thank you,” I say, and then I’m clutching the tulips and the champagne as more people arrive. I can hardly believe this is happening. So much was delayed during the pandemic, and now it feels like everything is happening at once. Tonight is the opening of my first show, and in three weeks I’m supposed to defend my dissertation. My brain is leaping from my paintings to Mars and back again.

Tasha texts to say she’s looking for parking. She drove up from New York for this. I haven’t seen her since her engagement party at New Year’s. Someone takes the flowers and champagne away from me. Fatima and Jing and Aaron, who are also in my PhD cohort at MIT, arrive together. They bring me peonies and hydrangeas.

Jess Wong, the gallery’s event coordinator, comes up to me and asks, “Are you ready?”

I’ve written down a brief speech, and I’m suddenly seized with nerves. But I nod anyway. I follow her toward the center of the gallery space, where she stands right in front of the biggest painting of the show. It’s called A Scatter of Light.

It’s an abstract work in mixed media: acrylic, oil, polycarbonate, aluminum, roofing paper, and postcard on board. In the center is a red sphere thickly textured with impasto. I’m really pleased with the effect; in some places it looks like a topographic map. Oranges and reds emanate from the central sphere, and fragments of shattered polycarbonate and aluminum are embedded in the paint. Toward the edges of the painting the colors transition into blues and purples and blacks. I’ve cut in hard-edged lines radiating out like dark rays. Within the rays are shards cut from a postcard. They show a tiny hand, the neck of a guitar, a leg. I have hidden the face.

I wish my grandmother could see this.