On an Edge of Glass

in a grimace, he sets it down and grabs another bottle.  It’s an obnoxious shade of orange.  “ This is Mango Madness.  Who wouldn’t want to have that on their fingernails?”
                  “Me.  I don’t want that horrible color anywhere on my person.”
                  Mark frowns. 
                  “Why does it even matter?”  Payton interjects with her eyes on Mark. 
                  Mark looks at her and then at me.  His face is serious.  “I just want Ellie to be happy and this color isn’t going to get her there.”
                  I roll my eyes.  “Fine.  But not the orange.”
                  He grins.  “Okay, what about…”  He sifts through the glass bottles in the plastic bin at his feet and pulls out an iridescent blue shade.  “Starry Starry Night?”
                  “Deal,” I say and stick out my right hand. 
     
     
    I don’t really expect to hear anything about the exhibition until Monday, but Michaela calls me on Sunday afternoon while I’m reading through my notes for school and watching reruns of Family Feud .
                  “All of them?”  I ask the question for a third time.
                  I can almost hear her smile through the phone.  “Yes, Ms. Glass.  All of them.  I told you that I’m very impressed with your work.”
                  “Wow!  I-I’m—”
                  “Hopefully you’re about to say that you’re thrilled and will be able to come by the gallery on Tuesday and again on Friday to help out with the placement of your photographs.”
                  “Of course! Just let me know what times I need to be there.”
                  “I’ll be sending out an email with that information to all of our artists shortly.”
                  I thank Michaela a hundred times.  I’m bubbling over.  So much so that, with a note of exasperation in her voice, she finally says, “Ms. Glass, I’m not the one that took your beautiful photographs.  If you need to express your gratitude, thank yourself or one of the subjects of the collection.”
                  “I will.  And I’ll see you at the Pratt Gallery on Tuesday.”
                  I bounce out of my bedroom, calling for Payton and Ainsley.  “Girls!  Girls!  You aren’t going to believe it!”
                  “Is everything okay?”
                  I turn.  It’s Ben.  He’s standing in the kitchen eating cold pizza off of a paper plate.  His long hair is rumpled and hanging in his face.  His eyes are dark with concern.  “Is everything okay?”  He repeats.
                  “Yeah, it’s fine.  I-I didn’t know that you were back.  How was Richmond?” I ask, catching my breath.  I don’t know why I’m so surprised to see him—he does, in fact, live here.  It’s just, the way things have been recently, we haven’t interacted much.  And, with my revelation about the way that I feel about him, things are… 
                  “Different,” he says, and for a second I think that I’ve spoken aloud.  Then I realize that he is simply answering my question.  “I actually met a guy who plays in the San Francisco Symphony and he told me that they have a cello chair opening up.  He set up a remote audition for me.”
                  “Wow.  San Francisco?  That’s really ummm… far.”  I’m stumbling over my words. 
                  “We’ll see.  I’m sure that there are tons of cellists applying and I’d have to nail the audition.”
    “ I’m sure that you will.”
    He smiles and it’s like a fan to the fire that’s burning inside of me.  My heart skips.  It bounces.  It dances. 
                  “Have you seen Ainsley or Payton around?”  I ask quickly, not trusting myself to manage much else.  I’m a ball of nerves.
                  Ben looks disappointed.  “I don’t think they’re home.  Do you need something?”
                  “No.”  I start to turn away then think better of it.  I have to do this sometime.  “Actually, I do have some news to share.”
                  Ben’s eyes widen and he sets his plate on the counter.  “Did you hear back from other law