‘Okay,’ I said calmly. ‘I’ll help you, but on one condition.’
‘Of course!’ Tanya exclaimed, her eyes shining.
‘Everything, Ivy. Everything,’ said Charlie, finally taking a bite of his burger.
‘There’s an event this Saturday,’ I said, folding my napkin. ‘It’s at the community centre and starts at 7 p.m. I want you both to be there.’
They weren’t here for me. Of course not. They came for the money.
‘Of course, dear,’ my mother repeated. ‘Is it some kind of gala? What should I wear?’
‘I’ll give you a chance to decide that,’ I said.
I knew they were already planning their outfits by the time we reached the car park.
Saturday arrived.
The centre was full of people, other artists, the press, teachers, former classmates and their families, as well as strangers who had been following my work online. Most of Aunt Carol’s neighbours were there too.
‘Is this some kind of gala? What should I wear?’
The walls were decorated with prints from my early collections, and a banner stretched across the stage:
‘In honour of the woman who made the artist.’
Tanya and Charlie arrived ten minutes before the start. My mother wore a pearl necklace and a light pink blouse that I vaguely remembered from an old Instagram post. My father looked uncomfortable in a jacket that was a size too big.
They both smiled as I led them to the front row.
‘Looks like we’ve got a big night, Ivy,’ Charlie whispered. ‘Good crowd.’
‘In honour of the woman who built the artist.’
‘It’s a big night,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve worked hard to be here. Enjoy the presentation.’
Just before the lights went down, the side doors opened with a soft creak.
Aunt Carol entered quietly, a bouquet of red and white roses in both hands. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they reached me, and then them.
Her face flushed, just for a moment, her expression frozen between bewilderment and disbelief.
‘Enjoy the presentation.’
I saw the question on her lips: ‘What are they doing here?’
I said nothing. I didn’t need to. I reached out and gently squeezed her hand, giving her confidence in that moment. My fingers wrapped around her hand, a silent promise and answer veiled together. Aunt Carol’s eyes softened.
My aunt’s eyes softened.
Then the lights went out.
A slideshow appeared on the projector; one photo after another lit up the screen.
Aunt Carol at the sixth-grade art fair, sitting next to me, holding my sketchbook.
Aunt Carol in the kitchen, wiping paint off my nose — our neighbour, Elena, took this photo.
Aunt Carol signing the papers for my guardianship when I turned 14.
Carol, tired but proud, hugging me after the winner of the competition was announced….
one photo after another lit up the screen.
The audience began to whisper. Tanya clutched her bag tightly. Charlie stared at his shoes.
When it was my turn to speak, I walked onto the stage and picked up the microphone.
‘Tonight is for the only parent I’ve ever had,’ I said.
I saw my mother’s head snap up.
‘To the woman who didn’t walk away when things got tough. To the woman who didn’t give up on me as too much of a challenge. And to the woman who never asked me to shrink myself as if I were too much…’
The audience began to whisper.
I froze; the silence was tense.
‘To Aunt Carol, who is the reason I am here and the reason I am whole.’
Applause erupted.
‘You said you needed to get your car fixed,’ I said to my mother.
‘Yes, well, I—’ she began.
‘And you wanted money for the flat?’ I said to my father.
…the silence was tense.
‘We just thought—’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘My condition was that you be here tonight,’ I said. ‘So you could hear this.’
I moved closer to the microphone.
‘You get nothing. Not a penny. You lost the right to ask me for anything the day you packed my life into bin bags and left me on someone else’s doorstep.’
‘You’re not getting anything. Not a penny.’
There was a murmur among the audience. Someone applauded. Then the whole crowd stood up.
‘But you said…’ Tanya’s voice broke.
‘No, I offered you a lesson,’ I said simply. ‘And now you have it. Please leave us alone.’
That night, we walked home under the stars, holding Aunt Carol’s roses in our arms, and never looked back.
‘Please leave us alone.’