Chapter Text
Tobin usually loves any event that showcases her paintings and her talents. It’s shallow, but knowing someone else can appreciate what she brings to this space is really important to her. Compliments don’t pay her bills, but they reinforce what she’s always wanted to know, and sometimes that’s worth more than money.
But tonight she’s not particularly interested in being here. This is her first exhibition since moving to Los Angeles, though it doesn’t feel as important as it really is. Of course she wants to announce herself in this new city, but there’s something gnawing at the very back of her brain and something that drags her into a fog she just can’t get out of tonight.
Or any of these nights since she’s moved to L.A.
Tobin has a theory now – that if you run away from something for long enough, you just end up running in a circle and making your way back to what you were so afraid of.
It’s a big, loud exhibit showcasing some of the best up-and-coming artists in the city, and Tobin had been offered three coveted spots here tonight. It’s a huge compliment to her and her talents, but it’s not what she needs right now. Right now she needs her studio, her canvasses and her paints – she needs to exorcise these emotions the only way she knows how.
The brunette feels a hand on her back and looks up, finding Sydney’s eyes.
“You okay?”, the taller woman asks, brow furrowed in concern.
Sydney knows her better than anyone by now. And she can always tell when Tobin’s in her own head.
“Yeah, I’m just… these paintings are all really special, don’t you think?”, Tobin asks, nodding at the still life hanging before her.
“Hey, you’re just as good. Probably even better”, Sydney says, smiling down at the brunette. “And besides, Max Gordan wants to see you. She wants to meet with you. It’s a big deal”.
“I still don’t even know why she wants to see me”, Tobin says with a shrug. “It may not even be about a painting or a collab opportunity. Maybe she just wants to see what I look like or something”.
“She could just Google you if she wanted to know that, Tobs”, Sydney says with a chuckle. “Listen, I need to get some more champagne in me. Don’t be so negative, please? Max Gordan is still Max Gordan. And she could really change your life”.
“Is she even here yet?”, Tobin asks, looking around the gallery.
It’s packed, but she doesn’t see the woman anywhere. She only really came here because Max’s assistant reached out and asked if she would be attending because boss wanted to meet with the young painter.
Tobin watches as Sydney floats off in search of another flute of champagne, and she turns back and studies the painting in front of her.
The colours are vibrant, the lines are smart – but at the end of the day it’s just a good painting; nothing more and nothing less. Tobin doesn’t just paint painting anymore – she’s unboxed herself and she hasn’t gone back in since she was a young art student at the Rhode Island School of Design. She would never paint anything so ordinary anymore.
“Tobin?”, an unfamiliar voiced calls out over the low hum of the room. Tobin looks up and sees the white hair of the middle-aged woman. “Or is it Miss Heath?”, she asks with a dry chuckle.
“N-no, Tobin’s fine”, she says and sticks out a hand. “You’re Max Gordan”.
“I am”, the woman laughs and shakes her hand.
Tobin knew of Max, but she didn’t know much about her other than she was one of the most successful female photographers and filmmakers in the country.
What would she want with me? Tobin thinks.
“It’s nice to meet you”, she says, offering a smile.
“Likewise”, Max says. She turns and looks at the painting in front of them. “I don’t think this is yours, is it?”
“No”, Tobin says, shaking her head. “My one painting is on the other side…”
“Oh, would you please show me?”, the grey-haired woman asks. “I would love to see it”.
Tobin nods and leads the woman through the crowd of people. “How, um, how do you know who I am?”
“I was in New York when you had that pop-up exhibition? I missed it, but a friend of mine bought this gorgeous painting from you and I’ve, well I’ve been obsessed ever since. When I learned that you would be here tonight, I just had to meet you”.
“Oh, that’s really cool”, Tobin says shyly. “I, um, I didn’t really know what I was doing with that pop-up, but I had a lot of pieces and I thought maybe someone would buy it”.
“How many did you end up selling?”
“Most of them”, she says with a shrug. “But you’ll be happy to know that I’ve improved a lot since then”. Tobin stops at her painting. “This is it”.
“Oh, wow”.
The painting was a collage made up of ten, eleven of her old paintings. It’s very different, but she likes it and she hopes Max does, too.
“What’s it called?”
“Fragmented reality”, Tobin says with a lopsided smile. “I tore up some old paintings and re-imagined them into this. The pieces of canvas were hand-stitched together by me”, she explains. “It’s supposed to depict the tumultuous mind of an angst-ridden woman”.
“And that woman is yourself?”
Tobin chuckles. “All my work ends up being auto biographical in one way or another”, she says, combing her fingers through her hair. “What do you think?”
Max nods intently. “I love it, I want it – and I want to see the others”. She turns to Tobin. “Please tell me they’re for sale”.
“You’ll have to talk to the dealer about that; but yeah – the paintings are up for sale”.
“I really want all of them – I can’t wait to see the others”.
“Let’s go then”, Tobin says. “The other two aren’t collages like this one. I’d say they’re more traditional, but they aren’t”.
They snake through the crowd again and Tobin begins to feel a bit more relaxed in Max’s presence. The woman isn’t intimidating at all, she’s actually quite nice.
“Do you like these sorts of events? Or are you more of a homebody?”, Max asks.
“A bit of both, but I enjoy my own company”, Tobin says. “And when I’m painting I like to just live in my own world”.
She’s always been that way – always flying off to her own world when she gets too invested in a painting. Sometimes it’s an escape – sometimes it’s a prison of her own design. Most times she likes it either way.
Tobin shows Max her other two painting and the woman’s suitably impressed by both of them.
“You’re a young genius, aren’t you?”, Max asks with an incredulous chuckle. “I really like these ones, too, Tobin. I love them”.
“Well, thank you. I worked really hard and I’m extremely proud of what I’ve been able to show here tonight”.
Max keens. “I asked to meet with you because I really want to commission you for an original work”.
Tobin nods. It’s possible that an endorsement from Max could do so much for her career, but she doesn’t want to look too eager.
“It’s for my fiancée and I– she absolutely adores your art. Almost as much as I do”. Max looks around the room, clearly in search of someone. “She said she was going to be late, but she should really be here by now. Let me call her”. She takes her phone from her pocket and makes the call.
Tobin turns and looks up at her own painting – a self-portrait that she painted with a blindfold on, titled ‘Know Yourself’. Her face wasn’t recognizable, but she was proud of the fact that she got her torso down perfectly.
“But I don’t see you, love”, Max says and turns to the entrance. “Ah, okay – spotted you”.
Tobin’s eyes widen when she sees the woman approaching them.
Everything stops.
She feels the blood rushing through her body and it feels like her veins cannot contain it. The thumping of her heart is loud and it pulses in her throat so hard that she feels like she’s about to choke.
Christen Press. In the flesh. Six years on from the very last time she’s seen her.
It doesn’t feel like real life. It feels like the dreams she’s been running away from for these past six years. The sky’s been ripped open and she’s been reaped from her reality and dragged into the dreamscape that is Christen Press.
Tobin can barely register what Christen says to Max, but then she sees the older woman leaning in and pressing a soft peck onto Christen’s cheek and the other shoe drops.
Wait… no – Christen and Max?, she thinks and swallows hard.
“Tobin, this is my fiancée – Christen Press”, Max says proudly, arm snaked around Christen’s waist.
The woman on her arm resembles the girl Tobin once knew. And those eyes are still so cold and green and lovely.
“Nice to meet you”, Christen says with a polite smile.
“Yeah, s-same”, Tobin says softly. There’s a ringing in her ears that deafens her for a split second.
“I told Tobin about the commission – she hasn’t said yes yet, but—I’m hopeful”, Max laughs, hand on Tobin’s shoulder. “I can give you my card and if you’re still interested…” She reaches into the inside pocket of her blazer and hands Tobin a business card. “I’m old school”.
Tobin blindly reaches for the card, eyes still looking at Christen and the unreadable expression on her face.
“I think Haynes is here somewhere”, Max then says. “I have to talk to him about these paintings before someone else does”. She gives Christen a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be right back, love. Look at this – isn’t she incredible?”, she asks, nodding towards Tobin’s painting.
“Yeah, she’s really good”, Christen says, eyes darting between the painting and Tobin,
“I’m gonna go find the dealer. You just appreciate this piece and start thinking of places to hang it, yeah?”
Christen nods and smiles at the woman – Tobin studies their interactions.
It’s strange seeing Christen with this woman. For so long, Christen’s only ever lived within the confines of her mind; she stopped being real ages ago.
Max walks off in search of the dealer and all of a sudden it’s just the two of them, standing opposite each other with the painting hanging in the middle like the tension between them.
“Hi”, Christen greets again, voice coming out small and a little uncertain.
“Hey”, Tobin says and it comes out hollow.
“I—you look… wow, so much like you did five years ago”, she says with a smile.
“Six”, Tobin corrects.
“Five years, seven months”, Christen says. “Give or take”.
Another bout of silence.
Tobin swallows hard and looks to her self-portrait. “What do you think of the painting?”
“I like it – I like that it’s you”.
“How did you—”
“I recognize the spattering of freckles on your shoulder”, Christen says, eyes on the painting. “Like dusty little stars on tan skin… And the scar from having your appendix removed right here”, she says and points to the painting. She looks up and finds Tobin’s eyes. “You’re hard to forget”.
“Am I really?”, Tobin asks, brow furrowed and eyes steely. She doesn’t mean for if to come out as bitter and cold as it does, but she has no control over that right now. “You left so easily; I didn’t think any of it was hard for you”.
Christen looks down, and Tobin knows that she’s hurt her – that her words have cut to the bone. She doesn’t care. She wants Christen to hurt.
“Yeah, well… none of it was easy”. Christen looks down at her shoes.
“Could’ve fooled me”.
There’s an eerie silence and Tobin wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Or she wants whatever dreamscape Christen’s fallen out of to come and reap her back up.
“Max is—”
“Your fiancée”, Tobin interjects.
“She is, but I was gonna say that she’s a really big fan of yours”. She sighs softly. “Imagine my surprise, walking into her house and there’s this big Tobin Heath original… It felt surreal almost”.
Tobin nods, face still steel and stoic. She can’t fully comprehend how this is even real. Christen’s just a few feet away. She’s not just in hazy flashbacks or midnight dreams anymore. She’s right in front of me.
She’d been having solo conversations in her head for six – well, five and a half years – and she’d been practicing what she would say to Christen if she ever saw her again, but now… now the words can’t come out.
“It’s good to see you, Tobin”, Christen says. “Despite everything that… didn’t happen between us. When I heard that you were gonna be here tonight, I knew that I had to see you”.
“I’m guessing Max doesn’t know about our…”
“Past? No, I never told her. I just don’t think it’s that important. That was a lifetime ago and we were kids”. Christen swallows, looks over her shoulder at her fiancée. “I know she wants to commission you for a painting”.
“Yeah, and before you showed up it seemed like a good idea”, Tobin notes. “Now I’m not so sure if it is”.
Christen’s brows knit together. “You don’t have to say no because of me – I won’t be around; I won’t be in your way”.
“And yet you came here tonight… Why? Why did you want to see me, Christen?”
“I—I felt like we left things on a—”
“Your fiancée’s coming”, Tobin warns softly and takes a step back. Out of all the women in the world, Max Gordan just had to be engaged to Christen. My Christen.
“Well, you two seem to be getting on like a house on fire”, Max says with a chuckle once she reaches them. “Say, did your paths ever cross in Providence? I think you might’ve been students there at the same time”.
Christen laughs lightly and wraps an arm around the older woman’s waist. “You know I never made it to the end”. She places a peck on Max’s cheek. “I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting Tobin until tonight”.
“The School of Design is pretty big anyway”, Tobin adds.
“Well, maybe you’ll be seeing a lot more of each other… That is if Tobin decides to accept my offer”. Max puts a hand on the artist’s shoulder. “I really think you could give us exactly what we’re looking for”.
Tobin nods, feeling as if though her heart’s sitting in her throat. She’s so relieved when she spots Sydney coming over. She greets the woman and gives her the eyes, almost as if to say that Sydney should just follow her lead.
“Max, Christen – this is Sydney. Syd, I’d like for you to meet Max Gordan and her fiancée, Christen”.
Sydney smiles and gives a nod. “Pleased to meet you… both of you”. She gives Tobin a look. “There’s someone who’d like to speak with you, Tobin. I told her you’d be right over”.
Tobin nods, then turns to face Max and Christen. “It’s been a real pleasure to meet you, but I have to go now”.
“But you’ll think about the offer, right? You have my card”.
“Yes, I’ll discuss it with my agent and see if we can make it happen”. She searches for Christen’s pale green eyes one last time before turning away and having Sydney escort her over to the other side of the gallery.
The last ten minutes feels like a fever dream. Tobin doesn’t drink, but she needs a shot or three. She needs to get something to wash Christen out of her system.
-
The car ride home is heavy, Tobin can sense it. Sydney’s on her phone, and Tobin’s watching her scroll.
“I didn’t know she was going to be there”, the brunette says. “I didn’t even know she was with Max Gordan”.
“Max is famously private about her life, so it might not have been super public knowledge”, Sydney says. She puts her phone in her clutch and turns to Tobin with a crooked smile. “So, Christen Press, huh?”
Tobin swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah…” She feels Sydney’s hand on her knee.
“Should I be worried?”
That question was always coming; Tobin’s been expecting since the gallery.
She shakes her head in the negative and places her hand on top of Sydney’s. “Of course not. I don’t have feelings for her anymore”.
Maybe that’s a lie. Maybe deep down she feels more than apathy for the woman. But what she felt years ago is gone.
“I’m with you now”. She placed a kiss on her cheek and grabbed her hand. “And I’m happy”.