It'll Happen Anyhow

Prologue

It feels like a dream.

A dream in the best possible way.

I'm standing in the middle of the Glass House Gallery, one of the oldest and most respected art galleries in all of New York. The gallery is awash with people of all ages and ethnicities, and they are all discussing my art under the gallery's expansive collection of exhibition lights. I feel almost intoxicated, all my feelings so vibrant and explosive, yet that can't be right since I've only partaken in one of the flutes of champagne being passed around on silver platters since the exhibition began 3 hours ago. My joy is equivalent to that of a child riding their bike without training wheels for the first time, a sort of reckless abandon. I'm undeniably giddy as I observe all the occupants of the Glass House Gallery as they ponder the colors, techniques, and inspiration behind my series of landscape paintings.

"Ellie! Love, I hope that I've already told you today that your paintings are bloody brilliant," I hear a familiar British voice call out behind me, and I turn around slowly as the corners of my lips begin to tip up into a radiant smile.

"I can't believe this is happening, Cora," I tell my best friend of the past 5 years as she steps up to the side of me so we both stand in front of my painting that depicts the ghostly grey waters of Spirit Lake. "A month ago were both NYU graduates barely making it in Seattle, and now you've just passed the Bar and got hired into one of the most prestigious law firms in the entirety of the United States—"

"And your paintings are being showed at what is arguably the most famous art gallery in all of New York," Cora sighs happily as she links an arm with me.

"Is still can't believe that we're both back in the Big Apple," I gesture to the painting that Cora and I are both standing in front of. "This painting here, this is of my roots, you know. When I was younger, I always hiked Mt. St. Helens with my family, and Spirit Lake became such a familiar sight over the years." I pause thoughtfully before continuing. "It always seemed so mysterious, even somewhat mystical whenever we chanced upon it. It was beautiful and wondrous, and now here I am back in New York staring at this puzzle piece of my childhood. It's utterly mind blowing that people might be spending ridiculous amounts of money just to buy this puzzle piece... and all the other puzzle pieces that I painted in this series."

I glance over to Cora to see her sipping on a flute of champagne with her free hand — the hand that's not connected to the arm that's linked with mine, her pale pink slip dress contrasting brilliantly against her smooth mocha skin. "Ellie," she says softly with her honey colored eyes still trained on my painting. "When you paint, you paint from your heart. I swear to God that with every swipe of paint to put on a canvas, you let the purest parts of your soul bleed onto the canvas in equal amounts. It's no wonder, and absolutely no bloody surprise that Glass House Gallery decided to show your work."

"Jeez, don't go all sappy on me," I let out a huff of laughter. "You're supposed to be cultivating your shark instincts so you can become a badass lawyer lady."

Cora just rolls her eyes at me. "Accept a compliment, will you, Ellie love." She pauses briefly before continuing with, "By the way, didn't your parents say that they were coming tonight?"

I sneak a peak around the gallery, finding Ezra Chiffon, the owner of Glass House Gallery, standing near the doorway and speaking quietly to a columnist for the New York Times that interviewed me earlier. "They should be here soon. They wanted to be here for the entire opening night but couldn't leave as early as they wanted to due to work, so they scheduled a redeye flying out of SEA-TAC to JFK at the last moment. After this thing is over, I'm catching a taxi to a restaurant nearby to celebrate with them, and we're planning on them accompanying me to Glass House Gallery tomorrow so that I can show them the exhibit."