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*ADEN*

Igo through a couple of folders on my desk; one with the description of the venue and the exact layout, one with the plan of the artists presented in this exhibition and the paintings that were chosen to be on display, and the final one including estimated payments, funds and our expenses. After reading them properly, I close them and hand them back to my assistant. “Good job, Cedric.”

The young man lights up at my simple praise. “Really?”

He looks like such a lost golden retriever, I don’t have it in my heart to dismiss him, although I am tired enough to fall asleep on the spot. “Yes, you thoroughly researched everything, you listened well to what we planned in the meetings, the venue is prepared to the last detail, and we are set for the opening tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much, sir. I… I am so lucky you gave me this chance!”

Frankly, the kid was my last attempt at hiring an assistant. Most of the others had the education and experience, but they just didn’t click with me. Or I didn’t click with them. They just see the perfectionist in me and don’t even want to bother. I hired Cedric, despite coming with zero experience and a Master’s degree in Literature instead of art or business, because he showed interest and motivation. He had no idea what type of work I was doing, he only had a very vague knowledge of artists and their work, but if I have learned one thing, it is that this is knowledge that can be acquired with a little time. However, no one can magically become motivated.

My hiring him meant the world to him because it was his first job. As for me, I got an assistant who doesn’t drive me up the walls. He just drives me insaneoccasionally,because of his overly bubbly personality, but I can live with that.

“Go home for tonight,” I tell him. “It’s late. I will see you for the opening tomorrow.”

“I am so looking forward to it! It’s my first art gallery opening that I helped organize. I am so excited for all the new artists.” He beams.

Here. That’s exactly why I hired him.

I smile briefly at him. “Let’s make it a success tomorrow. For now, go home. We are the last to leave the office. I will lock up behind us.”

Cedric grabs his bag before shuffling out of my office and then out of the building, not without wishing me a good night before leaving. I gather my own things and grab the folder with the artists we are going to show tomorrow, and decide to go home too. I want to skim through the plans once more, to get a true feeling of the artists’ work. I have spent the last months hand-picking them, but it’s my little evening ritual to do this before anopening. This type of gallery exhibition is one of my favorites. I get to show all kinds of new artists in my gallery, upcoming and rising ones, who still need the boost in popularity to sell their work and to make a name for themselves.

It’s how I originally made a name for myself. Now that I am a gallerist and gallery owner myself, I want to give back and help these upcoming artists.

On my way outside, my phone rings. One glance at it notifies me that I have several missed messages.

They won’t leave me alone, so I may as well pick up now. “Hi Oliver.”

“Aden!” he exclaims, his voice joyful. “I am so glad you picked up. It’s so hard to get through to you, little bro.”

“I was at work,” I tell him. Oliver is my oldest brother and the one I probably like the most. We don’t have much of a relationship, though.

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Yeah, there is a lot to do,” I say, keeping it vague. If I tell him it’s a gallery opening tomorrow, he might get the idea to come, or one of my other brothers will. And I can’t deal with family drama on opening night. That night belongs to the new artists, spotlight on them, not on the gallerist.

“You work too much,” he says reproachfully. His voice drifts off as he waits for me to say something. God, this is awkward. When I keep silent, he clears his throat. “Are you coming home on Sunday? Mom managed to gather all of us. You are the only one she hasn’t been able to reach out to.”

One of the many messages and calls from today was probably from her.

“I can’t,” I say promptly. “I am swamped with work.”

“Even on the weekend?”

“Yes.”

A pause. “You are watching out for your health, aren’t you, Aden?”

Sighing, I take the keys to my car, open the door, and sit behind the wheel. I put him on speaker before driving off. “Yes, I am. I am okay.”

Another pause. “You barely visit home,” he finally says the words I am always dreading to hear. Every once in a while, one of them calls and says the very same words.

You never visit.

You never come home.