Mr.Brightside

Chapter 59

Jack's Resolve

The workshop was quiet except for the steady sound of the sandpaper against the wood. I liked the rhythm of it, the way it made everything else fade into the background. Normally, this was where I found my peace—my way of untangling the chaos in my head. But today, it wasn't working.

Clara's text had thrown me. It wasn't much, just a few words, but it was enough to make my heart ache in a way I hadn't felt before. I miss you. Simple, direct. But behind those words, I could feel the same uncertainty I was carrying.

I'd promised her we'd figure this out, but how? How could I fix something when I wasn't sure where it had gone wrong? I thought back to what Greg had said about us needing to find a balance, about not seeing this as a competition. He was right, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to act on.

I set the sandpaper down, staring at the half-finished table in front of me. My mind was swirling with all the things I needed to do, all the ways I needed to change if we had any hope of making this work.

For the first time, I wasn't sure if I was capable of it.

The Call I Needed

I wiped my hands on a rag and reached for my phone again. I'd told Greg I was going to start putting my work out there, trying to take some steps toward my own success. But I hadn't done it yet. If I wanted to prove to Clara—and to myself—that I could grow, I needed to stop hesitating.

Without overthinking it, I dialed the number for the gallery that Greg had mentioned a while back. He knew the owner, said they were always looking for new local artists. The phone rang, and I held my breath, feeling like my future hung in the balance.

"Hello, Chelsea Gallery, how can I help you?" a woman's voice answered.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, hi. My name's Jack, and I'm a woodworker. I was wondering if you were accepting any new pieces for display?"

There was a pause on the other end, and I felt my nerves spike. What if they said no? What if I wasn't good enough?

"We're always open to new artists," the woman finally replied. "Do you have a portfolio or any images of your work that you could send over?"

"Yeah, I do," I said, my voice a little steadier. "I'll email them to you right away."

After a brief exchange of contact details, I hung up, my heart pounding in my chest. It wasn't a guarantee, but it was a step. I stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in my hand, feeling like the ground beneath my feet was shifting.

I'd never cared about galleries before. My work had always been for me, for the joy of creating. But this felt different. It felt like a way to show Clara—and myself—that I was more than just a guy with a workshop. That I was someone who could stand next to her in this new world she was building, instead of being left behind.

Opening Up

That night, I sat at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of me. I went through the pictures of my best pieces, feeling a strange mix of pride and apprehension. It was hard to look at my work without wondering if it was good enough. But I sent the email anyway, attaching photos of the table I'd been working on, a few chairs, and a coffee table I'd finished last month.

After hitting send, I leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. It wasn't much, but it was something. A small step forward. I could only hope it was enough to start making a difference.

My phone buzzed on the table, pulling me out of my thoughts. I picked it up, surprised to see Clara's name lighting up the screen. It wasn't a text this time—it was a call.

I hesitated for a second before answering. "Hey."

"Hey," Clara's voice came through, soft but steady. "I wasn't expecting you to pick up so fast."

"I was just... thinking," I said, not sure how to explain everything that had been going through my head.

"Me too," she replied. There was a pause, and I could hear her take a breath before continuing. "Jack, I've been thinking a lot about us. About where we are, and where we're going."

My heart clenched at her words. "Yeah, me too."

"I miss you," she said, her voice a little quieter. "And I don't want to lose us. But I'm scared that if we don't figure this out, we're going to keep drifting further apart."

I closed my eyes, trying to find the right words. "I don't want to lose us either, Clara. I've been scared too. Scared that I'm not enough for you, or that I can't keep up with everything that's changing."

She was quiet for a moment. "You don't have to keep up, Jack. I'm not asking you to change who you are. I just... I want to know that we can grow together, even if we're growing in different ways."

"I'm trying," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "I called that gallery today. I sent them pictures of my work."

"You did?" She sounded surprised, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Jack, that's amazing."

"I'm trying to be part of this, Clara. I want to support you, and I want us to support each other. I just... I don't know how to do that without feeling like I'm falling behind."

"You're not falling behind," she said gently. "We're just on different paths. But that doesn't mean we can't walk them together."

Her words settled over me, easing some of the tension I'd been holding onto. "I know. I'm trying to believe that."

"I'm trying too," she admitted. "Maybe this space isn't about growing apart. Maybe it's about figuring out how to be stronger together."

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Yeah. Maybe it is."

There was a silence between us, but it didn't feel heavy this time. It felt like we were both breathing a little easier, like we were starting to understand what we needed from each other.

"I love you, Jack," Clara said quietly. "I never stopped."

"I love you too," I said, the words coming out easier than they had in a long time. "And I'm not giving up on us."

"Neither am I," she whispered.

When we finally hung up, I felt lighter. Like we weren't fixed yet, but we were starting to find our way back to each other. Maybe this wasn't the end—it was just a new beginning.

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