Julie’s House
Susan Andrelchik
Kelsey made the first move after five years of estrangement. When she called her mother out of the blue to ask if she could live with her while she attended college in Santa Fe, Kelsey phrased her request in the form of a statement. She wanted to minimize her chances of getting turned down. But her mother surprised her by gushing over the idea, then describing the perfect bedroom for Kelsey down to a T.
“Okay. Wow. I’ll get there the Saturday after next then. The semester doesn’t start for another month, but I need time to find a job. Thanks Julie.” Kelsey had stopped calling her mother “Mom” at age ten.
Kelsey cringed as her mother grabbed her bags, talked non-stop, and recollected her favorite meals as a child. Kelsey’s solemness didn’t seem to affect Julie’s effusive doting.
“We will make up for lost time! I have stocked the fridge but if you have favorite things I didn’t think of just let me know.”
Kelsey said more than once, “I’m sure it’s all fine.” She looked around checking for signs of a man.
After a whole week the two had yet to have a meal together. Kelsey spent most of her time in her new room on her computer or talking on the phone to her friends. Julie worked daily at her gallery on Canyon Road.
Most days Julie asked the same question, “Is there something I can get you from the store? I can stop on my way home from the gallery.”
And most days Kelsey responded with, “No thanks. I’ll grab a bite in town. I’m still looking around for work.”
Julie left the family when Kelsey was in elementary school. Her father took it hard and referred to Julie as “the hippy traitor.” After working as a waitress while painting landscapes in Sedona, Julie eventually ended up in Santa Fe, following a new love for the desert and a new man. By this point, Kelsey had visited her for three summers. Each time, Kelsey met a new man in Julie’s life. The visits bored the young child as Julie put her to the wayside, more attentive to her art and companion.
On Kelsey’s fourteenth birthday, the phone rang early while Kelsey and her father were eating birthday pancakes with whipped cream and sprinkles. Her dad handed the phone to her, having said nothing to the other person at the end of the line.
“Happy Birthday, Kelsey! Mom here.”
“Thanks, Julie.”
“I thought we could plan your summer visit today since the school year is almost over. I just moved into a traditional adobe house near the plaza. I’ve painted each room a different bright and beautiful color. You are going to love it!”
Kelsey cut Julie off. “I don’t think I can visit this year. I’m pretty busy. Thanks for the call. Good luck with your new house.” Kelsey hung up and went to her bedroom. She avoided her father.
And now at age nineteen, Kelsey felt she was owed. Her father passed away one month before her high school graduation. Her aunt, the designated executor of her father’s estate, insisted Kelsey keep her plans to travel around Europe from July to winter. When she returned home, she started applications for college.
Kelsey never shared with Julie that her interest lies in art. Julie never knew Kelsey frequented her website. When Kelsey moved in, she hid her portfolio in the closet. She noticed her mother and she had similar styles, but she did not want Julie to think she had influenced her.
When Julie left early one morning to open her gallery for a group of tourists, Kelsey got out of bed as soon as she heard the car door shut. She turned the gas on under the tea kettle and set up the French press. She had to admit that Julie bought good coffee beans. By the time the kettle whistled, Kelsey had walked in and out of her mother’s bedroom and bathroom.
She picked up her cup and slipped on Julie’s flip flops that were parked by the back door. The tiles were cold. The chilly mornings shocked Kelsey, who forgot each day the desert heat waned at sunset.
Kelsey returned to her mother’s bedroom. The walls were bare, save for the streaks of primer covering a bright orange red. The bathroom walls showed the same streaky white brushstrokes but this time they were covering up a sunflower yellow. Kelsey continued her investigation.
She poked her head into the living room for only the second time since her stay. The furnishings were traditional Southwest with hard wood frames and colorful striped upholstery, accented with mismatched throw pillows, all in the same brightness. Two weeks ago, the walls had been a lime green and adorned with oil and acrylic paintings of landscapes, sunsets, cacti, and an occasional coyote. Now three of the four walls were primed, and all the paintings were leaning in a stack slanting against the last green wall. Three new cans of paint sat on the hearth of the stone fireplace. Kelsey walked closer to see if they contained more primer but noticed the swatch on top showed a sample of white interior paint.
She returned to the kitchen to brew a second cup when her phone pinged. Julie texted, apologizing for the mess. She said she couldn’t sleep last night and got started on the living room. Kelsey said “ugh” out loud, and then “why is she painting everything white?” She left the text unanswered.
Her tour took her into the second and third bedrooms and the hallway bathroom. What wasn’t primed was bereft of artwork. Several stacks of paintings lay on one of the beds. The sky blue in Kelsey’s room pleased her. Maybe she would ask if it could stay that way.
Kelsey went back to her bedroom to check her email hoping to hear from prospective employers. She called her best friend in California. They talked about her friend’s new boyfriend, Kelsey’s feelings about her mother, and the new paint job.
“I don’t get the whole reason behind stark white,” Kelsey mused.
She spent midday going in and out of galleries on Canyon Road, never mentioning her mother to any of the artists. She stayed away from the end of the road where her mother’s gallery sat and ended up on the plaza to get out of the sun. At three o’clock and two bottles of water later, she made her way to the car and drove back to the adobe.
Kelsey couldn’t wait until the semester started, but in the meantime, she wanted to land a job to help with boredom and to get her away from the house. She reminded herself that she moved in early to Julie’s just in case the arrangement didn’t work. If that happened, she would need time to get money from her trust and figure something out. Her aunt constantly said she needed to make the money last. She wanted her stay to be successful because Julie had a debt to pay.
When she finished some left-over tofu stir fry concoction that she turned down the night before, Kelsey went into the bedroom at the back of the house. She pried open a can of primer and started on the maroon wall with the most direct sunlight. She dribbled a little paint on the terra cotta tile and ran to the kitchen to dampen a paper towel. She grabbed the whole roll and after she cleaned up the mess, she went into the living room to retrieve a tarp. Pandora screamed the latest hip-hop tunes and before she knew two hours passed. She heard Julie’s wooden sandals in the hallway, then nothing. Her back faced the doorway. She turned her head.
“Can you turn the music down for a minute?”
Kelsey muted her phone and stood up from the corner where she hunched.
“Thanks. I had no idea you would do this work. I really want to paint the house myself. But thank you. Here, I’ll wash the brush.” Julie moved closer with her hand out. Kelsey lifted her arm and passed the brush to her mother as she exited into the hall. Kelsey spent the rest of the night with her headphones on, sketching the mountain view outside of her window.
The next day Kelsey repeated her moves. She filled out two applications, this time embellishing her experience to the prospective employers. She walked in and out of a few galleries, skipped the plaza, and headed back to the adobe.
At the house Kelsey went into the maroon bedroom. The entire room was now primed. She figured Julie must have stayed up late to finish. Kelsey went into the living room to look for brushes. She went into each room in the whole house and then into the garage, opening drawers and cupboards but no brushes appeared.
Feeling hungry she left the house to grab a burger and fries. Then she stopped at the local hardware store. She bought three items: an angled brush for cutting in, a wider brush for the corners, and a roller with a pan.
At about midnight, Kelsey tiptoed out of her bedroom. She took the bag of paint supplies with her. She retrieved a brand-new can of white paint from the fireplace hearth. She cursed herself for not taking the paint can opener the cashier had offered. She struggled and finally opened the paint with the screwdriver Julie had been using. Her plan included hiding a stepstool from the garage along with a lamp from her own bedroom. They waited for her in the closet.
Kelsey started cutting in. She finished the floor area along the baseboards first, then the corners. When she popped open the stepstool, she bumped into the dresser. The loud thump startled her. She stopped moving and held her breath. After listening for a while, she stepped onto the stool with a loaded paint brush.
“I really don’t want you to paint the house.”
Kelsey balanced herself before turning around. Julie stood there in her pajamas. Kelsey stepped down.
“What’s the big deal? It’s just white paint.”
“I want to do it myself. It’s a change I need to…” Julie choked back tears.
The mother and daughter stared at each other. Kelsey dropped the brush inside of the roller pan. She lightly grazed her mother’s shoulder as she left the room. Julie whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Kelsey pretended not to hear.
Susan Andrelchik
Susan Andrelchik is a writer of short literary fiction and poetry. She is the recipient of the 2023 Terry Kay Prize for Fiction. Her works have appeared in Free Spirit, Roi Faineant, BarBar Magazine, among others. Susan resides in Atlanta with her husband and cat.