Part 1: Aftermath
Inside the Gallery — 9:15 PM
Charlotte repaired her makeup in the bathroom, took deep breaths, and went back to the opening.
She found Maria near the South Central artist's work, talking animatedly with the artist herself.
"Charlotte!" Maria's smile faded when she saw Charlotte's face. "Are you okay?"
"Fine. Just... Mateo left."
"I saw." Maria glanced at the artist. "Give me one second?"
She pulled Charlotte to a quieter corner. "What happened?"
"We had a fight."
"About what?"
"About..." Charlotte's voice cracked. "About whether I belong in his world or this world. About whether I'm fake. About everything."
Maria was quiet for a moment. "Can I be honest with you?"
"Please."
"Tonight, watching you work this room—it was impressive. You know exactly how to talk to these people, how to make them feel important, how to navigate this space. And that's a skill, Charlotte. That's real."
"But?"
"But I also saw what Mateo saw. You became different. Not bad different, just... different. Like you put on a costume." Maria's voice was gentle. "And I don't think it was fake exactly. I think it was you using skills you've had your whole life. But I can see why it would scare him."
"Why?"
"Because it reminds him that you're from a different world. And it makes him wonder if you'll eventually want to go back." Maria paused. "My mom asked me in the car—she said, 'That girl, she's very nice. But she's not like us, is she?' And I said no. You're not. And that's not bad, Charlotte. But it's true."
Charlotte felt tears threatening again. "So Mateo's right? I don't belong?"
"I didn't say that. You belong wherever you choose to belong. But Charlotte—" Maria took her hands. "You need to figure out where that is. Not for Mateo, not for your mom, not for anyone else. For you."
"I thought I knew."
"Maybe you did. Or maybe you knew what you were running from, but not what you're running toward." Maria squeezed her hands. "And until you figure that out, it's going to be hard to be with someone. Especially someone like Mateo, who's so grounded in where he's from."
"I don't know how to do that. Figure out who I am."
"Nobody does. You just keep showing up and eventually it gets clearer." Maria smiled. "And whatever you figure out, I'm here. You're my friend, Charlotte. Not my patron, not my connection—my friend. Okay?"
Charlotte hugged her, crying into her shoulder. "Okay."
"Now go finish your opening. Show these rich people what you're made of. Then go home and figure out what the hell you want."
Gallery Closing — 10:47 PM
After the last guest left, Lisa found Charlotte in the back office.
"Hey. You disappeared for a while with Maria. Everything okay?"
"Mateo and I had a fight. He left."
"I saw." Lisa sat down. "Want to talk about it?"
"He thinks I don't know who I am. That I'm just playing at this life until I get bored and go back."
"Are you?"
"I don't know!" Charlotte's voice broke. "Lisa, I don't know. I thought I was building something new. But tonight, when I was talking to those collectors, part of me... it was easy. It was familiar. And maybe that makes Mateo right."
Lisa studied her. "Can I tell you something?"
"Please."
"I grew up in San Marino. My father's a surgeon, my mother's a lawyer. I went to Princeton. Had a trust fund. The whole thing."
Charlotte looked up, surprised.
"I walked away at twenty-six. Wanted to build something myself, not be 'the Chen daughter' my whole life. And you know what? Some days I miss it. The ease, the security, knowing exactly where I fit." Lisa smiled. "That doesn't make me fake. It makes me human."
"But I—"
"You spent your whole life in that world. You can't just erase that. And you shouldn't have to. The question isn't 'old Charlotte or new Charlotte.' It's 'who is Charlotte when she integrates all her parts?'"
"I don't know how to do that."
"Neither do I, completely. But Charlotte—" Lisa touched her hand. "That opening tonight? The one you coordinated beautifully? Where you talked to collectors and artists and made everyone comfortable? That wasn't fake. That was you using skills you have to do something you care about. The question is—can Mateo accept that version of you? And can you accept it yourself?"
Charlotte thought about Maria's words. About Mateo's accusation. About the way she'd felt moving through the gallery tonight—powerful and professional and also somehow lost.
"I need to figure out who I am before I can be with him. Don't I?"
"Maybe. Or maybe you need to be with someone who lets you figure it out without making you feel guilty for not having all the answers." Lisa stood up. "Go home. Get some sleep. And tomorrow, ask yourself: are you fighting for this relationship because you love him? Or because proving him wrong feels like proving your mother wrong?"
"How do I know the difference?"
"You sit with the question until the answer is clear."
Part 2: Late Night
Charlotte's Apartment — 11:52 PM
Charlotte sat on her floor, still in her dress from the opening, staring at her phone.
No texts from Mateo.
Three missed calls from her mother (probably about some collector seeing her tonight).
Two texts from Maria: You ok?Seriously, call me if you need to talk. Anytime.
Charlotte typed: I'm ok. Thank you for tonight. For being honest with me.
Maria: Always. That's what friends do.
Charlotte: Am I really that different from you? From Mateo? Is he right?
Maria: You're different. But different isn't bad. You just have to decide if you're going to feel guilty about where you came from or use it to do something good.
Charlotte: How do I do that?
Maria: Figure out what YOU want. Not what you're supposed to want, not what rebellion looks like, not what proves anything to anyone. What do YOU actually want?
Charlotte stared at that question.
What did she want?
Three months ago, the answer would have been: anything but her old life.
But now?
She looked around her apartment. The leaking sink. The water stain. The three books. Maria's painting on the wall—those hands kneading dough, steady and sure.
Did she want this? This poverty-adjacent life where she counted every dollar and worried about rent?
Or did she want what she'd had before? The ease, the security, the knowing exactly where she fit?
Neither felt right. But she didn't know what the third option was.
On her dresser, her phone buzzed again. Unknown number this time.
"Hello?"
"Charlotte, it's Catherine Sterling."
"Catherine. Hi. It's late—"
"I know. I'm sorry. But Lisa called me. She's worried about you."
"I had a fight with Mateo. He thinks I'm fake. That I'm just playing at independence until I get tired and go back to my old life."
"Are you?"
"I don't know!" Charlotte broke down. "Catherine, I don't know who I am anymore. Tonight at the opening, I was good at it. I knew how to talk to those people. And part of me liked it. Does that mean Mateo's right? Am I just pretending?"
"Charlotte, listen to me carefully. There is no 'real you' versus 'fake you.' There's just you, with all your contradictions and complications."
"But—"
"You can be someone who knows how to work a room AND someone who's building a new life. You can miss parts of your old world AND not want it back. You can love someone from a different background AND struggle with the class differences. All of that can be true at once."
"Mateo doesn't see it that way."
"Maybe he can't right now. His own fears are too loud." Catherine paused. "But Charlotte, you need to ask yourself something. If he can't accept all of you—the parts that came from privilege, the parts that are still figuring things out, the parts that know how to navigate wealthy collectors—is he the right person?"
"But Maria sees it too. The difference between us."
"Of course she does. The difference is real. But Maria's not asking you to erase who you were. She's asking you to figure out who you want to be. There's a difference."
Charlotte was quiet, processing.
"What did Maria say to you tonight?" Catherine asked.
Charlotte told her—about Maria's honesty, about her mother's observation, about the question of where Charlotte belonged.
"Maria sounds like a good friend," Catherine said. "She's telling you the truth even when it's uncomfortable. That's valuable."
"She is a good friend." Charlotte felt tears coming. "She said I need to figure out what I want. Not what I'm running from, but what I'm running toward."
"She's right. So Charlotte—what do you want?"
Charlotte looked at Maria's painting again. Those hands, working, creating, building something from nothing.
"I want..." She took a breath. "I want to support artists like Maria. I want to use my skills—all of them, including the ones I learned in my old world—to build something that matters. I want to create opportunities for people who wouldn't otherwise have them."
"That's beautiful. That's clear."
"But I also want Mateo. I want—" Her voice cracked. "I want to be with someone who sees me and doesn't make me choose between all the different parts of myself."
"Then that's your answer. Now you need to figure out if Mateo can be that person. And Charlotte?"
"Yeah?"
"If he can't—if he needs you to be only 'new Charlotte' and erase 'old Charlotte'—then he's asking you to be less than whole. And you deserve someone who wants all of you."
After they hung up, Charlotte sat in the dark for a long time.
She thought about Mateo's words: I can't be part of your journey of self-discovery.
She thought about Maria's question: What do YOU actually want?
She thought about Catherine's warning: You deserve someone who wants all of you.
Tomorrow, she would call Mateo. They would talk, really talk.
And she would tell him the truth: she was still figuring out who she was. But she was done apologizing for the parts of herself that came from privilege. Done feeling guilty for knowing how to navigate worlds he didn't understand.
She could be both. She would be both.
And if he couldn't accept that, then maybe Catherine was right.
Maybe he wasn't the right person.