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“Have you considered a change of career?” Molly asked abruptly, resting her phone on her lap.

“What? No.” Hazel paused, opening her eyes. “Why do you ask that?”

“I just wonder if marketing is really what you want to do. You’ve always taken after me and enjoyed more creative pursuits.”

Hazel sighed. “I’d love to be an artist, Mum, but I just don’t see myself achieving the type of success you’ve found. It’s extremely rare. I’ve worked with so many brands that fail. Besides, marketing is kind of creative.”

“You’ve become so cynical! I think that if you have talent and don’t give up, success will come in one form or another. You either keep going or realise you don’t love it enough to continue,” Molly declared triumphantly.

“Yeah, until you’ve got bills to pay. Life isn’t a fairy tale,” Hazel scoffed in reply.

“Having bills to pay shouldn’t matter. You can work a regular job, but if you love something, you find the time to continue with it. That’s how you know you love it. I’m just saying, darling, I think that your passion and true calling is not marketing!” Molly took a sip of her wine as she eyed her daughter.

“Oh yeah, cause we all have the same twenty-fours in a day as Beyoncé,” Hazel replied, somewhat sarcastically.

Molly stared at her daughter, unsure of the reference. “Pardon?”

“Never mind.” Hazel rolled her eyes. “If you want me to live a more creative life, what do you suggest?”

“How about you start with some drawing? You were always good at that. I can lend you some of my supplies.”

“For you, I’ll try. Hey, you haven’t shown me your collection for this year yet. Can I see?”

Molly put her wine glass on the coffee table and rose from the couch. “Of course, come on. You’re the first to see Burst.” Molly giggled at her own corny rhyme. They climbed to the third storey of the farmhouse where Molly’s studio was located.

When Hazel was small, Molly had put a play pen under the large fig tree that was in the centre of the backyard. Molly had set up her easel next to the play pen and painted, while Hazel had played with her toys, or napped on a blanket. Molly had eventually built a studio on the disused third floor of the farmhouse, adding windows to the small turret that offered panoramic views of the surrounding hinterland and farms.

In the centre of the turret was Molly’s primary work space. A small stool sat in front of the oak easel with a clean palette on one side and a trolley filled with dark and moody bottles of paint on the other.

Molly had since added sculpture work to her repertoire and created an annual collection of both sculptures and paintings, which she debuted at a gallery in the next town over. The remainder of the studio housed Molly’s sculpting station, shelves of supplies and a small space to display Molly’s finished pieces.

Molly switched the lights on, and Hazel could see the melancholy piece that was sitting on the easel in the turret. It was a medium-sized canvas, with a deep, inky background. Molly had painted a bunch of muted pastel pink peonies that took up most of the canvas. Hazel traced her finger along one of the peony petals. Molly had purposefully given the bunch a rough, textured finish.

“Come see the others.”

Hazel followed her mother over to the small gallery. Similar paintings were hanging from the walls. One had eucalyptus leaves, another stalks of lavender. Three bright red proteas juxtaposed against an ebony background caught Hazel’s eye as she moved closer. She also noticed a small sculpture to her right that was perched on a pedestal. Hazel studied the figurine that was a deep navy blue, not quite black.

“Is this a vase?” she asked.

Molly winked at her. “Yes. I’ll show you what goes in it. I’m not quite finished with these.” Molly crossed the studio to the supply shelf. She brought back what looked like a bunch of flowers. Hazel noticed the petals seemed to sparkle and shine under the gallery lights. Her mother placed the flowers in the vase, and Hazel stepped forward. She gasped as she noticed the flowers weren’t actually flowers at all. They were tiny little white crystals and pearls that Molly had fashioned into multicoloured blooms.

“Remember my friend Cassie?” Molly asked Hazel.

“The glassblower?”

Molly nodded and pointed to the long green stem. It was then that Hazel realised the stem was made of glass.

“Cassie showed me how to make these. I’ve been attending a jewellery making class in town. You should come with me some time, it’s really fun. Anyway, at the class I began to bend and twist wire to make shapes. I was supposed to be making earrings, but then I had this fabulous idea! I made the shapes into petals and threaded pearls and crystals onto the wire. I used the rest of the wire to attach the stem. This small collection will be aptly called Florals. I’ve got a few more of these flowers that I’m working on.” Molly headed towards the supply shelf again and picked up a box. Hazel peered inside and noticed another two bunches of flowers, one adorned with blue petals, the other with pink and lilac. Hazel picked up the blue bunch and noticed the petals were made of small stones of turquoise and sapphire, along with similar coloured crystals and beads. The pink and lilac bunch were tiny amethyst gems and small round rose quartz. Satiny pearls were scattered between the petals.

“These are really beautiful.”

“I’m aiming to finish those soon. You should come with me to my jewellery making class. It’s on Friday morning,” Molly announced, ignoring Hazel’s compliment.

“I guess I can come. What have I got to lose?”

Hazel wrapped a towel around herself and waited for the mirror to defog. Sam had started work on the upstairs bathroom, so Hazel had showered downstairs. She opened her toiletry bag and began to put her bottles of creams and moisturisers on the little white shelves next to the mirror. Using the bottom of her towel, she rubbed in a circular motion on the mirror to remove the fog. When she could finally see her reflection, she began to apply a small amount of BB cream and a flick of mascara.

She dried the remaining droplets of water from her shoulders and sighed when she realised she had left her clothes on her bed. Hazel tugged the towel tighter around her chest and made her way upstairs. As she turned the corner at the top of the landing, she collided with Sam. He grabbed her arm to steady her as her towel slipped down a little. Hazel quickly hiked it back up. She looked up at Sam as she mumbled an apology. They stared at each other for a moment before Sam noticed he was still grasping her arm. His face began to flush as he loosened his grip.