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My mom is the most celebrated night-sky painter in the Ashford Arts Council. On Sophie's tenth birthday, she climbed a ladder and spent an entire afternoon painting a galaxy across one whole wall of Sophie's room. Sophie pointed at the brightest star and said, "Mom, that one has to have my name on it." Mom laughed and repainted it three times until it was perfect. I brought over the sketchbook I'd saved up half a year of allowance to buy, begging her to draw me a cat on the first page. She barely glanced at it before pushing the pencil back into my hand. "Just use the photocopier. It'll look the same." Later, her new gallery show opened. The title was The Universe I Give My Two Daughters. The poster showed Sophie standing in front of the galaxy wall, her skirt billowing like a cloud. I stood in the corner of the gallery, a badge on my chest that read: VOLUNTEER. A reporter asked her, "Did your older daughter inherit your artistic gift too?" Mom paused half a second, then smiled. "She's more practical. She handles logistics." Sophie, hugging a bouquet, chimed in: "My sister's amazing at carrying frames around." I looked down at the blank sketchbook in my hands. She wasn't incapable of drawing a cat. She'd just never once thought to put me in one of her paintings. My mom is the most celebrated night-sky painter in the Ashford Arts Council. On Sophie's tenth birthday, she climbed a ladder and spent an entire afternoon painting a galaxy across one whole wall of Sophie's room. Sophie pointed at the brightest star and said, "Mom, that one has to have my name on it." Mom laughed and repainted it three times until it was perfect. I brought over the sketchbook I'd saved up half a year of allowance to buy, begging her to draw me a cat on the first page. She barely glanced at it before pushing the pencil back into my hand. "Just use the photocopier. It'll look the same." Later, her new gallery show opened. The title was The Universe I Give My Two Daughters. The
