“Abstract Expressionism. More a study of how the colors make you feel. You lose some of the impact seeing it in a book… in person, the paintings are huge, and the paint is thick, heavy, and the brushstrokes are raw and powerful. The color contrasts stand out more for it. They’re… uglier, in person. The colors are jarring.”
“But it’s, like, supposed to be ugly.”
She flipped to the next page, presenting another painting, even thoughpaintingwas a generous term for it—a big black square.
“Oh, yes, my favorite,” I said. “Shadows on a black surface at night.”
“These are probably the most contentious,” she laughed, and she added in a small voice, looking at the book almost tenderly, “I like them.”
“Do you feel the same emotion looking at a black painted wall?”
“It’s probably the presentation that matters. There’s something about it… the massive field of darkness, coarse and chaotic, that triggers something primal in you. Standing in front of it, you feel small, vulnerable… lonely,” she said, the last word slipping out in just a breath. It hung there in the quiet of the shop, before she shut the book and slid it back onto the shelf. “I’m just saying words.”
“Do you feel lonely?” I said, even though I shouldn’t have, and she paused, her fingertips lingering on the spine of the book, not looking at me.
“I don’t mean to run my mouth.”
“I’m asking.”
She sighed, dropping her hand. “Let’s look at something more cheerful. Like a nice, cheerful murder mystery.”
I knew it.
I gave her the space, and she opened up when we got to the coffee shop near the entrance, sitting under a big mirror draped with garland, and we sat together with our lattes, hers with oat milk, and she said, “I’ve never been the best at… making friends.”
“Well, you made friends with me.”
She raised her eyebrows, giving me a look of faint surprise. “I’m surprised you aren’t too bored of me.”
“What are you on about? We have dinner together every night and breakfast together most mornings, and you always have something to talk about.”
“Sure, about work.”
“You have your things you’re passionate about. I don’t mind listening to you talk about it.”
She gave me the most meltingly sweet smile, and I died a little bit on the inside. I couldn’t believe I had a crush on my roommate. I was ready to die. “Thank you, Bridget,” she said, her voice soft. “What about you? You have online friends, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah, child of the internet and all that. I don’t know, I’ve just always enjoyed this. I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything.”
“Do you have family?” She shook her head, frowning. “I’m sorry, that’s a weird question. It’s just been on my mind that you never mention them, that you don’t seem to do anything with them for Christmas…”
I shrugged. “We don’t talk. Things didn’t end well between me and them. It happens. It’s been long enough ago that honestly, the concept of having family feels like the odd one.”
She laughed wryly. “I guess it is simpler that way. I’m sorry for bringing strange family dynamics back into your life.”
“Hey, I’m invested in things going well for you.”
“What are your friends like?” she said brightly, and I blanked.
“Uh.” Horny. Well, then there was Linda, who was an adult content creator like the rest of us, but was the most blasé person about it, treating it like it was just another nine-to-five. She was so professional and unbothered about it that it almost felt more kinky than being horny. I genuinely had nothing decent I could say. “They’re pretty weird.”
She laughed. “Sounds like true friendship,” she said. “How’d you meet?”
“Ah, we all do the same stuff, you know, like… content, media marketing, all that. We run in the same circles. Work with the same people. Sometimes for each other.”
“That’s fun,” she said, eyes sparkling. She had no idea. “Have you told them about your boring new roommate moving in looking for work?”
“Not quite in those words, but I’ve, uh, I’ve mentioned you, yeah.” I was gonna die.
