It had beena long time since I’d put together an entire exhibit for a show. It’d been so long that I’d almost forgotten how freeing it felt, how much I loved getting lost in the rhythm of creating, building a collection piece by piece, brushstroke by brushstroke. It was a full body of work, a full expression of me. When I first submitted to the exhibit last week, I didn’t expect much. Not only did they accept me, but they asked for more. They wanted several pieces for a full wall display.
Part of me wanted to shrink myself and say no. So many voices in my head were telling me I wasn’t ready. But the other part, the louder part, was eager to get started. It had only been a week, and I’d already created three pieces for the exhibit. Thefourth was nearly done, spread across the makeshift workstation Quade had built in the kitchen.
They had pushed the kitchen table back to the wall to make room for a rolling easel he’d rigged for me, and he’d added a wheeled cart for my supplies and a mounted drying rack. It wasn’t perfect, but it had been getting the job done.
I dipped my brush again, then ran my fingers over the textured curls I’d just glued to the woman’s hair. I’d used a mixture of synthetic coils and cuttings from old extensions I had stashed away to make realistic hair that made the canvas feel alive.
A shadow passed through the kitchen entrance, and I already knew who it was.
“You used real hair on that?” Quade asked. I glanced over my shoulder. He stood just a few feet away, holding measuring tape in one hand with a pencil tucked behind his ear.
“Mostly,” I said, brushing a few strands into place. “I wanted the textures to be… felt.”
He stepped closer, his eyes scanning the canvas. “Damn. It’s dope. She looks like she ’bout to speak for real.”
“That’s the goal.”
“You gon’ make the whole gallery stop and stare with these pieces.”
“Don’t be gassing me up now.”
He grinned, backing toward the dining room. “Nah, there’s no need. This shit dope.”
I watched him disappear back behind the tarp to my art studio, where he’d been working. Just as I turned back to the canvas, a sharp knock hit the front door.
“Yo, somebody knockin’. You want me to get it?” Quade called.
“Yes, please.” I wiped my hands on the towel across my lap and turned toward the front hallway, curious as to who it couldbe. I heard the deadbolt twist and a voice that made my stomach drop.
“Who the fuck are you?” Shawn’s voice echoed through the hallway as I made my way to the front door.What is he doing here?I mean, I knew exactly why he was here. I’d been ignoring his texts for the past month; it was only a matter of time before he popped up. When I ignored last night’s “you up?” messages, I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d finally gotten the hint.
As I reached the door, the man I used to love came into view, and my eyes washed over Shawn standing on my porch holding a bag of takeout food and mean-mugging Quade.
“Hey, baby.” Shawn greeted me as I rolled up.
“Noa, your DoorDash is here,” Quade called over his shoulder, and my brows shot up. Shawn looked taken aback, like he hadn’t expected that clap back. My eyes traveled to Quade. There was something sexy in how he just stood there, unbothered by the fact that Shawn was just rude to him. That kind of composure had moisture building up between my legs.
I cleared my throat and clenched my thighs together, attempting to calm myself down. “It’s fine, Quade. I got it.”
“You sure?” He glanced back at me, but he didn’t move until I was at his side.
“Yeah.” I nodded, though I was already questioning the decision.
“Brought your usual.” Shawn held out a takeout bag. “Extra sauce, like you like it.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the bag. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” He stepped inside like I had invited him in, his eyes sweeping over the space. “You haven’t been answering my texts.”
I made my way back into the kitchen and set the food down on the table. “I’ve been busy working. Got invited to do an exhibit. They wanted several pieces.”
“Must be nice,” he said under his breath, but I heard his shady response. My face turned up. I thought he’d be happy for me. Clearly, I was mistaken.
“So what’s up with the truck, the tarp, and shit? Who is dude?” He motioned toward the front room. I didn’t answer, just removed the food from the bag and peeled back the Styrofoam container. I wasn’t happy about his visit, but I was hungry, and my father had taught me to never turn down free food.
“He looks familiar.” Shawn joined me at the table. “Don’t he rap or somethin’? What’s his name?”
I stayed focused on the food, deciding to answer his first question and ignore his prying about Quade. His identity wasn’t any of Shawn’s business. “I got accepted into the home rehab program. They’re making my house more accessible.”
