With an eye roll and a chuckle, he sits back. “Fine. How about March eleventh? It’s my birthday.”
A smile warms my face. I had no idea. I’ll have to think of something good to surprise him with. “I love March eleventh.”
That’s just over a month away. With what we’ve accomplished today, and with what’s to come, I just know we can do it. Our own little town.
But then, as is becoming standard since I stopped my antidepressants, it doesn’t take long for my high to even out and let doubt in. We can no longer pretend this is a hobby. Now, we have a real following, opportunities to get sponsors, and the ability to charge for advertising. If we play our cards right, this could mean a new life for us—and our art. It also means we have something to lose. And as Finn grows more recognizable, I’ll have to share him with the world, watching from the sidelines, hiding behind a mask of my own creation.
27
Finn squats, examining a box on the floor of my apartment labeledBooks. “It’s all in the knees,” he explains. “You have to protect your back.” After counting to three, he hoists the box into his arms and stumbles backward a few steps. “What the . . . there’s nothing in here.”
I can’t help laughing. “You can thank Rich. He didn’t return any of my paperbacks.”
“Maybe next time get a smaller box,” he teases. “I think this is the last of what I can fit in the car. We’ll have to come back for the rest next weekend.”
“That’s fine. We’ve got time.”
While he takes the last of today’s stuff downstairs, I get out a six-pack I bought for this occasion. I pop the cap from a bottle, and it clatters on the counter, the noise echoing off empty walls. It should be strange to see my place this barren, its eggshell-colored walls looking sad and splotchy, but it hasn’t been my home for months. The important things are already at Finn’s. We moved some last weekend, some today, and we’ll do the rest next Saturday since it’s the last weekend before March. That’s the way to move.
Finn walks through the front door with a pizza. “I ran into the delivery guy downstairs.”
“Perfect timing.”
I trade him a beer for a slice, and we stand at the counter to eat.
“When we get home, leave those on,” he says, nodding at my outfit.
“What, my overalls?”
He winks. “And the bandana.”
“The bandana is to keep sweat out of my hair,” I say. “Not to be cute.”
“Then definitely wear it, because what I’ve got in mind will leave you all kinds of sweaty.”
“Ew.” I toss a piece of crust at him. “Gross.”
He laughs and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “How come you never got roommates?”
“I’ve never had any.”
“Never? But that’s like a rite of passage into adulthood.”
“My dad didn’t want me to. He offered to pay for me to live alone, and I’d be an idiot to turn that down.”
Finn shakes his head. “It’s good to live with people. You learn weird things about yourself, like that you fucking hate the smell of sautéed Brussels sprouts.”
I smirk. “Lucky for you, I don’t eat Brussels sprouts . . .roomie.”
“So what’d your dad say when you told him you were giving up your apartment to move in with a smutty photographer?”
I take a long pull from my bottle. Finn looks smug, because he knows I haven’t done it yet. Just the thought makes me perspire, so it’s good I’ve got the headscarf. “I’m telling him next week.”
“Right. You said that earlier this month, Hals.”
“I will.” I just need to figure out a way to present it so it doesn’t look as though I made this decision rashly, without thinking it through. “I was going to the other day, but he lost another client. I swear, when I finally worked up the nerve to enter his office, his face was purple with rage.”
Finn shakes his head, but it’s not as if he’s guilt-free.
