Kitaico grimaces and sighs, pointing to my hand.
“It’ll stain the wall too, Leeenuh,” he sighs, bringing the rag over to me again.
“Geez, sorry, my head’s not really in the right place,” I ramble as if he can understand me.
I take the cloth from him and rub my fingers clean. I try to rub my fingerprints off the wall, but the porous rock surface just soaks up the juice on contact. I scrub harder, knowing it’s not going to make a difference.
“It’s alright Leeenuh, it’s kind of unavoidable to not stain something when you eat nuite fruit—it’s one of our most popular dyes,” he says with those same kind eyes I’ve been avoiding.
God, my insides must be stained purple by now if I’ve been eating dye. But if it’ll stain the wall, that gives me an idea.
“Kitaico, do you care if I…” I realize I’m going to have to show him, and I run back and grab the shell full of fruit. I dip my finger into the purple sap and hover it over the rocks before looking back at him.
“You want to mark the wall?” he asks with a cocked brow.
I nod and point to my many tattoos, then back to the wall.
“Oh, you want to draw on the wall?” He grins when I nod again.
“Whatever you want, Leeenuh, if it’ll make you happy,” he says sweetly.
I’m almost distracted enough to not notice him grabbing one of the brothers and holding it against his thigh as it reaches for me.
I want him to touch me, to soothe this itch I feel building inside me, one that I know only he can scratch.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he helped me during my next heat?
I dip my finger again, bringing it up to the wall and making short strokes. Back at my studio, I wasn’t known for portraits. I was the girl you went to for nautical scenes and underwater creatures. You’d be shocked at the number of landlocked Midwesterners with turtle and dolphin tattoos.
But there’s something I miss more than cheese dogs and chili curds, and that’s my grandmother.
Yeah, that’s it, let’s just get incredibly sad about never seeing the woman who raised you again to avoid horny thoughts. Great job, Lena.
But, it kind of does work. Because I’m using my finger, I stick to a more impressionistic style, broader strokes to give the impression of detail.
I start with her Ukrainian nose, strong and beautiful, and let that flow into defining her eyes.
Even though I can feel Kitaico staring a hole in my back, I let myself get wrapped up in this giant portrait. I flick my pinky, creating one set of crow’s feet before moving to the other. Her round face comes next, framed by her soft gray bob.
I forgot how much I missed art.
“Who is this?” His curious voice ponders behind me as I work.
I pause, realizing I don’t know how to mime the word for grandmother. I turn to him, with my purple fingers pointing to my chest.
“My…” I set the bowl down on the ground and use both my hands to round out my belly. “Mother’s mother?”
Kitaico’s face goes blank, and he coughs, looking away.
I cradle an imaginary baby with one arm while pointing back and forth between me and the baby.
“Oh, your mother?” His eyes light up.
Close enough, especially since I never really knew my real mother or father.
“Yeah.” I nod.
He turns back to the painting, rough and unfinished but still recognizable as my grandmother.
