“Like what?”
“Like yeahhhhh instead of yes. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” She’s lying. I can hear it in her voice. In the way she’s gripping the steering wheel just a little too tight. “It’s just painting. With wine. Very fun. Very normal.”
“Alex.”
“Dylan.”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“Weirder than usual.”
“Is that possible?”
“Apparently yes, because you’re doing it right now.”
She takes a turn toward Callowhill. The artsy warehouse district. More industrial. Converted lofts and studios where people with too much money pay too much rent to make pottery they’ll never finish.
“Itisjust painting, right?” I ask, suddenly suspicious for entirely new reasons. “Like we’re not doing anything illegal?”
“Why would painting be illegal?”
“I don’t know! You’re being weird! For all I know you’re taking me to rob a bank and the painting thing is a cover story!”
She laughs. Actually throws her head back and laughs. “Oh my god, your anxiety is showing.”
“My anxiety has been showing since Wednesday when a serial killer ambushed me outside our apartment building with flowers!”
That I left at the neighbor’s door.
“Fair point.” She pulls into a parking spot outside a brick warehouse. Three stories. Industrial windows. A sign that says “Artist Collective - Studios for Rent.”
Very art. Very Philly. Very suspicious.
“But I promise,” she continues, turning off the engine. “No crimes today. Just art. And wine. And fun.”
“And what else?”
“And birthday celebration!” She grabs the wine carrier. Opens her door. “Now come on. Trust me.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep not doing it.”
I follow her toward the building. Industrial stairwell. Exposed brick. The kind of aesthetic that screams we’re artists and we’re cooler than you.
“Which floor?” I ask.
“Third.”
Of course it is. Can’t be on the first floor. That would be too easy.
We climb. Alex is practically vibrating with excited energy. Taking the stairs two at a time. I follow at a more reasonable pace because some of us had candied bacon for breakfast and feel like our blood sugar might be crashing.
“How did you even find this place?” I ask.
