“What do you think?” She looks around my room, nose turned up. “We’re going to fix your walls.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my walls,” I say, indignant. But okay,my walls are depressing, and I’ve known as much for a while. I’ve been hoping I’d get used to the Obsidian, but here I am, almost ready to start school, and I still feel gloom settle over me every time I set foot in here, which, lately, is often. I eye the cans Audrey’s set on the floor. “What color did you choose?”
Janie pipes up. “Mama said no pink.”
Audrey smiles. “I didn’t think you’d go for it, though I found a gorgeous cotton candy color I might get for Janie’s room. For you…” She pulls a paint strip from the pocket of her tattered jeans and shows me a blue-green square. “It’s called ‘Splashy.’ Cute, right?”
I study the color. “Reminds me of the ocean.”
“Better than a darkroom?”
I shrug, downplaying my enthusiasm. “Do you think it’ll cover?”
She taps one of the cans. “Primer. Obviously, I’ve thought of everything.”
Janie grins up at me. “I’ll help paint, too, Auntie.”
I point at the stars on my ceiling. “They stay.”
It takes a while to haul my furniture into the middle of the room and clear the walls of photographs. We’re almost done when my mom pokes her head in to ask about the commotion. When she sees paint cans and drop cloths and brushes scattered about the floor, she grimaces. “Are you girls sure you’re up for this?” she asks, eyeing me like I might disintegrate at any moment.
“Of course we’re up for it,” Audrey says. “Want to help?”
Mom smiles, running a hand over my hair as I walk by with a roll of blue painter’s tape. She’s been particularly nice since Bambi’s stint as a runaway. “I’ll pass, but let me know when you’re ready for refreshments.”
She retreats to her library—forty-eight hours until deadline—and not long after, we’re ready to crack the cans open. Janie keeps Bambi occupied, holding a bone steady while my dog gnaws. She and Audrey ooh and ahh as I roll tinted primer onto the wall. Their excitement is warranted—even this is an improvement.
Audrey gets busy with the trim. “When’s the boy next door heading back to Texas?” she asks, cutting primer along the door molding.
“Tomorrow. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when he leaves.”
“You can visit him.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Janie climbs up on my bed, floating in the center of the room like an island, and pages through the picture books her mama brought to keep her busy. I continue rolling, working up a sweat, and Aud makes progress with the edging. I can tell by the way she furrows her brow, concentrating: she’s got more than paint on her mind.
Finally, tentatively, she says, “When does Mati leave?”
I cease my work to face her. “Tomorrow. And since when do you call him by his name?”
Her paintbrush hovers idly next to the wall. She opens her mouth to respond, but then Janie pipes up. “Mama hates Mati.”
Audrey blinks at her. “I don’t hate anybody, baby.”
Janie turns the page of the book on her lap, then glances up, all innocence. “Yes you do. I heard you telling Auntie that he can’t come over. Too bad, because Mati brings wishes, and he tells silly stories.”
Aud glances at the floor, then at me. “I haven’t been very nice,” she says quietly.
“No. You haven’t.”
“Have you talked to him?”
I consider lying. To save face, to save this evening, but I can’t. I’m tired of feeling disgraceful about a relationship that’s anything but. I go back to rolling, but I watch her as I say, “I saw him today at the beach.”
“Oh.” She dips her brush, wiping off excess paint before taking it to the wall. “Is he going to marry that girl?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t know. He’s considering alternatives.”
