“Yeah.”
“For what…” He already knows. I can feel it.
“Naked people with pure hearts.”
The laptop gets closed, nearly chopping my fingers off. “Roz, no.”
“Quit it!” I attempt to yank his hand away from the laptop.
“This idea is not good.”
I’m laughing because the way he phrased that makes itsound like such a simple yet epic burn. “Well, I’m out of other ideas! I can’t afford another class. I want to draw more than once a week. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. At first it was just a thing I wanted, and I wasn’t sure the added complication of finding a model was worth it. But look, these classes are important to me. Drawing is…I’m into it! I want to do as much as I can! And the figure is a pretty important part offiguredrawing.”
“Well, it’s not going to be afigure,” he says with one gigantic hand still flat on the cover of the closed laptop. I’m attempting to open it and failing completely. “It’s going to be amanwith abonerand aPolaroid collection.”
I burst out laughing again. Vin is funny when he’s funny. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“Go to an art museum and draw the marble sculpture people.” He’s gesticulating, trying to come up with the right words. His cheeks are slightly pink above the beard. He puts a hand on the back of his neck. “That’s probably better than 2D, right?”
I get a tickle of intuition. “Did you…did you research this for me?”
Drawing from the marble sculptures at the Met is a long tradition for art students. One that would have never occurred to me before if Daniel hadn’t talked about it last class.
“I…” He’s palms up. “I get why this not having people to draw is a problem for you! But I…don’t want you mixed up with strangers.”
These are long sentences for Vin. These are feelings and desires.Doesn’t say a lot but says it all.
My phone ding-a-lings. It’s a text. Cherise. “Oh. The ingredients list came in,” I mutter, clicking into the photo she sent of what they’ve been able to rescue this week.
I normally get it early on Saturday mornings, but it can get so down to the wire with whether I can actually come up with something by Sunday, I really don’t mind at all that she’s texted me about work at ten o’clock on a Friday night.
“Zucchinis, beets, and bell peppers. Hmm. Dang. I don’t think we have any of these right now. I’ll have to buy them.” I slide the laptop aside and stand up and Vin’s shoulders loosen, he falls back a little.
I really hate when I have to go out and buy the ingredients that we have such a surplus of in the refrigerated Harvest NYC truck parked somewhere in Harlem. But it doesn’t often make sense for me to schlep across the city and back for something I could usually buy for less than ten dollars at the grocery on the corner (which is open until eleven).
“I’ll go,” Vin says. “Just text me the list.”
He’s walking backwards. Eyes on me. He grabs his house keys off the hook.
I decide to test a theory. “Hey.”
Vin pauses.
“Will you pick up some cookies, too? From that place I like?” (An all-natural bodega two neighborhoods away, the only place in the city that carries this particular brand.)
“Sure.”
“Oh, and also Raff said he had some Tupperware of ours. Do you mind grabbing it?” (Another half an hour on his trip.)
“Okay.”
“Oh, and I said I’d feed the fish at Surya’s house while she’s in Tampa.” (A high school friend who Vin doesn’t even like and who lives on the Upper West Side. This will add at least an hour, maybe more.)
“Oh. Uh. Sure, do you have her keys?”
“Oh, myGod!” I throw my hands in the air. “Vin!”
He’s scratching at the back of his neck. “What?”
