She wordlessly opens her drawing pad to show him some of what, I assume, she’s been working on this week. They are watercolor paintings of a pug. Done in every shade. There area few hurried ones. Rushed lines as he bends down to a water bowl. One where he’s got two paws up on a windowsill, the neighborhood watch. Another where he’s sitting patiently at the door, clearly waiting for someone he loves to come home. And then there’s one where she had more time. The colors are vibrant, the details luxurious. He’s backstroking through a nap in a warm pool of sunshine.
“Holy smokes,” I can’t help but murmur. They are gorgeous.
“These are great!” Daniel says happily.
“Jesus Christ,” Lauro whispers from behind me. He’s got his arms crossed, one palm covering his mouth. His eyes are somber and, maybe, a little wrecked.
Lauro drifts back to his easel and Daniel and Em jump into a technical conversation about color theory and perspective and my God there is so much to learn.
How come I can’t effortlessly turnmynumber two pencils into absolute stardust?
I set up my easel and prop my drawing pad up. The front cover swings open and the papers accordion out from the spiral binding.
“Oh,” Daniel says.
I reflexively look up to see which of her drawings he’s talking about, and then give a start of surprise when I realize he’s looking atmydrawing pad. He’s talking aboutmydrawings.
My drawing pad has swung open to my drawings of Vin from last night. All the chopped-up ones.
Daniel’s head is cocked to one side and he doesn’t say anything. I start to get a little self-conscious and fiddle with one corner of the paper.
“Shan brought raspberry pie!” Shan calls as she bursts through the classroom door.
The pie takes precedence over all, because duh, it’s pie.
The other students file and scramble and shuffle into class. The model is new, a twenty-year-old self-proclaimed football player (“Call me Teddy”) with muscles only previously discovered in medical textbooks.
Maybe it’s Teddy’s ability to hold a naked fifteen-minute headstand or maybe it’s just a warm summer Friday, but there is an electric breeze, the classroom smells of raspberry pie, and everyone’s pages are lavishly filled.
Reggie calls to the class toward the end of the fifteen-minute break. “Class potluck at the park tomorrow night? My wife has been wanting to meet you all.”
“Shan, bring more pie,” Esther agrees, by way of demand.
“I’m in,” Lauro calls.
“I’ve got my kids…” Daniel says. “Will Fabi come?”
“We’ll bring some stuff for them to play with. Roz, bring Vin, he’ll entertain the kids for us.” That’s Esther again, making more demands. I nod, because what else am I supposed to do? Explain that I’m not sure how to ask him to join me for something like this because he’s endlessly confusing to me?
Then the break is over and Teddy closes us out with muscleman poses à la Arnold Schwarzenegger. It is glorious.
“Hey, Roz,” Daniel says. “Would you mind staying behind to talk to me for a second?”
“Oh!” I’m surprised. “Sure.”
Everyone is packing up, Em taking the longest because of her paints, and I think Lauro is lingering at the door for me, but when I look up again, they’re both gone.
Daniel is propping the classroom door fully open.
He plops onto Em’s stool and folds his hands. “The drawings of yours that I caught sight of earlier…I didn’t recognize the model.”
“Oh. Right. It’s, um, actually…” For some reason the wordsmy husbandhave become the two most embarrassingwords in the English language. Do other people get their questionably estranged spouses nude in the living room in order to (minutely) level up their figure drawing skills?
“Someone very close to you,” he supplies. “Not a stranger.”
“Right. But…how did you know that?”
He gives me a smile. “You’re not in trouble. I’m excited for you. These drawings…Can we look at them together?”
