Lina ran her finger over the picture of the tiny little bundle in the hospital bassinet, his arms stretched out like he couldn’t wait to take on the world. The next picture was of an exhausted, but exuberant, Ashley holding him.
She looked up to see Dillon and Garrett staring at her, knowing smiles on their faces.
“It must be good news,” Garrett said.
“It is. My friend, Ashley, had her baby.” She showed Dillon the pictures first, and then handed the phone to Garrett.
There was a wistfulness in his expression as he looked at it, making her wonder what his story was. If she was the only grandkid, he obviously wasn’t a father.
He handed the phone back, catching her studying him. “My ex never wanted kids.”
Nana resumed her seat in time to hear him. She clucked. “Sometimes life doesn’t turn out how we would prefer, but then God sends us little gifts to remind us of his love.” She beamed at Lina. “Like you.”
“I feel the same way about you two,” she said, wishing their total acceptance of her didn’t make her feel so embarrassed.
Garrett raised an eyebrow. “Maybe this is presumptuous, but it would be nice to be around for when you and Dillon, or um, whomever, started a family.”
Lina felt her face growing hot. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dillon take a long sip of his water. If she thought she’d been embarrassed before, it was nothing like now. But the picture it painted in her mind wouldn’t leave, and Dillon was right there in it, reading their kids bedtime stories and growing old with her. Now was not the time to dwell on such things. It was more like time to lighten the mood again.
“Garrett sounds just like your mom, Dillon, with all the insinuations.”
Dillon laughed. “Nobody can embarrass you like family.”
***
Dillon came to Lina’s apartment the following Saturday prepared, though what he was prepared for, he wasn’t totally sure. She’d said to come in grubby clothes, with his nice clothes set aside for later. They had a couple of hours to kill before meeting her dad on his layover in Phoenix, and she was as skittish as a colt. If Lina hadn’t planned something, Dillon would have found an excuse to spend the time with her anyway.
She dragged him inside her apartment seconds after he knocked on her door and brought him over to the kitchen table which had been wrapped in plastic. Two blank canvases sat waiting for them, surrounded by dishes of paint. The only thing he didn’t see were paintbrushes. When she’d mentioned an extra set of clothes, he’d imagined a plumbing project or working on her car. Both of those sounded a lot less daunting than painting something on a canvas.
“So,” she said, letting out a long breath. “In the spirit of learning more about each other, this is one of my secret hobbies.”
“One of them?” he asked, eyeing her curiously. “You have other secret hobbies?”
“Well, yeah. But they come and go. I was all about roller derby for about three days before realizing my tailbone didn’t think it was a good idea, I have a whole Pinterest board of Hallmark Christmas movie memes I created, and I like to volunteer to face paint at carnivals. Those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head.”
“Did you get a roller derby name?” he asked with a grin.
Lina swatted his chest, and he pulled her in closer. She was rarely embarrassed, so it was extra fun to see her blush.
“Not an official one. I planned to go with Lina Linguini. They said I had noodle arms when I skated. I was just trying to keep my balance. And that…” she pointed a finger at his chest, “…is going in the vault, young man.”
He nodded. “We never talked about it.”
She sat in a chair and pulled him down in the chair next to her.
He picked up one of the blank canvases. “I’ve never painted on a canvas before. I doubt anything I create will be worth hanging on a wall.” Realizing that could be taken as a jab at her art, he added, “I bet you’re awesome at this, though. Can I see one of your finished pieces?” He set the canvas down and looked around. He didn’t see any artwork on display, but he wasn’t the most observant guy either.
Lina took a dollop of paint with her finger and dropped it unceremoniously on her canvas. “Don’t worry. These are cheap canvases from the craft store, and you can’t see my finished pieces because I don’t keep any. Half the fun is donating them to the thrift store and wondering where the terrible art ends up.”
“You don’t keep any of them?” He looked at her finger, realizing for the first time that the lack of paintbrushes was on purpose. This was finger painting. He reached out and touched a bit of black paint to his pointer finger before smearing it down his canvas. It was strangely thrilling. “I have a feeling even the thrift store will turn mine away.”
“Don’t worry about that. This isn’t about talent; this is about fun.” She wiped her fingers clean with a cloth and picked a new color. For a few minutes he just sat and watched. At first, it didn’t seem like there was any rhyme or reason to what color she chose or where the paint landed, but like a kaleidoscope coming into focus, it started forming into a man on a rowing machine.
“Is that me? I thought you said you weren’t any good.”
She shrugged. “I’m feeling inspired. Your biceps do that to me sometimes.”
“Whatever.”
