“Let’s,” Harrison muttered, and walked to the small green patch of fake turf. Hillary handed him a club. He swung it back and forth like a pendulum a couple of times, then lined up and took a big swing. His swing looked smooth and graceful, the arc of the club high.
The Posse thought so, too, because they all crowed with delight, each of them shouting out numbers, presumably ranking the swing. “Afour?” Harrison said, turning around and staring accusingly at Carol, who had said it.
“Unbelievable,” Amy muttered, and went back to the studio and sat with a huff of annoyance on her stool at her easel.
She tried to keep on with her new idea, tried to focus, but she kept hearing their voices rising up in laughter and all the splashing about. Even Harrison’s deep rumble of a laugh a time or two. How was it possible that he didn’t mind them questioning his living or ranking his swing? How did he enjoy that? But they were clearly having fun, which only made her angry, and frustrated, and it didn’t help that she was feeling creatively blocked, but most of all, annoyed that she was missing out.
For an hour, she battled herself. She had a vague memory of battling like this when she was younger. She could remember the frustration she used to feel when she couldn’t think what to paint. Sometimes, she’d felt as if it would have been easier to study art history and leave the painting to the professionals. She’d been horrible at figuring out what theme she ought to be uncovering, what message she wanted to share with the world. Even the creative reasons for the mediums she used. Her fellow students always knew the answers to those questions.
Her phone pinged and she picked it up.
Do you know what my favorite cheese is
Jonah. No one else would ask such a question.
No. Should I?
It’s aged gouda. Dad’s girlfriend brought some over and it’s delicious. You should google it.
Dad had a girlfriend? The same dad who had begged her not a month ago that they should reconcile? That had said he’d made a terrible mistake?Who was this girlfriend? Not that Amy cared. She didn’t care. She sort of cared.
Did you google it
Not yet. I’m painting.
My bad
She put her phone down and stared at her canvas. Great. Ryan got to move on, and she got to worry that she had too much baggage for anyone else.
Her phone pinged again.
NOT MY GIRLFRIEND
This was from Ryan. She watched as three dots popped up at the bottom of her screen.
Seriously, not my girlfriend. Not dating at all. Just a friend from work who found out I have the boys and wanted to help.
“Oh, because you need help to house your two teen sons for a couple of weeks?” she muttered bitterly. Try doing it every day of every week, buddy.
She dropped off some snacks and a casserole. That’s all. I meant when I said I want us to try again.
Hello?
She sighed.I’m here. I don’t care if you have a girlfriend.“At least, not like you think,” she said out loud.Have fun with the gouda. I hear it’s delicious.
She put her phone down, but it pinged stubbornly.
Jonah wants to go with his friends tonight. Is that okay?
She was going to have to find a good brick wall to smash her head into. She dashed off a curtWhatever you think, and then put her phone on silent and tossed it onto the cot in the room. She turned back to her canvas, took a deep breath—
There was a knock at the door.
She jerked around as Duchess began to bark to the ceiling. She had figured it would be her mom, but it was Harrison. He was holding a wicker basket that looked as if it was full of snacks—chips and crackers, cheese sticks. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, and dipped down to scratch Duchess behind the ears.
“No, no, it’s…it’s fine.” Why did she sound so nervous?
“How’s it going?” He looked past her to her canvas. She quickly turned the easel.
