“It was. Human emotions are gross. So how was your day?”
“It was good,” I tell him, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “I just got back from a very fun little cocktail hour with some amazing women.”
“Did you now? And where was this?”
I think about it for a second. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you,” I muse. “It wasn’t exactly a secret society initiation, but it wasn’tnota secret society initiation, either.”
Matt raises an eyebrow. “Sounds intriguing. I’m picturing face masks, a bell tower and drinking from goblets.”
“Not quite,” I tell him. “Think more along the line of wine and cheese and racks of clothes.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
“I’d say so.” Moving deeper into the room, I sigh as I slouch down into the chair in the corner. “How goes things in the interstellar realm of love?”
Matt swivels to face me as he sits back in his chair. “It’s thriving. I just found out the cast is making our first appearance at Comic Con in a few months, so that will be an experience.”
“Fun! Do you get to go to those types of things, too?”
“Usually, I do,” he answers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m not sure if we’re doing a panel or an autograph session, but I hope it’s a panel. Whenever we’re signing autographs, I’m always the obligatory signature that no one wants and I’m pretty sure they only invite me to act as a buffer between the actors and the superfans. One time, someone tried to scatter locks of his hair on Clive Glastor and Clive physically used me as a living battering ram to push the guy away.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good time,” I reply. “Though I’d rather be the battering ram than the receiver of hair.”
He nods his head. “Same here. A little got on me, but I survived. I’m haunted, but stronger.”
“You’re a brave soul,” I tell him.
“Thank you for saying that, though I may also be trying to impress you.”
“When are you not?”
Matt smiles and I flash him a smirk as I stand up, moving to inspect his bedside table where I find a small, framed picture. Looking closer, I see the image of a man and boy sitting on a boat with their feet dangling over the edge.
“Is this you in the picture?” I ask. I think about picking it up, but it seems too personal.
“You can look at it,” Matt says, reading my hesitance. “It’s me and my dad.”
I carefully lift the wooden frame off the table, gazing more closely at the man in the photo. He looks like Matt but older.
“Your dad is very handsome. He looks happy being there with you.”
“He loved the water,” Matt says. “Every summer we would go sailing in Capri. At least, we did when I was young.”
I concentrate more on the background of the photo now. The surrounding elements. The blue sea and the mountains in the distance that are partially covered with greenery. Earth and water meeting to create stunning tones.
“It looks perfect there,” I murmur. “I’ve never seen clear water like that in person.”
Matt grins and moves to my side, looking down at the picture as well. “My dad always told me that everything was clear when you were out on the water.”
I can’t take my eyes off the photographed scene, especially the backdrop. Something about it is speaking to me and I don’t quite understand it. I’ve never been an ocean enthusiast, but I can’t stop looking at the water in the picture. I want to see it. I want to touch it. I bet it would feel as soft as silk. Warm and smooth as it envelops my hand. I imagine what the ripples would look like as I draw my fingers across the surface. The glittering blue mixing with the light sand and dark rocks below.
“A seascape like this would look amazing as fabric. Not a broad picture, but a close image of the textures and shades.” Matt keeps gazing at the picture, trying to see what I do. “Back at school there’s a digital printer where we can make our own patterns on white fabric. You have to pay to use it, and bring your own material, but I’d love to print something using colors like this.” I start to imagine my collection in different shades of blue. Blue like in the photo. Some so deep that they’re almost purple. Some so bright there’s even hints of yellow. In my mind’s eye, my collection comes to life as I picture it in this dream fabric. I see the skirt of one of my dresses whipping back, weightless as air as it glides down the runway. I watch as a jumpsuit falls just as I want it, looking luminous and effervescent in the auditorium lights.
It’s a pretty fantasy that I want to watch on loop.
“Why can’t you?” Matt suddenly asks, bringing me out of my own thoughts.
“Why can’t I what?” I ask.
