“We don’t have brushes,” Genesis says, glaring at Destyny as if she’s got them all stuffed down into her tight, neon pink tank top.
“You will be using your fingers,” Monroe says.
Genesis gapes. “But I just painted my nails to match my latest Bling Me, Jesus!™ ruby and sapphire cross ring! Which is in limited quantities and can be found on my website!” She actually turns toward the closest camera when she says this last part.
Destyny sniffs. “A true artist knows how to use the tools at their disposal.”
That’s right. Destyny is some kind of tomato artist.
This should be good.
We begin working—or processing through play or whatever. Jason starts separating out the pieces and I help him.
“Okay,” he says. “We need a good foundation first. I’m thinking a main building with smaller rooms attached on each side.”
“Yep. Exactly like our relationship,” I say solemnly, and he laughs again.
I follow his lead in stacking the logs. Meanwhile, to the side of us, we can hear croquet mallets hitting against balls and an occasional mean-spirited snicker (from Kate, no doubt). Destyny and Genesis are silently working, though they both appear to be fuming and keeping their masterpieces out of sight of the other like they’re worried about cheating.
“I feel like you were a bitch to tell people I didn’t come to the party because I was out of town on my catamaran, when you knew that was the weekend before,” Kate growls, which I guess means that Calista finally got the ball through the hoop.
Several more whacks of the wooden balls, then Calista says, “I feel like you were a bitch to never invite me on your catamaran!”
“Stop trying to look at my painting!”This is from Destyny, on the other side of us.
“I’m not looking at your painting,” Genesis says archly. “I’m trying to see how big I need to make those fake boobs of yours. You know, for the truest representation.”
“Maybe you should ask Keith,” Destyny shoots back, and Genesis gasps. Keith is, of course, their mutual ex-husband.
“Remember, everyone,” Monroe says as she strokesTiberius’s head. “We’re classy women. Let’s act that way.”
“Yeah, remember that, Jason,” I say, and he snickers. “What are you making there?” I ask, as he’s working on something different with the green roof pieces.
“Some big-ass turrets,” he says, smiling over at me. “Our relationship is way better than some basic log cabin.”
I melt a little and scoot closer to him. Even after our fight yesterday, and my apparent inability to ask how he feels without telling him first, he still thinks this.
Calista and Kate keep making the occasional snide comments, and Destyny and Genesis furiously paint, and Jason and I keep building.
We joke about what the rooms are: a sunroom, a study. Jason points out that logs would be easy to climb, so the whole thing is basically one big private climbing gym. It’s turning into a super cool, not-basic log cabin, and as I watch him work, I have a thought I’ve had so many times before.
He’s going to be such a good father.
I can almost see it—him doing this with our little kids around us, giggling and setting up their own pieces, making up their own rooms. Jason laughing that loud, boisterous laugh and teaching them how to make turrets.
The image is so vivid, so visceral, it steals my breath. And it sinks somewhere deep in my chest, because maybe this isn’t something I get to have with him. Maybe, despite how well we can apparently build with Lincoln Logs, we won’t be able to figure out this communication thing and we’ll fight and fight or, even worse, stop having anything to say to each other altogether.
I feel tears forming and blink rapidly to clear my eyes.
“Okay,” Monroe says, clapping her hands together. We all startle. “Time is up. Everyone stand up and let’s—” She pauses asTiberius growls at the tote bag beside her. “Oh yes, here he is, darling.” She pulls out Dinokins and hands him toTiberius. Jason and I wrinkle our noses at each other as we stand. “Let’s discuss our projects,” she continues. “Kate and Calista. Were you able to come to an understanding of each other’s feelings?”
They look at each other and Calista beams. “Yes. In fact, she invited me to join her on her catamaran when we get back.”
Kate nods. “And we decided that my sister Georgina is the one who’s really a bitch, and it’s all her fault.”
Huh. I must have missed their comments actually turning friendly—toward one another, at least—while we were so involved with our cabin.
Monroe smiles. “Excellent! And though I’m not one to speak ill of others, Georgina is indeed a bitch.” She skips by us—great, we’re being saved for last—and turns to Destyny and Genesis. “Let’s see your paintings. Destyny, why don’t you go first? And be sure to tell us how it is a true depiction of Genesis.”
