“We’re going to do blind contour portraits.” I took an introductory drawing class back when I was in school, and this was the first exercise we were given.
“The way it works is that we get five minutes to draw each other’s faces, but you can’t lift your pencil from the page, and you can’t look at what you’re doing. You have to use a single, unbreaking line to sketch my face.”
Charlie taps his bottom lip with a finger. “I just remembered that I don’t like doing things I’m not good at.”
“It’s supposed to be fun. Try not to think about it too much.”
He gives me a serious nod that has me grinning.
“I like it when you do that,” Charlie says, his eyes locked on my mouth as we begin to draw.
“Do what?” I’m starting with his left eye, slowly forming the curve of his lid.
“Smile,” he says.
Charlie’s face is scrunched in a scowl of concentration, and I can’t help but giggle.
“I’m trying to do your hair,” he says. “If this resembles anything other than overcooked spaghetti, I’ll be shocked.”
When the timer on my phone rings, we’re both in hysterics. I’ve laughed more with Charlie in the last couple of weeks than I have in the previous six months combined.
“That cackle,” he says. “It’s brutal. I love it.”
“I mean.” I hold up Charlie’s portrait. I’ve got his left eye overlapping with a giant mouth. His right eye is somewhere up on his forehead. It’s not clear what’s hair or cheek or nose.
“Wow,” he says. “I believe they call that an oral fixation.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”
Charlie slides his drawing across the table to me. I can make out two large eyes. My lips look more like a heart than a mouth and fall somewhere near where my neck should be. My hair is all loop-the-loops, my chin a sharp V.
“It’s glorious,” I say, still laughing.
“It’s terrible.”
“I’m framing it.”
The rain has begun falling harder, creating dimples in the surface of the lake. We both turn to the window for a moment.
“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?” Charlie asks, breaking the silence.
“I hate that you heard all that—the part where I yelled at Nan especially.”
“You raised your voice, Alice. You didn’t yell. But I wouldn’t give two shits if you screamed at the top of your lungs. You have every right to be upset.”
“Heather knows I don’t love the photo that’s been chosen, but she thinks I’m being fussy.”
“It’s your art. Having an opinion isn’t fussy—it’s your job.”
“The truth is I don’t want the photo in the show. But I can’t back out now, so I’d rather pretend it isn’t happening.”
“Why can’t you back out?”
“Because I’m a terrible coward.”
“Try again.”
I tell Charlie about Elyse—how much I respect her taste, how I don’t want to let her down. “I still can’t believe she wantsto include me in her first show,” I say. “Heather’s right: It’s a huge honor.”
