“What did it say?”
“It said, ‘Happy Birthday, Dorinda.’?”
There was a pause. “Cat.”
“She’s also been texting a lot! Like, you’re almost sixty, why are you texting so much?”
Jay sighed. “Couldn’t she be texting your aunt?”
“No. She can’t be.”
“I don’t want to invalidate your experience or anything, but none of this would hold up in court. Like, you’d probably be banned from court, your evidence is so bad. It also doesn’t really sound like your mom.”
“I know, that’s what makes it so diabolical. If anyone could get away with it, she could.”
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
“And get slapped? Anyway, she’d just lie like she always does.”
“You kind of sound like you want her to be having an affair.”
“What? If my parents break up I’ll be stuck with my dad—can you imagine? Him stomping around the house, me trapped, CNN on all day, no food in the fridge. Nothing would get done.” I didn’t add thatit was possible he’d relapse too. My phone beeped with another call. “Hang on.” I clicked the green accept button. “Hello?”
“Cat! Hey. It’s Nia.”
Hearing her silky voice sent a chill through me. I fixed my hair, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Oh, hey!”
“Are you busy?”
“I’m at work but I’m off in an hour.”
“Cool, I’m going to be at my studio for the rest of the night. The one you came to? Thanks for coming to that. I probably thanked you already. That night feels like ten years ago.” It sounded like she was walking down a hallway, clicking heels coming through the phone. “Anyway, I digress—don’t you hate when people say that? Anyway, do you want to come by for your portrait if you have time?” A man’s voice. Loud laughter. Me: mortified as I realized Tristan was there. “Don’t make that face, come on.” More bubbly laughter, then a kissing sound? Nia’s mouth suddenly too close to the phone: “I’m sorry, we were… never mind. See you later!”
The phone went black. I stared at it, wound up, for a long time.
At home, I tried to avoid the question of Nia’s studio and whether I’d go, whether I’d go through with the portrait at all. How could I, given what was happening between me and Tristan?
But also: What was happening between me and Tristan beyond him kissing me on the sidewalk, then running away afterward, then saying we shouldn’t see each other, but then acting totally normal when we saw each other at the art showcase?
My phone glowed eight o’clock in a clean, white font. I didn’t know what Nia had meant by “rest of the night,” but eight o’clock seemed before that. It was my copy ofArt Monsterson my nightstand that made me release my hair from its grimy ponytail, throw on some makeup and a coat, and go to her.
There was no reason I should have been surprised to see her, but when I saw her I paused in the doorway. She was barefoot, toes bentpainfully against the cold linoleum on her tiptoes, angled over her desk in a forest-green men’s button-down. Her hair fell cutely in a short ponytail, curls licking the nape of her neck. I watched her from the doorway, finding it impossible to tear my eyes away or move into the room.
“Come in,” she said.
“How’d you know I was behind you?”
She straightened up, grinning. “I smelled your perfume. Missing Person, right?”
I was embarrassed that she noticed, a feeling like she could see straight through me.
She walked over and brought the inside of my wrist to her nose. “I’ve been meaning to buy it. But I never do.”
I held my breath while her head was bowed in front of me, her hair sweeping across my forearm. The tip of her nose was cold against my skin, making me shudder. Nervously, I untwisted my hand from her grasp before I got any more lightheaded. My legs fought hard to hold me up even after she turned away.
Her studio looked different unpeopled, cozier: stacks of art books, neat rows of mason jars, brushes sticking from them. I noticed a light blue book on her desk, the name Noah Davis in gold-foiled letters. “Isn’t that that guy you were talking about?”
“Who?”
