“She said she couldn’t do it right then.”
“Couldn’t do what?”
I look around the room. “The studio.”
Zea is quiet for a second. “You signed something, didn’t you?”
“That’s not really the point.”
“That sounds like the point.”
“I got the place secured.”
“So yes.”
I rub my hand over my face. “Yes.”
“How long?”
I already hate the answer. “A year.”
“Javonte.”
“I thought I was helping.”
“I know you did.”
The way she says it makes my stomach tighten because there’s no joke in it. No roasting. Just my little sister sounding disappointed in a way she has no business sounding at sixteen.
I walk toward the back room because standing still makes me feel worse. The shelves are empty, lined up against one wall, ready for the supplies I imagined Lily bringing in here. The patio is cleaned up too. The weeds are gone, and there’s space for the paint water setup she’s always talking about. I thought she would see the details and know I had been paying attention.
“I didn’t decorate it,” I say. “I left all that for her.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious. I didn’t pick colors. I didn’t put art on the walls. I didn’t turn it into what I thought it should be.”
“Okay,” Zea says again. “But did she ask you to lease it?”
I stop walking.
The room goes quiet around me, and for a second, I hate her for asking it that plainly.
“No,” I say.
“Then that might be the problem.”
I want to argue, but there’s nowhere for the argument to go.
I look around again, and for the first time, I don’t see all the things I left for Lily to choose. I see the part I didn’t. Thebuilding. The lease. The timing. The surprise. I left the walls blank and convinced myself that meant I hadn’t taken over.
But I had.
“I thought she’d be happy,” I say.
“I know.”
“I really did.”
