She’s been running a whole business out of borrowed rooms and the back of a van. That doesn’t sit right with me anymore.
“She wants to do Lit with Lily full time,” I say.
“Did she say that?”
I stop at the doorway and look at her.
Zea raises her eyebrows. “That wasn’t a trick question.”
“She hates her job.”
“That’s also not what I asked.”
This girl is sixteen years old and somehow always sounds like she’s about to send me to my room.
“She loves Lit with Lily,” I tell her. “She lights up when she talks about it. You should’ve seen her in the Bahamas. She was painting on the terrace, and she looked peaceful. Then she cameback home and went right back to work, and now she looks tired again.”
Zea’s face softens a little, but not enough for me to win. “Okay, but tired people don’t always want somebody to buy them a building.”
“I’m not buying her a building.”
“What are you doing?”
I look around. “Leasing. Maybe buy it, if it makes sense.”
She stares at me.
“What?”
Zea shakes her head. “Do you hear yourself?”
“I’m trying to help her.”
“I know,” she says, softer than I expect. “That’s why I’m asking if she wants this.”
I don’t answer because the truth is she didn’t.
But I know Lily. Her garage is packed, her van stays full, and she’s always running from work to an event like she’s supposed to have another whole body waiting somewhere.
I saw her on that terrace with the ocean in front of her and nothing pulling at her. I saw how she looked when she had room. I know what she looks like when she has room to breathe.
I take in the space. This could give her peace.
I step into the back room and look through the window. There’s a little fenced area behind the building; It’s not pretty right now, but it’s private with concrete, weeds, old planters, a storage shed that needs to be hauled off.
Once it’s cleaned up, we can put a couple of tables, a drying rack, and somewhere for her to pour the paint water and let it evaporate the way she said she does at home.
“This part is perfect,” I say, opening the back door. “Look. She could do her paint water thing out here.”
Zea follows me outside. “Her what?”
“She doesn’t pour paint water down the sink. She evaporates it.”
Zea looks at me for a second. “That is very Lily.”
“I know. She could have a station out here for that. Covered, so rain doesn’t mess it up. Maybe a little locked cabinet for buckets. I can get somebody to build it.”
“You can get somebody to build anything,” she says.
