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Simon’s is just three black slashes on a blue background. "Minimalist," he says, when I ask.
The voting takes considerably longer than it should for an election with no meaningful consequences.
Everyone is given a small adhesive star and instructed to place it beneath their favorite painting.
Baryn takes his responsibility particularly seriously.
He walks the line of paintings with his hands clasped behind his back, pausing in front of each one like he’s been asked to judge a prestigious international art competition rather than multiple increasingly drunken interpretations of the same barn.
“You cannot vote for yourself,” I remind him.
“I know.”
“But you want the cat.”
“I was given a mission.”
Tamsin lifts her wine in acknowledgment.
I put my star beneath a painting in which the barn is leaning approximately thirty degrees to the left. Its creator has attempted to compensate by painting the tree beside it at a similar angle, creating the impression that the entire property is sliding off the earth.
It deserves recognition.
Baryn wins by a margin significant enough that I briefly consider demanding a recount.
The woman with the vest hands him the ceramic cat, which he immediately passes to Tamsin with the solemnity of a coronation.
“You’re a monster,” she says, cradling the cat to her chest. It’s jaundice-yellow, cross-eyed, and smiling with a tiny row of disturbingly human teeth. “And I love you infinitely.”
By the time the last of the wine is gone, the room has mostly emptied. Paintings disappear beneath arms, folding chairs scrape across the floor, and the woman in the crocheted vest begins collecting abandoned cups from the tables.
We take that as our cue.
Outside, the air has cooled considerably, thick with the promise of rain. Baryn falls into step beside me on the way to the car, close enough that the back of his hand brushes mine every few strides.
In the back seat, Tamsin has already secured her cat beneath the middle seat belt.
“Safety first,” she says, tightening the strap across its tiny painted chest.
Simon looks over. “If we crash, I want it noted that I’m not giving the cat mouth-to-mouth.”
“Obviously.” Tamsin gives him a long, profoundly unimpressed look. “He doesn’t know you like that.”
We drive into the dark, and somewhere along the way, I realize the pressure in my chest has eased.
There are still things I don’t know.
Tonight, I decide, I’ll let them stay that way.
23
OFF THE RECORD
BARYN
By the time Serena closes the door behind us, I have spent the last few hours behaving like a man who has never once thought about putting his mouth on her.
This is impressive because I have thought about little else.
