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Alone with the Big Blank, I pried open a can of red enamel. “I can be
whoever I want.”
I pushed a three-inch brush into the center of the flat crimson circle to
the base of the bristles, let the excess drip off, and flung the brush at the Big
Blank. It landed flat on the white primer and dropped to the clean tarp,
leaving a puncture wound in the center of the canvas.
I still didn’t know what to do with it.
At five thirty, I was in the shower, washing off the day’s
disappointments, when Logan’s voice echoed off the wet walls.
“Honey, I’m home.”
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
I wiped the fog off the glass. He was leaning on the counter with his
arms crossed as if he belonged there at all.
“Sorry.”
He wasn’t sorry.
“You’re early.”
“Not sorry.”
At least that was honest.
I shut off the water and snapped the door open a crack. He didn’t move.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m naked,” I said.
“Good thing, since you’re in the shower.”
“Is there a reason you’re standing there?”
“You never mentioned a friend in a play, and I don’t want to be late, so
you can tell me all about them while you’re getting dried off.”
I stuck my hand out of the shower. “Get me the towel then.”
When I felt the terrycloth in my hand, I pulled it inside and clicked the
door shut.
“You remember Amilcar?” I rustled the towel over my hair.
“The first impressionist?”
“Yes.” I dried myself from the top down, conscious of Logan’s body so
close to my skin, separated by a thin glass wall. “His sister’s a senior at the