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on the toilet, clipping her toenails. I got close enough to see each
brushstroke. I couldn’t tell if it was garbage or a masterwork, but it was
Ella’s, and her presence was in the gestures.
“I want you to give me a chance,” I said. “You think I don’t listen, but I
do. I’ve listened to the tone of your voice change from excited to bored.
I’ve listened to the way you agree to do things you don’t care about. You’re
like a woman waiting in line at the DMV, just trying to get through it. It’s
going to change, Ella. All of it. I want to know who you are.”
I turned around as she was pulling on a T-shirt. The neck stretched and
her head popped through.
She smoothed down her hair. “I didn’t say you could turn around.”
“You put the bottoms on first. I want to know that. Your warm socks are
on the bed, so they go on after the shirt. I want to know that. I want to know
the noise you make when you’re sleeping. I want to know what soap you
like, how you sit when you clip your toenails, how you brush your hair in
the morning. I want to know how to take care of you so I can be there when
you need me.”
Her neck undulated when she swallowed. I’d said a lot. Too much. Way
too much. I was out on a limb, and it was bending under my weight.
“What happens when you don’t like what you learn?” she asked with
her arms crossed. “Because you won’t.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Her jaw set and her mouth tightened for a moment before she uncrossed
her arms and threw open the armoire to pull out a black leather jacket. She
shrugged it on over her pajamas and yanked an empty bag out of the bottom
of the closet. “Let’s go, Logan.”
“Where—”
Before I could finish, she crossed to the working side of the space. Still
leashed like a puppy dog, I followed. She threw open a cabinet and filled
the duffel bag with spray paint cans.
“For a guy running a gabillion dollar company,” she said, shaking a can
with a click-click-click and discarding it, “you can’t see the big picture.”
Red. Blue. Black. “How I put my pants on has nothing to do with who I am
or the shit I’ve done.” Zipping the bag with a single, loud screech, she
threw it over one shoulder. “So let’s start with that and see how you like it.”
I held out my hand. “Let’s start with me carrying the bag.”