by Harper Bliss
“Well, yeah. Of course. When we first moved here. And then when Mama turned up this weekend and I had to pretend like it was just one big party, while it also hurt me.”
“Did you talk to your mom about that?”
“No, because she was already so pissed off that Mama turned up out of the blue. I didn’t want to make that worse. I don’t want them to fight. I just want them to get along.”
“But they do, generally, get along?”
Brooklyn just shrugs. “I guess. It’s not that hard when one of them lives ten thousand miles away.”
“You do know that you don’t ever have to hide your true feelings from your mom, don’t you?”
“I know I don’t have to, but sometimes I want to.”
I nod because I understand. “I hide my true feelings all the time, but it’s good to just let them all out once in a while.”
“I know. I feel like I can really talk to Jaden. He’s not like any of the boys at my old school in Queens.”
I let her talk, or as my dad is fond of saying: I don’t miss a good chance to shut up.
“Sometimes, I can’t believe how sweet Jaden is,” Brooklyn says.
My heart melts a little. Even though I have zero to do with Jaden’s personality and upbringing, my chest swells with pride a little because he’s my nephew.
“I know for a fact that he’s completely nuts about you,” I say.
“I think about him all the time,” she says with the kind of passion only a teenager can muster. Although I seem to be suffering from my very own case of teenage lovestruck-ness, as I think about Zoe all the time—often to the point of distraction.
“How about we paint him then?” I smile at her.
She gets up. “Sure, but I have no idea how.”
“Right.” I scratch my head. It sounded so good and actionable when I said it. “How are we going to do this?”
“Can I watch you?” she asks. “While you paint him?” There’s so much tender hope in her voice I can’t bear to crush it.
I take a deep breath. “Okay, we can try. But you should know that I’m not used to having anyone in here while I paint.”
“Just pretend I’m not here. What would you do if I wasn’t here?”
“For starters, I would turn up the music really loud.”
“I don’t mind that,” Brooklyn says. “What kind of music?”
“Cheesy ballads only. It’s a requirement.” I’m starting to get in the zone, feeding off Brooklyn’s energy a little, because she seems to be quite into the whole thing. She seems genuinely interested. And I’m willing to cut Zoe’s daughter a hell of a lot more slack than I would anyone else.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
I ask Alexa to shuffle my painting playlist and the room fills with the loud piano intro of a Lady Gaga song.
“I love this one,” Brooklyn shouts over the music.
“You may want to cover yourself with this.” I hand her a spare apron before putting on my own very paint smudged one. “You may want to stay out of this area.” With my finger, I draw a circle around my easel.
“What were you working on?” she asks, when I stand before the blank canvas.
“I just finished a painting.” I don’t want to say it was of her mother, even though it was. “It’s drying in another room.”
“Of my mom?” she asks, because the girl wasn’t born yesterday.
I give a quick nod. “Do you have any pictures on your phone of Jaden that could serve as inspiration?”
Without hesitation, she shows me her phone. “It’s my background picture. I’m in it as well, though.”
“Perfect,” I say, sounding much more confident than I feel. I stare at the picture until it appears very vividly in my mind. Then, while I get my paints ready, I start seeing how I want the picture to look on my canvas once I’m done. I’m glad Brooklyn’s not asking me to describe this part of my process to her, because I could never find the means—neither the actions nor the words—to show her how I get from one thing to the other.
Maybe April was right when she said that painting the way I do is a neurodiverse superpower, because I can’t explain it any other way. The only explanation is that this is how my brain works. This is how it goes from picture to painting. This is my purest form of expression and, in a way, it’s so fitting that I’m about to paint my nephew and the daughter of the woman I’ve fallen so head over heels in love with. It’s not a chore whatsoever. It’s a delight, really, and a small part of me revels in the audience of one that I have tonight, because another thing that April has taught me, or that I have come to realize since we’ve started our sessions together, is that I no longer have to hide who I am.
Some days, I can even feel a touch of pride in some of the things that I do. Of course, the sensation of being watched so intently does mess with me a bit, but when it threatens to take over, I listen to the music, and I focus on the color I’m applying in that moment, and what I want it to ultimately turn into, and this is a magic process that never seems to fail me. Where words can seldom truly express what it is I’m holding in my brain, my hand, the paint brush I’m holding, the paints that I mix purely intuitively—colors have always made sense to me—never let me down. Whenever I’m done with a painting and I feel the rush of satisfaction of having brought out something that was held captive inside, I’m never disappointed. Then again, I’ve never painted Brooklyn and Jaden before.
But doing so doesn’t cause me any real problems. It’s not the exact same cathartic experience that I come to expect from painting, but it’s enough—and catharsis was not the goal tonight anyway.
I have no idea how long it takes me to finish, but somehow I’m still kind of surprised to find Brooklyn sitting in her designated space. She might have snuck out at some point. She must have, because she’s holding a glass of water that I forgot to offer her when she first arrived.
“Done,” I say.
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” she says.
“Excuse me?” I’m pretty sure Zoe wouldn’t approve of that kind of language, although, personally, in the mood I’m in right now, I don’t care one bit.
“You’re a rock star, Anna.”
“Hm,” I say, then ask Alexa to lower the volume of the music, which is still blaring through the studio.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” She holds up her phone. “Check this out. I made a time-lapse video of the last fifteen minutes.”
I’m still on a creative high, so it’s easy to suppress the instant dismay I feel at being filmed without my consent. When I look at the video, the painting being completed blindingly fast, it does look kind of cool, although ‘cool’ has never been a word I’ve associated with myself.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Half past ten.”
“Oh, shit. Zoe will go nuts.”
“It’s okay. I texted her. She knows where I am.” Brooklyn chuckles. “She knows I’m with you.”
“Don’t you have to go to bed?” I have to go to bed, I think. Hemingway probably passed out on his cushion in the living room hours ago.
“I’m not five, Anna.” Brooklyn stares at the painting so I can’t see her face, but it sounds very much as though she’s rolling her eyes. “I feel like I’ve just been witness to a very unique experience.” She looks at me. “I feel very privileged, Anna. Thank you.”
God, the way these teenagers speak. Words like that would never come out of my mouth, even if I had Zoe and Brooklyn’s eloquence. “It’s yours. I’ll bring it over tomorrow, when it’s dry.” I feel a twinge of guilt at usurping the birthday gift Zoe had planned for Brooklyn, but I have an alternative idea for that.
“Oh my God. Thanks so much.” She brings a hand to her mouth. What did she think I was going to do with it?
“The only thing I ask in return is that you don’t post that video you shot of me anywhere online.”
“Why not? It’s so badass, Anna.”
“Being badass onl
ine is not one of my aspirations in life.”
“That actually makes you even more badass,” she says.
I shrug, like a teenager would.
14
Zoe
After I’ve sent my over-excited daughter to bed, I sit next to Anna. I’ve had a quick rundown of the night from Brooklyn, and I’ve seen the painting Anna made for her from all angles on her phone, as well as the video Brooklyn shot of Anna.
“You’re going to be that kind of girlfriend, huh,” I say, pressing myself against her. I’ve had a bit too much wine with Janet and I’m feeling pleasantly tipsy. And my buzz is enhanced by the fact that Anna and Brooklyn seemed to have had a great night together. I don’t even care that much that I’ll have to find another gift for Brooklyn’s birthday, now she already has a painting of Jaden.
“Which kind is that?” Anna shakes her head. “You should probably wait until I tell you what Brooklyn and I talked about to make any more statements like that.” Then she tells me about the painting of the dog Brooklyn spotted and her promise to take Brooklyn to the shelter with her, and follows up with what Brooklyn told her about not always wanting to tell me everything.
“What did you do to my daughter?” I ask. “Did you mix her a special potion when she arrived?”
“No.” Anna’s face looks solemn and sincere. “I might even have forgotten to offer her a glass of water. Luckily, Brooklyn was raised very well and can take care of herself perfectly.”
“I’m glad that she likes you so much, Anna.”
“Glad enough to let her come to the shelter with me? Perhaps you might even consider joining us?”
“When you say you and Brooklyn will go to the shelter together, how were you intending on getting there if it’s in the next town?”
“We’d walk,” Anna says, as if that was always a foregone conclusion.
“I’d like to see you try that with Brooklyn.”
“How was your night?” Anna asks.
“Janet likes a glass of wine, that’s for sure.” I tug on Anna’s sleeve. “Lie down with me for a minute, while we talk.” I pull her down on the couch with me. We maneuver clumsily until we’re facing each other. “Jaden asked Janet if Brooklyn could stay the night sometime.”
“Wow,” Anna says. “What did Janet have to say about that? And Jamie?”
“I think we all feel as though our kids are growing up way too fast, while, in fact, they’re not. Jaden and Brooklyn are almost sixteen. We can be in denial all we want about what they get up to when they’re alone, but we’d only be doing ourselves a disservice.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” Anna asks.
“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”
“They’re not my kids. I’m not a mother.”
“I always value your opinion, Anna. And my kid had an awesome time with you tonight.” The thought of Brooklyn in Anna’s studio now fills with me warmth instead of the tension it caused me earlier.
“Both Jaden and Brooklyn are good kids at heart. And yes, of course, they’re experimenting and having sex, or are about to. But they’re also madly in love, so there’s that, which is a huge plus. They might be teenagers, but they’re both smart enough to be responsible. I think they’ll be just fine without much parental meddling that will only make them feel awkward.”
“You’re probably right.” I bring my hand to Anna’s face. “If you were me, would you let Brooklyn spend the night at Jaden’s?”
“I would.” Her lips curve into a smile. “Janet will be beside herself, though.”
“Janet will be just fine,” I say.
“Let’s stop talking about Janet,” Anna says, and kisses me.
“Will you stay?” I ask, when we break from our kiss.
“I don’t know. I left Hem at home. He was sound asleep already. And I didn’t bring anything. I just wanted to walk Brooklyn home.”
“And see me.” I nuzzle my nose into her neck.
“There’s that,” she says, on a sigh, as if it’s a nuisance that she so desperately wanted to see me.
“Please, stay. If it makes you feel awkward, you can leave before Brooklyn wakes up. Hemingway will barely notice that you’re not there.”
“It’s been a long time since I slept in a bed other than my own.”
“I bet it’s also been a long time since you met someone like me.” I flutter my eyelids.
Anna breaks into a chuckle. “Don’t let it go to your head, although it’s probably too late for that, but I’ve never met anyone like you in my life.” She kisses me and I take that as her consent that she will stay.
I wake up in the middle of the night with Anna’s hands all over my buttocks. I wonder if she’s clutching at me like that in her sleep because her subconscious has taken over. Last night, after I convinced her to stay and we went to bed, she categorically refused to engage in even the slightest hanky-panky because of Brooklyn sleeping in the other room.
I countered that her reasoning was not very persuasive because, according to her logic, no parent would ever have sex again until their kids left home. I didn’t win the argument, but I’ve learned to take my time with Anna. She just needs to get used to it.
Or maybe she’s gotten used to the idea already.
“Anna,” I whisper. “Are you awake?”
“Hm,” she replies. “I can’t sleep.”
“Something wrong?” I ask, while pressing my ass deeper into her palms.
“You’re too hot,” she whispers. “And your ass is too bare and too close to me.”
“Should I put on some underwear?” I tease.
“Yeah, maybe that thong.” Her body shakes as she snickers. “I don’t have my earplugs or my eye mask and it’s hard for me to fall asleep in a different environment.” Her breasts push against the skin of my back. “And I mean it. You’re too hot to sleep next to. Even when you’re snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
She doesn’t reply, just creates a little space between our bodies, and moves her hand, between my thighs.
“Jesus,” I whisper. “What are you doing?”
“Touching you,” she says.
“You were feeling me up in my sleep.”
“You insisted I stay over.” A finger slides all the way between my thighs. I open my legs a little to give her better access. Anna’s not the only one suffering from hot flashes in this bed.
“I did,” I say on a sigh. “I don’t regret it.” Her finger slides over my pussy lips, gently, but oh so arousingly.
Anna’s mouth teases my neck as her finger reaches my clit, and she circles it a few times, before it slides back down. It’s still pitch-black outside, but I want to see whatever I can of her face. I want to see what’s possessing her in this moment. I slide away from her and quickly turn around, grab her hand, and put it back where it was before.
Anna smirks at me. “You’re so bossy.”
“I just know what I want.”
“We can call it that.” In the faint glimmer of the light that comes in from outside, I can make out the soft smile on her lips.
“I want you to spread your legs as well,” I say.
“No, Zoe,” she says. “I can’t… sexually multitask.”
“What?” I run the back of my hand over her belly, hoping to change her mind.
“I can’t focus on you and on myself at the same time. It’s not a thing for me.” Her hand has stopped all movement between my legs.
“Okay.” To indicate that I’ve understood, I run my hand upward across her torso, to find her breast. I cup her breast, run my thumb across her nipple. “Is that okay?” I ask.
“More than,” she says, before leaning in to kiss me and simultaneously push me onto my back. I let my legs fall open because this short exchange, in our world, is intimacy too. The mere fact that Anna was able to express to me in a few words what she wanted, shows me that she trusts me. The fact that she’s here in bed with me, in my apartment, with Brooklyn sleeping in the next
room, tells me everything I need to know about her intentions with me. A few weeks ago, this would have been unthinkable.
Anna’s fingers slide through the wetness that has gathered between my legs. Her breath is hot against my cheek.
“You do this thing to me,” she whispers, “where I can’t seem to control myself very well.” I can feel her lips move against my skin. “I used to be very big on control,” she half-says and half-moans.
“You’re fully in control now.” I turn my face toward her and my eyes are fully used to the dark now and I can make out all her features and even a little bit of the love in her eyes.
“Yeah,” she says, and pushes a finger inside of me. “Just the way I like it.” She looks me in the eye as her finger starts moving, starts stealing my breath, starts coaxing me toward an unexpected midnight pleasure.
15
Anna
I’m usually a morning person, waking on time without an alarm, but this morning I’m still fast asleep when I’m shaken awake.
“Anna,” Zoe whispers. “We overslept.”
I rub the sleep from my eyes. A headache pulses in the back of my skull and I already know it’s going to be one of those days after a really bad night’s sleep where I’m going to have to cut myself some major slack.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“Time to get up. Unless you want to wait until Brooklyn has left for school.” Zoe’s faces hovers over mine and despite feeling not in my element physically, I pull her toward me.
“You’re such a bad influence,” I say, before I kiss her.
“Excuse me.” Her voice is full of mock indignation. “Who grabbed whose ass in the middle of the night?”
“That ass of yours is going to get me into trouble.” I pull Zoe into a hug and we both chuckle. As if my brain only comes fully awake with Zoe’s body pressed against mine, I say, “Oh no, Hemingway.”
