Tiffany bounded up the stairs after cleaning up and was humming a song. She hadn’t stopped at the dishes. She’d vacuumed the whole downstairs and a host of other chores that Simone had heard with her ear pressed into the pillow. Tiffany always put on light music and hummed when she was cleaning. Country tunes, usually. Having had a maid all her life, the very fact that Tiffany knew how to clean surprised Simone when they first moved in together.
At the sound of her ascending the stairs, Simone said a quiet prayer that she wouldn’t come knocking at the door.
There was no knock. Instead, through the wall, clattering and clanging came from the bathroom, the swipe of the shower curtain being thrown back to reveal the tub. The scratch of a toilet bowl brush on porcelain. The squeak of a paper towel running over a mirror freshly sprayed with Windex.
Simone closed her eyes as the cramps panged all over her midsection. The knock on the door came at the worst time. Simone was gripped with a violent spasm in her stomach, like she’d swallowed something sharp and jagged.
“Yeah?” she moaned through the pain.
“Babe, it’s me,” Tiffany answered.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, I need to talk to you about something. Can you let me in for a sec?”
“I’m not feeling good.”
“It’ll just take a sec. I promise.”
Simone grunted and her scowl turned darker. She twisted in the bed and slithered down the comforter to reach out for the door handle. She flipped the lock and shouted harshly: “Come in!”
Tiffany opened the door, and only peered in at first. Simone was back to her position, turned away on the bed, facing the window, but at the crinkling of a plastic bag, she whipped her head toward the doorway. There it was, pressed against the lining of the trash bag that Tiffany had knotted and held up by the bow with a finger. The pregnancy test box. Faintly visible through the fleshy colored, yet semi-transparent grocery bag.
Simone’s hurting eyes went from the bag to Tiffany’s face. Tiffany recognized the pain, the uncertainty, the confusion, and instantly dropped the bag and went to the bed to comfort her.
They hugged on the edge of the bed, and the tears raced out, this time in a hot, uncontrollable stream. The release was immense. Tiffany held onto her and stroked the back of her hair as she cried. It was what she needed—to just let it out. The pain in her stomach subsided rather spontaneously. The nausea and tension plucking at her nerves went away.
After enough time to rally some sense of calm, Simone pulled back and thanked her.
Tiffany gazed into Simone’s glassy eyes. “Josh?”
Simone didn’t hesitate in nodding.
Tiffany hugged her again. “Oh, honey.”
The shame was like a knife in Simone’s windpipe. She and Josh had always used a condom, every time. It was one of those rules that she never swayed from. Except once, spontaneously in a racquetball court with the absolute wrong guy. The guy Tiffany was in love with.
Josh
JOSH STAPLED UP HIS PORTFOLIO, and hoisted it awkwardly under his arm. All the sketches he’d done over the last semester were inside. There were students still scattered around the classroom, sorting and organizing the drawings they wanted to keep and those they wanted to leave behind.
It was an unusual space, the classroom, lit entirely with natural light, like an atrium, and had a concrete floor. There were about fifteen easels set up in a very large oblong circle around the room. Drawing II had been one of his favorite classes, and about to walk out the door for the last time until the coming fall, Josh thought to himself that he would continue to sketch over the summer.
He said goodbye to a few of his classmates that he liked, but probably wouldn’t hang out with outside of class. His professor, Ms. Oatsen, came in the door just as he was walking toward it with his portfolio pinned under his arm. It felt natural, so Josh gave her a hug with his free arm. She’d been very friendly with him even though it had been an 8:00 a.m. class and Josh had carelessly slept through a few of them, but he had always apologized when he came to class after missing one, or he’d send a brief email, and Ms. Oatsen seemed to respect that.
“Where do you think I finished?” he asked her.
“I’ll check for you.”
She came back, flipping the papers with grades on them that she’d pulled out of an orange shoulder bag that kept all her belongings. Josh watched the lady, admiring how sharp her mind was and how nimble her hands were, even at an advancing age.
“You’ll finish with something like a B+. Eighty-eight or eighty-seven, somewhere in that range.”
Josh shrugged. “Seems fair.”
“I can probably bump you to an A-,” she offered.
He shook his head. “I appreciate that, but I don’t think you should.”
She smiled. Josh knew the relationship currency he had with his professors was more important than a grade. In fact, he had a personable relationship with almost all his instructors. It was one of the most rewarding parts of attending a small college like Fort Lewis. He said goodbye to her and left.
It felt strange walking through the near empty halls of the art building as classes were winding down. It was always a lonely feeling to watch the campus become more and more devoid of people. Josh enjoyed passing by faces he recognized and watching people go about their routine. A part of him mourned when the walkways and buildings were mostly empty like this, like watching a stream drying up in the late fall, knowing what’s just around the corner.
The clock tower in the center of the campus boomed loudly to the morning air. It was 9:00 a.m. Drawing II was usually a two hour class, but they’d been released an hour early. It was his only class that day, so he headed to his car, parked far on the other side of campus.
There was a lightness in his step, an easiness to the rhythm of his stride. He and George had resolved their differences completely, and their family lawyers (with the cooperation of the state prosecution) were still working out how to make the assault charges go away. It was looking more and more like he would get off with a mere six months of probation and the cash payments that George had demanded.
It was true what they say, you don’t know how good things are until there’s a chance that they’ll be taken away. Luckily, his freedom could’ve been taken but wasn’t, by the grace of the world or God or whatever it was that controlled those things.
The morning sun subtly toasted Josh’s skin as he walked. His focus drew up quickly when he noticed a girl up ahead on the path coming toward him. His feat stutter-stepped. She wasn’t dolled up or put together at all really, but he recognized Simone.
Over a semester it became predictable who Josh would see along the commute between classes. All semester he’d not seen her on this walk, on these mornings, but he also couldn’t remember a day where he’d been let out of Drawing so early. All these weeks she’d been passing right by the Art Building, each time he was only a few minutes late from crossing paths with her.
Josh hadn’t seen or spoken to her since seeing her that late drunk night at Denny’s. But he had gone through what he planned to say to her when they met again, and now only paces from her, it all sounded utterly stupid in his head.
Her eyes had perked up at noticing him as well. He re-adjusted his portfolio of art tight up under his arm and gritted his teeth while his heartbeat began to run. They exchanged semi-awkward ‘heys’ and she came to a full stop, which was a relief.
“What’re you up to?” he asked.
“Just class. I have my Socio final.”
“Oh,” he said, pulling back. “Well, I won’t keep you.”
She laughed, swept back her black hair to show her face, which he’d only seen a few times without makeup. It reminded him of the mornings they’d woken up in bed together and she would wash her face and get cleaned up while he made breakfast for them both and then they’d sit down and eat at the table in quiet peace, giving each other sweet little smiles between bites.
�
�It’s fine,” she said. “I have like twenty minutes.” She asked what he was doing and he told her how he’d just finished drawing class. As their conversation went on Josh noticed small peculiarities. Simone looked tired, and not from early rising, but generally fatigued. Her skin was tighter around her mouth, and looking more closely at her eyes, he noted they appeared puffy and dry. She motioned at the portfolio under his arm and he told her it held his drawings.
Her expression brightened. “I didn’t know you draw.”
“Um, yeah, well, I wouldn’t say they’re that good. I do it mostly in class, but—”
She cut him off. “Show me.”
Josh hesitated, looked around, and wanted to keep stalling because he was embarrassed, but a part of him desperately wanted her to see his work. He set the portfolio down on the walk path and started to pick through the pictures.
Simone glanced at her cell phone. “Actually, I have about twenty-five minutes.” Her eyes found a grassy spot off to the side of the path. “Over here.”
He followed after her with the big awkward portfolio, already choosing in his mind which ones he wanted to show her, and which were forbidden. There were drawings of her inside—though she probably wouldn’t be able to tell—and he knew exactly where they were in the stack.
She unslung the shoulder bag, set it down on the grass, and sat neatly with her legs folded beneath her. He squatted down and peeled the portfolio open like it was a giant envelope. He first pulled out a bigger piece, an old man sitting in a rocking chair smoking a pipe. It was the one he was most proud of. It’d taken almost three weeks to do.
“That’s great,” she said. “May I?” She was asking if she could pick it up.
Josh nodded.
She lifted the drawing and let the morning light hit it straight on from over her shoulder.
He watched her admire it. Her lips were parted slightly, her irises moved rapidly about the heavy paper, her fingers were careful not to smudge anything. And when she was done, the most pleasant smile crept across her lips, one that made him so very pleased. They hadn’t spoken a word about what had happened with George but it didn’t seem to matter now. He felt that familiar calm with her again.
She set down the drawing and he pulled out another. “You’ll like this one,” he said. It was a still life of a model they’d had come in to the classroom. An older woman who’d posed nude in front of the whole class.
“Oh my,” she said. “Look at her bush!”
“I know, crazy right? Thick as a bear skin rug.”
Simone raised her eyebrows and set the picture down in the grass. “You’re really good, Josh. How did you learn to draw?”
Josh shook his head. “They teach some stuff, different techniques, but I’m really not that great. You should see some of the other kids.”
He took out a few more drawings and laid them out in the grass in a neat procession. When his forefinger and thumb pinched one that was clearly of her, he froze with it a third of the way withdrawn and then tucked it back in.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I don’t like that one.”
She knew better than to believe that. “C’mon. Hand it over. You can’t cherry pick which ones you show me. What if I like it?”
“It sucks, really.”
Her face flattened and she held out her hand. “Give it here.”
“No.”
She lunged and socked him a hard in the shoulder. It actually stung, but she was laughing.
“I said, give it here.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment, felt his pulse throbbing all the way down his arm into his jittery fingertips. He slid the drawing out slowly. It was a twelve-inch by ten-inch sheet of heavy, quality paper. He handed it to her and couldn’t meet her eyes while he did it.
“Is this me?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“I did the best I could, but it doesn’t do you justice.” He thought she might get up, creeped out, and march off. But she didn’t. She just looked at it a while.
“Do you have more?” she asked.
He didn’t say anything.
Her eyes broke from the page and locked onto him. “Do you have more?” she repeated.
“A few.” Josh looked through the portfolio for others and found the other two that were stashed in there. When he’d lain them all out he said, “I just had you on my mind I guess.”
Suddenly, a tear fell out of her left eye, ran down her cheek. It felt like he’d been smashed in the gut with a sledgehammer. A few more tears streamed out, but she didn’t get up, didn’t even move. And Josh stayed equally still, not quite sure what was happening.
At last she covered her mouth with one hand. “That’s so sweet,” she said with a trembling voice. She stacked the drawings more aggressively than he would’ve preferred and forced them back into his hands, insisting they go back into his portfolio.
Her voice was still weak as she stood up. “I have to get to that final.”
Josh was still sitting. “Did I do something wrong?”
She shook her head no and slung her bag back up onto her shoulder. He was so confused and flustered that he let her begin to walk away without saying anything. Then he shot to his feet and jogged after her. With a gentle pull on her shoulder, he guided her back around to face him. “Listen, everything that happened, well, I’m sorry about it all. And I… I just don’t want to lose you. I still want to talk with you and be around you.”
He could tell she didn’t know what to say. He scrambled for something, anything to say next. “What time are you done today?”
“What?”
“Like when are your classes done?”
“About four.”
“Do you, I dunno, want to go running with me? At like, five?” Running? he thought to himself, flabbergasted at his own ineptitude.
“Running?” she asked, wiping at the corners of both eyes.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Just a jog, maybe two or three miles. Nothing crazy. It’d be nice to have someone to run with.”
She looked off to either side of him thinking, and then came back to his eyes. “Sure, I guess.”
“Okay.” He felt his stomach suddenly lighten, his jaw relax just a bit. “I’ll just come by around five then, to your place.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Cool.” They were both stilted now. “Well, good luck on that final then.”
“Yeah, thanks.” She turned to walk away, and stopped after a step. “Sorry I hit you.”
“It’s okay,” he said with a chuckle. “I was being difficult.”
“They’re good drawings,” she added. “Beautiful drawings.”
“Thanks.”
And with that she rushed off and he stood there watching her go.
***
Josh arrived at the apartment just before five in a running shirt and basketball shorts. On the passenger seat of his car lay a simple bouquet of purple lilies that he had gotten from the store on the way over. He pulled into a spot and laid a light blanket over them. He stared at the blanket, biting his fingernails and thinking. Then he took the blanket off, and finally covered them back up again.
Was it too much? Too soon? He just wanted to remind her that he still cared.
His heart was racing and it was growing hot in the car. He recognized how completely out of control he was becoming and let out an exasperated laugh. Would Patrick ever do something like this? Never.
A moment of clarity arrived with force. He no longer cared to be like Patrick. But still, he left the lilies in the car and headed up to their apartment door on jittery legs. When he and Simone were hooking up for those few weeks he would just walk right in. This time he knocked.
Tiffany answered and gave him a big hug. She’d gotten past what he did to George and seemed to look at Josh the way she once had, like a part of the family.
“Simone ready?” he asked her.
S
he looked confused. “Ready for what?”
“We’re going running.” There was a silence. “What is it?” he asked, a dry roughness suddenly forming in his throat.
Tiffany gave a helpless swing of her arm. “She left for the gym about twenty minutes ago.”
He swallowed, embarrassment jolting through him, and he made an awkward half-turn away from the door toward his car.
“Josh,” Tiffany said.
“What?”
“I’m kidding. She’s upstairs getting dressed.”
He came inside. She was laughing, he wasn’t.
Simone came bouncing down the stairs with her dark hair pulled up into a tail and wearing matching running gear. Her shorts were deadly short; the only thing more distracting would’ve been those spandex workout shorts girls wore.
She noticed Josh was rattled and then looked to Tiff. “Why you gotta torture the poor guy?”
Tiffany waved her hand. “It’s fun. He’s like my brother. And he deserves it.”
“I do?” he said.
The girls laughed and he just couldn’t grasp their little jokes.
In the past he’d felt at ease around the two of them, confident even, but things had changed and now he felt like a frozen, powerless spectator.
Simone went into the kitchen for a drink of water before they headed out the door.
Tiffany took an altogether different tone and asked Josh, “Is Patrick coming over tonight? I texted him and asked if he wanted to.”
“I’m not sure,” Josh answered, feeling sorry for her. He looked over Tiffany carefully. “He hasn’t said anything to me about it. Did he reply?”
Her mouth puckered and Josh knew that Patrick was doing the most hurtful thing of all—simply ignoring her.
“I can ask him for you?”
She sighed and had to turn away, looking horribly sad. “I haven’t seen him in a few days. He hasn’t said anything to you, has he? About me?”
Josh shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. With finals, he’s probably just really slammed.” He hated lying to someone he considered a friend, especially on Patrick’s behalf, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her the truth. That was Patrick’s responsibility, he was just a bystander. Simone had overheard from the kitchen and came back to them. She and Josh shared a knowing look.
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