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Getting back to business, I squeeze a controllable amount of white onto my wood and start carefully painting a capital letter I until Dax says, “What about Willow?"
My hand freezes, and I stare at the my immovable paint brush. "What about her?"
"I'm trying to figure out if you can be trusted."
"You two are friends?"
Dax colors in the corner of the wood. "Yes."
Curious, I ask, “Did you come together?"
"We met on the way here. We’re roommates.”
I return to painting, moving onto the capital letter T. "What are you asking me exactly?"
Dax abandons the subject with a grunted, “Nothing,” then out of the blue, “Bitches man, right?"
My paint brush freezes. And I stare at it again. “Are you trying to relate to me? Because I think you have me all wrong. I don't talk about women like that.”
"I just thought because of the cowboy hat you were wearing…"
With a sarcastic laugh I shoot their stereotyping down. “No. Just no."
We paint in silence for a long while until Dax asks, “You like her?”
"I like her."
"Like?"
“You just said like when you asked!” My gaze slams onto Dax as they mix red, violet, and magenta in an abstract manner. " Look, I'm not one to share my personal life, but under the circumstances it's been shared more than I can take back. I’m guessing Willow said something to you when she went back to her room last night?"
"Nope."
"So this is just about me and my ex-wife?"
"Is she your ex-wife?" Dax meets my eyes.
"Yes!”
"Divorce papers signed?"
I answer with a growl, “Soon."
"That's what I thought."
“Now what's that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means."
The door opens and in walks Willow, still in her PJs, looking drop-dead adorable. She reads the room correctly and asks, point blank, “Are you guys talking about me?"
"No," I answer, but Dax says, at the same time, “Yes."
"That's what I thought,” Willow sighs. “What are you saying? I deserve to know.”
I pick up my slab of wood, paint brush and white paint, with what I’ve started facing my body and hidden from view. “Dax was just being a good friend." Walking past Willow, I walk into the main room, see some of the other guests, nod goodbye to them as I head for the front door and open it with a passion, forgetting Mom, Sylvia, and Laura were on the porch. Mom sees my face and stands up. "Ben, what's wrong?"
"Going home." Jerking my chin toward the supplies I ask, "Okay if I take these with me?"
