Page 24 of None Of Your Business

I check the box, then fill out my basic info, skip the spouse section, scrawl my signature at the bottom, and lay the clipboard on Dr. Webb’s desk on my way out. “See you next Tuesday.”

I step into the hallway to see a notice pinned to the wall that I didn’t see earlier.

CHRONIC ILLNESS GROUP—LAST-MINUTE ROOM CHANGE: ROOM 12.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

A woman walking past gives me a concerned look.

“Personal growth,” I tell her.

She nods like that explains it.

Six

I’ve gone back twice.

I know it’s crazy. I’m single, sitting in a room full of couples falling apart, and I keep going back.

I still haven’t attended the chronic illness group. I tell myself it’s because the wrong group is helping, which is true. It’s also considerably easier to listen to strangers talk about their marriages than to sit in a room full of people whose bodies have betrayed them and admit mine has too.

But I’m painting again.

There are colors on the canvas that weren’t there three weeks ago. Now they do, because something cracked open and started moving. I’m not asking questions about why.

I’m working fast today, which is how I work when it’s going well. I’m not entirely sure what the piece is yet, and that’s fine. Sometimes you have to let it tell you.

I’m practically bouncing on my heels, which isn’t like me, but the energy has to go somewhere. I want to keep going until it stops or I fall over, whichever comes first.

There’s a light tap on the studio door before it opens, and Madison steps inside.

She’s wearing a tailored cream blazer and an expression that says she came straight from a meeting where she made three major decisions and was right about every single one.

She looks between me and the canvas.

“Ah,” she says. “You’re painting again.”

“Right?” I spin around to face her, brush still in my hand. “I’ve got three ideas running at the same time.”

“Have you taken something?”

I stop. “What?”

“You’re very…” She gestures vaguely at my general existence.

“Animated?”

“I was going to say unhinged, but yes.”

I cross the floor, take her face in both hands, and press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’m inspired, Madi.”

She laughs, startled.

“When’s the last time you saw me like this?”

“Genuinely? Before the block.” She looks over my shoulder at the canvas, tilting her head. “What broke it?”

I turn back to the easel and make a tiny, useless adjustment to the bottom-left corner. I can’t tell my sister I’ve been sneaking into couples group therapy. She’ll have questions I can’t answer.