Page 192 of ClickBack

“Before you knew where I was going.”

“Long before. I spent part of July wondering whether Philadelphia art was an appropriate gift for a man who might be moving to Toronto.”

“What’d you decide?”

“That you’d still played here.”

I look down again.

“She suggested adding the photograph,” Giselle says. “I asked her to make something you could keep. I didn’t want one of those stretched-out screenshots pretending to be a print.”

I hold it by the blank edges. There are marks I can see only when the paper moves, small differences in the paint that weren’t in the version on my phone. I want to get it under a better light. I want to show Mom. I want everybody to get the fuck out of my head for a minute so I can sit here and look at what this woman did for me.

“There’s a card,” she says eventually.

I put the piece back in the case before taking the envelope. Her handwriting is small in the middle of the card.

Congratulations, J. I’m proud of you. Love, Zel.

I read it, then look at her.

“You okay?” she asks.

I set the card down and pull her toward me. She comes across the cushion, one knee beside my leg, and puts her arms around my neck. I hold her for a while before I kiss her.

“Thank you.”

She brushes my cheek. “You’re welcome.”

“I love it.”

“Good.”

“You were worried?”

“You collect art. I balance accounts. There was room for this to go poorly.”

“You picked the right artist.”

“I paid her and stayed out of the way.”

“Then you’re already better at this than half the people who buy it.”

She laughs. I draw her closer until she is sitting across my lap. The portfolio stays open on the table where I can see it over her shoulder.

She started this when we were still figuring out what to call each other. While I was trying to get her to let me do things for her, she was finding something I hadn’t thought to ask for.

I kiss the corner of her mouth.

“You made it hard for yourself. Could’ve bought me a bottle.”

“I considered easier options.”

“Like what?”

She looks away. Now I definitely want to know.

“Zel.”