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Lexie
“Have you heard from him again?”
I pressed the phone between my ear and shoulder as I slammed the van door. We were five minutes late for art class, and Eric had been counting every second.
“No.” I’d blocked the number and hadn't answered ones I didn’t recognize.
Eric gave me an impatient look as I hurried to his side. “Sis.”
“Beau, can I call you back in a little while?”
“Hey, Beau.” My brother temporarily forgot the cause of his distress.
“Hi, Eric. I thought you’d be finished with deliveries for the day,” she said.
“We’re headed to art class.”
“Where?”
“425 Baxter Street.”
“Fun. I’ll meet you there.”
She hung up before I had a chance to tell her the class might be over by the time she arrived.
“Ready?” I asked as I opened the door to the community center.
“Let’s Bob Ross this thing.”
I laughed. “That should be our motto.”
Ericand I were dotting happy little trees on our canvas when Beau breezed in. She pulled up a stool between us, completely ignoring the displeased look from our instructor. Not Bob Ross. He was on a video so he didn’t care.
“These are good. Really good.” She admired the start of Eric’s cabin on a lake.
“He’s incredible.”
He had a creative gift and loved this class since we’d found it a few months ago. Because it was held at the community center, the fee wasn’t too bad. I’d have figured out a way to make it happen even if it was more expensive.
“Thanks, Beau,” Eric said absently as he concentrated on the video and making his next strokes.
She flashed me a look, those always spinning wheels turning harder. “Maybe the dog food should be a side gig. I know a gallery in London that would love to show these.”
“It’s just for fun,” I brushed off. “How’d you get here so fast?”
She fiddled with her long gold chain. “I wasn’t that far away.”
“Looking for new property?”
“Something like that.”
I tilted my head, pretty sure she wasn’t being completely forthcoming, but I wasn’t going to press. Not now anyway.
For the nineteen years we’d known one another, we’d had that silent respect to allow one another to talk about things on our own time . . . unless it was too important to let go. I still wasn’t sure at what point exactly she’d figured out I snuck into classes at NYU, but she never mentioned I wasn’t officially enrolled until I confessed.
She’d left for London almost immediately after graduating, and her absence had left a giant hole in her place. I’d understood her need to go, but selfishly, I’d wanted her to stay in New York. She was my only friend. I didn’t have to pretend with her, and that was rare. My entire life I’d been acting like everything was perfect to the outside world. She’d seen through that and still accepted me.
Because she knew me so well, she knew I’d needed her despite she was across an ocean. I couldn’t afford the phone bill, but she’d made weekly calls to us without fail. We didn’t have that kind of support from anyone else.
