Page 54 of Maybe You

Instead of backing out though, this place catches my attention and pushes me off course. I look around at the built-in shelves on one wall and the two counters with trays and a sink.

“What is this place?” I ask.

He’s leaning against the wall, eyes still on me.

“A darkroom.”

I take another look, slowly turning around until I’ve made a full circle. I should probably get out of here. This feels like something private. Personal. Not something you’d share with just anybody. If he wanted to do that, he would’ve mentioned it before, but he hasn’t.

So I will definitely respect that and back off.

“You’re a photographer?” I ask.

I’ll respect him in a little bit.

He shakes his head. “It’s just a hobby.”

“And you develop your own film? People do that?”

He chuckles, pushes himself off the wall, and comes closer. “Some people do. Not me, though. I just use this place to make myself look artistic and seduce men.”

“Well, it’s working,” I say. “Go ahead. Pretend like you’re developing a photo right now and I’m pretty much guaranteed to jump your bones. Ooh! I bet you have, like, special seduction photos you use. What are they? Tasteful, erotic nudes? Or, like… manly wolves howling at the manly moon?”

“I have both, of course. And I was under the impression you were already going to jump my bones.”

“Well, yeah. But that was when I didn’t know there was a deluxe package. What kind of one-night stands is that for and how do I get in on that action? Can I see any of your photos?”

For the first time this evening, he looks startled.

“Umm.” He hesitates. Hovers. Falters.

Eventually, he goes to one of the shelves, seems to debate with himself for a moment, then pulls out a cardboard box and hands it over.

I take the box and look around for somewhere to sit. He motions for me to follow him, and we end up back in the living room. I sit down on the floor, on the soft rug, and lean my back against the couch.

I’m not sure what to expect. There’s nothing to give any hint as to what’s waiting for me inside, except the date written on the end of the box, and that, too, simply has a year number on it.

I open the box.

It’s an eclectic selection.

There are a few nature shots. Cherry blossoms in the early morning sunshine, and the ocean at sunset.

There’s a chubby orange cat on his back, stretching out, eyes closed.

A bright pink front door.

An old wooden bridge in early morning mist.

Streets of New York covered in snow.

But mostly, there are people.

Actually, aside from a few still lifes, most of the photos are of people and most of them seem to be of the same few people. There’s a toddler with her hand up to her elbow in a cookie jar, crumbs around her mouth and all over her shirt. The same toddler is being hoisted up in the air by her hands by two women—a redhead and a brunette with a bright blue streak in her hair. There’s a couple dozing away on a couch in a messy room with a sleeping infant on the man’s chest.

Some of the faces are familiar.

There’s Quinn and Steph, standing in the rain, sharing an umbrella, kissing. They’re also in the next photo with Steph sitting on the kitchen counter. There’s a grape midair, and Quinn has his mouth open, trying to catch it.

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