Page 95 of Perfect Praise

“No,” she huffs. “Please don’t.”

“Why not? You’ll get noticed. People will follow you. People will book you for sessions. Sessions? Is that what you call it?”

She shakes her head. “Yes, that’s what you call it. And no. Seriously, I don’t want that. I want to make it on my own. I want people to follow me because they like my pictures, not because I’m your girlfriend. And eventually, when someone figures it out, I’m going to have to turn off my comments.”

“Fiiiine,” I sigh, pinching her side. She nestles back into me where she belongs. “Seriously, look at the light. How do you do that?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s my favorite part. Okay, no, I do know. Time of day and weather mostly.Aperture. They all have unique challenges, so it’s just about learning to work with them all. But like all things, people like different styles of photography.”

“What’s your style called?”

“Um, natural light, I guess,” she says. “I like to enhance the bright and natural colors.”

I kiss the top of her head. “It suits you. You’re like the light, you know.”

She blinks, doesn’t say anything. Just purses her lips.

“You are,” I insist. “You shine when you walk into a room. Everyone is attracted to your smile. You make people happy, Maren.”

“I’ve always thought of it as a bad thing. Light in pictures is a good thing. Light as a person just means you cater to everyone else.”

I frown. “I think it’s a brave thing.”

“In my experience, people only take and take. They disguise themselves as a friend or a boyfriend, but really, they just want something from me. And I try. I try to give them what they want, but it never works out for me. I don’t get the same in return.”

“The world needs more people like you,” I say. “Otherwise, it would be full of selfishjackasses.”

“Yeah, but at what cost, Locke? The cost of myself?”

I squeeze her, and the lights start to flicker. “You know, I never wanted you to change. Actually, I think we’re maybe even similar, but we choose to deal with it in different ways. I get burned, and I shut everyone out. You get burned, and you try again. I admire that—I admire you. You just needed help learning how to cut the people who burn you out of your life; stand up for yourself. Cancel out the noise.”

“I know,” she says. “You were right. The silence is better.”

“But only the right type of silence,” I say. “For instance, I like when you talk.”

“How’d I manage that again?” she jokes.

The lights flicker again before we’re plunged into darkness. She jumps just the tiniest amount before she holds me tighter.

“Why are you scared of the dark?” I ask as the lights come back on.

She pauses. “It makes me feel alone. When I was young, my mom used to sit with Camille at bedtime. I got left in my room by myself because I never complained or expressed how scared I was. Camille needed my mom more, cried about how dark it was. The shadows on the wall terrified me too, but I’d try to picture them as happy things, like flowers or ballerinas. It’s silly, just my kid brain doing things that’s carried into adulthood.”

“Lots of silly things are carried into adulthood,” I chuckle. “Just like the old therapy joke, it’s all your mother’s fault.”

“I shouldn’t blame her, but I do sometimes. I’ve tried to please her my entire life, but it never seems like it’s enough. When did everyone else’s praise become more important than praising myself, liking myself, living for myself? And maybe more importantly, why? It will never be perfect—I’llnever be perfect. When and why did everyone start caring so much about the stupidest shit? I don’t feel like I’m enough for anyone sometimes, and then I try too hard, and suddenly, I’m too much. I never figured out how to be in between. At least I figured it out before I turn thirty. Don’t know how many years I’m late though… five? Ten?”

“Maren, you’re just right. And it’s never too late. I think some people never figure it out.”

A forceful gust of wind whips through the backyard, and the lights go out again.

“It takes a minute for the generator to kick on,” I tell her.

My eyes take a second to adjust before the moonlight reflects off the pool and creates shadows on the wall. I know Maren is watching them too.

The buzz of the generator starts to hum through the walls, and before the electricity comes back to life, I whisper into the dark, “How did you get so tangled up in my life?”

And why do I want to do absolutely nothing to unravel it?

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