Page 43 of A Small Town Spring

I laugh at that, puncturing some of the tense mood.“Stop being so melodramatic.I’m not mad.I’m… getting used to the idea.Is it a good painting?”

He looks at me square on.“Yes.”

“Well, then.I’m sure I’ll love it.And even if I don’t, you can put it in the show.It’s your art.You don’t need my approval.”

He lifts his spoon and takes a half-hearted swipe of mousse but doesn’t put it in his mouth.“I wish I had a picture of it on my phone, but I don’t.”

“It’s all right.I know what I look like.”But after I say it and the conversation moves on to lighter things, I wonder if I’ll recognize the person in Toby’s painting.How does he see me?

Later, I settle the bill over Toby’s protests, then we walk back to my apartment.It’s gotten cold, and Toby’s jacket isn’t really adequate, but I refrain from offering him my herringbone overcoat.We’ll get there soon enough, and I’ve already made enough of a fool of myself for one night.But I did get him to agree to the studio—didn’t I?

As we pass through the lobby of my building, I greet the night doorman, Franklin, a former college linebacker who doesn’t blink an eye at the handsome white boy on my arm.He’s seen me bring all types up to my apartment.

When we’re in the elevator, I say, “You said you had two things to tell me, but you only mentioned the one.”

“Oh.”It’s dim in there, but I can see a bit of a flush on his cheeks.“Never mind.”

I sigh but say nothing.Yeah.That’s what I thought.

Winter

Toby & Kingston

Twenty-One

Toby

Kingston James isthe most terrifyingly competent person I know.A week after our dinner in Manhattan, a tractor trailer arrives on Bramble Street to deliver a simple rectangular building, setting it down on the cement pad that might have been designed for the purpose.A day after that, an electrician installs a new electrical box to power the thing.A plumber arrives the following day to put in an outdoor sink and shower head in the garden next to the new studio, and a carpenter comes to set up a fragrant cedar privacy screen around the shower head.Kingston says it’ll be handy to have an outdoor shower in summer, and he’s always wanted to put one in, anyway.It will be easier for me to wash out my brushes and clean up outside, at least until it freezes.And eventually it will warm up again.

All of a sudden, it’s early November and I have a brand-new studio space twenty feet from my door.

“Kingston built you a studio?”Ivy asks when I explain why I’m moving my canvases, paints, and tools out of her garage.

“Technically, it came pre-built,” I say as I stuff brushes into mason jars and the mason jars into a cardboard box.“He had been planning to put a garage on this concrete pad that previous owners had poured, but he’s never gotten around to it, and since I have the show coming up, he thought it would be more convenient.And this way, you have more room for your work!”I add brightly.

Since Ivy’s show opened, she’s been inundated with orders for more of her dramatic birds in flight.She’s even hired an assistant from the Rosedale Art Center to help her.

“I’m happy to have the space,” she says.“But?—”

I gather up a stack of battered magazines.“But what?”

“Are you two—never mind.I know it’s not my place to ask.”She sighs, looks down at her fingernails, and picks at the clay caulked into her cuticles.“Forget I said anything.”

It takes me a minute to get what she’s not saying.“He’s just being a good friend.”No matter how many times I look at him and wish for more, that isn’t what our relationship is about.Every time I think I’m going to work up the courage to say something, to ask if there’s even the slightest chance he could want me, I get brought back to earth before I can ruin what we have.We work as what we are—friends, roommates.His unwavering support has me determined to make this show a success.The first thing I’ll do when I get my first big gallery check is pay him back rent.

“Toby, babe, I’m not saying there’s anything nefarious about what he’s doing, but no one builds someone a brand-new studio just because they’refriends.”

“Why else would he do it then?”

She stares at me.“Were you this dense when we were together?”

“Is that a joke?”

“Not very funny, I suppose.”She touches my hand with hers.I miss her touch, I realize.Or I miss being touched.“Are you doing all right, really?You don’t have to move out of here if you don’t want to.”

Even if the new space wasn’t a lovely, perfectly sized sandbox for me to play in all day, moving seems overdue.“It’s for the best.You need your space.I’ve been trespassing on your kindness for far too long.Years too long.”

I wonder, with a stab of discomfort, if I’ve traded my dependence on her for one on Kingston.But no, this is different.Fernanda makes it different.My work being ready for prime time makes it different.I may still be scared of success, but I’m not letting the fear stop me anymore.

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