Page 80 of Partnering with the Artist

Today might be a storm, but it’s beautiful. Lightning, thunder, pouring rain, and Zakery slowly warming up to being in my home. It’s beautiful, watching him calm down, relax, sink into the couch he was sitting perfectly rigid upon at the start of this little show and tell.

It puts aside my worries, right up to the last page of the album.

As the book closes, stillness envelopes Zakery in a way that makes my spine tingle.

Then Dad ruins it by slapping his hands to his thighs and rising. “I’ve another one, of the high school years. Hold on.”

I melt. Awkward high school years.Yayy.

At least Zakery feels safe enough to release my hand and exchange the baby photos for my tween to teen disaster collection.

“Why are some…” Zakery’s voice fades, and I emerge from my pitiful bubble to find his finger resting against a picture of me, in a dress I made, staring longingly at…nothing.

Because half the photo has been cut off.

My chest tightens. “You didn’t have to do that,” I whisper.

“I did,” Mom says from her rocking chair on the other side of the small living room. “I very much did have to do that.” She huffs. “And it’s good we live in a big city because the likelihood I seehimout and about in his—” She cusses. “—wolf ears and am able to hit him with my car isslim.”

My father, precious sunshine boy that he is, very solemnly lays his hand upon Zakery’s back, looks him in the eye, and says, “Son…you’re…wealthy, wouldn’t you say? Help run that compound of yours, don’t you?”

Ugh. Itoldmy parentsnotto refer to Sunset as acompoundin front of Zakery. We were doing so well.

Zakery tenses. “I, um, well. It’s not a compound, but yes, sir?”

“Are you…perchance…make people disappearwealthy?”

Knowing lights in Zakery’s eyes. “Yes, sir.” Tension releases. “I do, however, have a fairly strict no animal abuse policy. And regardless of the beliefs that man has concerning his soul’s present or past affiliations, I think we can all agree, he’s always been a female dog.”

Dad laughs, clapping Zakery on the back before getting up and grinning down at us. “Atta boy. Can I get you something to drink? It’s been a few hours since we ate, and it’s important to stay hydrated.” Bracing a hand at his mouth, he whispers, “If we don’t peer pressure Taylor into it, she won’t ever drink any water.”

When Zakery glances at me, I nod and whisper back, “It’s true.”

“I can hear you both,” Mom says.

“Huh? What?” I chirp. “We weren’t doing anything!”

“We wouldneverconspire against anyone!” Dad ruffles Zakery’s hair. “I’ll get us all some water bottles, while she’s duped.”

Zakery, still, watches my father leave the room before looking at me again, his waves all in disarray, a certain childlikelostnessin his eyes.

Smiling, I comb out his soft curls and kiss his forehead. His arm circles my waist, pulling me in until I can comfortably rest my head against his shoulder, close my eyes, and soak in his heat while rain hammers against the window. Peace. Peace to the very bones of my soul. I hope he can feel it, too.

“You were never like this with the mentally unstable one,” Mom comments. “There was always a foot of space between the two of you whenever he came over.” Her chin lifts. “In contrast, you both have seldom stopped touching for a moment.”

Zakery’s fingers flinch against me. “I’m sorry. Is this inappropriate?” He moves his arm. “I’ll stop. Entirely. Until it’s okay.”

I pin his hand back against me, snuggle, and answer my mother. “Harry saw affection as an invitation and would get mad at me if I initiated anything then stopped him. Refusing to touch me when he couldn’t go farther than something innocent is probably just one of the many ways he punished me for havingboundaries.” It’s actually really disgusting how long we were together, how long I guess he tried to wear me down before he got bored and gave up. I’m glad I never budged. Not budging is the one smart thing I did where it concerns that horrible relationship.

“So,” Mom clips, “assassins. Know any, Zakery?”

He winces. “Sorry, I don’t.”

She heaves a sigh.

As Dad returns to pass out water bottles, Zakery carefully closes the photo album and hedges, “There’s…something I wanted to talk to you two about.”

Dad passes Mom a half-size itty-bitty baby water bottle, while we all get big grown adult people bottles. Her face prunes as she takes it, but she dutifully cracks open the lid and waits for Zakery to continue his statement as she takes a sip.

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