Page 97 of Love Is an Art
“Uh … I didn’t bring my equipment.” I shoot a concerned look at Tessa. She’s supposed to be the artist, not me. “But I’m happy to take one of you with your kids.”
“Hold on.” She dials a number on her phone. “My friend. Her landlord won’t fix her toilet. It’s been a month. I told her she needs to talk to a lawyer. I’m calling her now.”
“If you want, I can take a photograph, and then we can mail you a print if you give me your address,” I say. That will confirm her address.
Tessa stares at me, and I wink at her.
“Yes, great idea.” The woman tells her friend that a FLAFL lawyer is at the playground and to hurry down.
“Ms. Peres.” She recites her address and phone number while I note it in my phone.
The three children sit next to her on the bench while I take a photo with my iPhone. Let’s hope I’m a better photographer than Tessa was a painter. My sister gifted me a photography class once because I take the annual photograph of her family for her Christmas card so I have some experience.
Tessa peeks over my shoulder at the photo, the apple smell of her hair wafting over, and says it looks great. I take a whole bunch. The mom smiles at the snapshots.
I can see why Tessa likes doing this detective work. It feels good.
Another mom comes over. The neighbor introduces us by profession to this mom, and that mom asks me to photograph her and her children. I agree, and she hands me her phone. Tessa jumps up and down behind me to get the kids to smile. I glance back, at one point, and miss the shot because I laugh at the face she’s making.
“So how did you guys meet?” the neighbor woman asks as I return her phone.
“We met at an art opening,” Tessa says. “How did you meet your husband?”
“Block party. He was a friend of a friend.”
The woman turns to me. “You must have had a romantic proposal as a photographer. How did you propose?”
I blink. I’m so out of my league.
“I proposed to him,” Tessa says.
I smile. “You should tell them the story of how you proposed, snookums. It’s a good one.”You’re the one responsible for this charade.
“I’m sure they don’t want to hear it. Not if they were expecting something romantic,” Tessa says.
“I love proposal stories,” both women say.
“It really wasn’t romantic.” She is totally stalling for time. But I’m also relieved that she doesn’t have a ready-to-go fantasy in her head of how she wants to be proposed to. Wyatt was her first serious boyfriend. Had she wanted him to propose? Why hasn’t she dated anyone seriously since?
“It was romantic to me.” I can’t help teasing her. This is definitely fun.
“I made a PowerPoint presentation,” she says.
Our glances meet.Is she referring to her PowerPoint pitch to give her a second chance?
“A PowerPoint?” Both of the women appear horrified. They look back and forth between us.
I’ve clearly lost all credence as a romantic guy.
“I was over at his apartment working late. And I asked him if he could review my PowerPoint to see if it made sense. And I’d put a whole bunch of pictures of our relationship in there—meeting at this art opening, biking over the Brooklyn Bridge, dancing late at night, helping each other at work.” She holds my glance. “And he said yes.”
My lips curve. I was impressed by Tessa’s presentation even if I tried hard not to show it.
“Aww. That is romantic.”
“Were you surprised?” the second mom asks.
I glance at Tessa. “She always surprises me.”
