Page 59 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Refined sugar laced with artificial dye derived from petrochemicals?”
“You’d be a lot more fun if you weren’t a food snob,” she teases.
“I’m not a food snob. I just don’t want to eat known carcinogens or highly addictive, overprocessed garbage.”
“Your grandma was fond of feeding you garbage.”
“My pancakes have glitter on them,” I observe. “Was Grandma fond of glitter?”
“No, but she’d be fond of you.” Monique nibbles some of the cotton candy from her unicorn hot chocolate.
“Very fond,” Mike says with so much sarcasm it feels like a threat.
“So, Bea, what was your favorite at the museum today?” Monique asks.
“Her book,” Mike says.
“Am I incapable of answering my own questions now?”
“No.” He shovels a bite of his chilaquiles into his mouth. “I just know how you feel about museums.”
We trade eye rolls, but there is something in his expression that feels like a dare.
“I liked the green, red, and blue mural.”
“Yeah? In the front? The one by Ellsworth Kelly?”
“Yeah. It’s…cheerful. I know I’m probably missing something deep and important about how it was anticommunist or something, but…it makes me smile when I see it.”
“I don’t think you’re missing anything. Art is emotive. I’m sure Kelly would be honored to know his was working for you.”
I turn a triumphant eye to Mike, but he’s not looking at me with an annoyed you-win-this-round expression. He’s looking at me like…like I’m a view of the ocean.
“What about you, Monique?”
She launches into the most impassioned description ofBird in Spacethat I actually want to go roam around the galleries to find it and give it my full attention this time. “You make me want to go back and see it in the morning.”
“You should! I have a fantasy about sitting all day in that gallery just to watch how the light changes when it reflects off of the sculpture.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Maybe I’ll go with you.” Mike steals another bite of my glittery pancakes.
“I want pictures if you do!” Monique demands.
We finish our meals and split the bill three ways. Mike offers me a ride home, so to avoid that bit of awkwardness, I claim I have a dog to walk. Duty calls.
“It was so good to meet you,” Monique says in parting. And then more softly, “I can see why he likes you.”
“He really doesn’t.” But there’s part of me that is giddy at the prospect all the same.
Chapter 20
I want to prosecute the menace to society who invented the leaf blower. Take him to court. Lock him away for life. After jolting awake to the sound of one Friday morning, I shove the book of sonnets under my pillow, throw on a robe, and storm out my French doors.
“Excuse me!” I shout.
Mike has enormous earmuffs on, and his back is turned to me. He’s making casual passes with the blower across my courtyard.
