Page 56 of Let's Talk About Love
“I suppose I can accept that.” She pursed her lips. “I like to go to furniture stores and put rooms together. I can spend hours in IKEA by myself browsing and taking pictures. They’re like puzzle pieces to me. I see a couch and I immediately look for pillows, because every good couch needs that extra bit of comfort. There’s nothing like a good pillow hug after a long day. After that, I do walls next, followed by floors. Iloverugs, by the way. Coffee tables can be very off-putting if there’s not a lot of space to work with, so I’m a fan of side tables.
“Kitchens are always fun because you can color coordinate the appliances. I’m really into chalkboard paint and classic kitchen aesthetic—gingham, apple pie, that whole bit—but I can also appreciate a futuristic look with chrome, especially if the room is exposed to a great deal of sunlight. I love howcleanit feels.”
“Interesting.” He nodded, turning back around. “Okay. You’re on. When I’m ready to move, you can be my creative consultant.”
Alice kicked her legs and fist-punched the air in triumph. She lurched and rolled off the futon, landing with a tinyoomphonto the floor.
“Hi,” she said after she finished rolling to the desk.
His eyes had a bleary, unfocused look. “Hi.”
She stood on her knees to look at the computer screen. “Is that your brother?”
There was no mistaking the Johnsons were all related. Alice’s features looked similar to her siblings—just much younger.
(Black didn’t crack, but it did level up.)
(When the time came, she hoped her looks settled at twenty-four years old and then stayed that way for at least twenty years.)
Takumi and his brother didn’t really look alike. They were the same height, but that was all they had in common features-wise.
“Yeah. Steven,” he answered.
“Really?” she asked. “So, uh, Steven and Takumi, huh?”
“It’s a long story.”
“A story you’re going to tell me?”
“Maybe someday.”
Alice nodded, letting go of her next question. They were still new—she didn’t want to upset him. He usually tended to be fairly open to whatever she said or asked, but occasionally he used a certain tone that meant she was close to crossing an arbitrary line. She noticed it the first time she asked about his parents.
“What are those?” She pointed to the open closet. The inside had shelves filled with what she thought were books at first, but she wasn’t sure.
“Photo albums.”
“Really? There’s so many. Can I look at them?”
“Sure. Make sure to put them back in order, please.”
Giddy, Alice went to the closet. Each album spine had a year written on it. They dated back to when his elementary-school days shouldhave been—the one she picked up was from high school. She turned page after page, learning about the life he had lived long before her.
“Why did you start doing this?” she asked.
Takumi rubbed his eyes, sitting back in his chair. “I took photography in middle school. Our final project was to document our life for a month and then choose the best moments to display. I sort of never stopped.”
Alice snorted. “Sort of?”
“It’s more of a habit than a hobby. I’m not a freelancer or anything. If I’m in the middle of something with other people, I don’t make everyone stop so I can take a picture. It has to feel right. I do it because I love it and I think it’s good for me.” He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t even show people now. Usually.”
“I wish I could do this,” Alice said, replacing the first album and grabbing another. “It’s so cool.”
“It’s never too late to start.” He turned his chair to face her.
“I’m not a fan of pictures of myself.”
“Why not?”
