Page 96 of Will to Run

But he called you a bonus. He said you were paying rent and putting out.

The brush strokes grow harder as the things he said fester in my brain.

He said Cayson could hate whoever he hooked up with after me.

While I was wondering how to bring up staying without sounding desperate and needy, he was already assuming we had an impending end.

I use my fingers to manipulate some of the textured paint to get things exactly where I want them.

He spoke that way about you. Even if he didn’t mean it, he still said it.

And that’s where I stop. It’s where I’ve stopped since I heard those words. That’s what I always come back to.

He said the things. Regardless if he meant them or not, he said them.

I take a breath and lean on the wall, taking in my progress. The painting is almost finished. I want to add a little more detail, but I fear that if I do that now, I’ll be too aggressive. Though some paintings need that, this one needs a steady and quiet hand.

“Knock knock,” Molly says, interrupting my thoughts. “What do you want on your pizza slices? I’m walking down to the tavern.”

“Oh, I’m not too hungry,” I say.

“My question was, what do you want on your pizza, not if you want it,” she says with a laugh.

I smile at her and tell her what I’d like, even if I don’t have much of an appetite.

“I’m going to take a break, too,” I laugh. “I’m almost done with this guy.”

“Can I peek?” she asks.

“Of course. Everyone will be peeking soon. I might as well start with my favorite people,” I respond.

Walking over, she looks at it, then at me. “My God, Della, do you know how good you are? Seriously. Hazie!” she shouts to the other room. “Come look at the latest and freaking greatest.”

Hazel joins and praises me just the same.

“Look, I have no idea what careers there are in painting, but have you thought about pursuing them?” Hazel says without a hint of sarcasm.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” I reply. A career in painting is something I’ve never entertained.

“I mean, hear me out here,” Hazel says. “You know no part of me, no part of us,” she gestures between Molly and her, “wants you to leave. So what if you like… what if you paint weddings?”

“Paint weddings?” I question.

“Yeah, live wedding painting is a thing. Like a huge thing. A growing thing. I’ve been asked about it at least half a dozen times this year.”

“I don’t paint people, though. I’m more of a landscape painter,” I say. “I could never, like, capture the nuance of details on a face. That’s portrait painting.”

“What if you offer your services to paint the couple at their favorite place on the ranch? Obviously, there will be repeat spots, but you can paint them before or after the wedding. I’d have to get approval, but this has legs. The focus of the painting can be the landscape, and then you can throw the couple in, making them blurry enough not to make out their features but clear enough to know it’s them. Is there a term for that?”

“Impressionistic,” I say.

“There you go,” Molly claps with an excitement I’ve yet to see from her. “Holy shit, you’re a freaking genius, Hazie! Can you do that, Del?”

“I’ve never once thought of it,” I say.

“But you can do anything, Della. Can’t you just see your little couple right here?” Hazel points to a spot on the painting.

My gears start turning. My paintings move between tonal, romantic, and impressionistic, so they would lend themselves well to that. With practice, I bet I could become proficient pretty quickly.