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"I remember when she painted it. This is an older piece." I motioned to the title pinned to the wall beside it.

"What does Feli Aci, mean?"

"Felicidade acidental, in Portuguese. I remember that one. Found Tati painting this while crying, on and off for days. It took me awhile to approach her. Honoring her process and all." I paused, my thoughts in the memory while I gazed at the wild slashes of paint here and there. "She worked on this after she found out she was pregnant with Reagan, and she told me when it was finished."

"I can see the emotions in here of a happy accident. The despair and the joy." Clem pointed to the yellows that swirled in craters around the bolder blues. "Here."

"Yes." I smiled at that. "I can see that."

Our attention to the work appeared to draw a crowd, one of which seemed to have been eaves dropping on our conversation. The downside of earplugs was being unable to tell how loud I was talking. One woman pinched her chin between her fingers while staring at the painting as the diamond engagement ring on her finger glinted in the vibrant light. I glanced at Clem, who didn't seem to notice anyone as she stared down at the book in her palms all of a sudden.

"I think it's this one," the woman said to another, before walking off, and pulling one of the small cards from her purse.

"I reckon Tati just sold something," I muttered to Clem.

"This is what it reminds me of." She gave the impression that she didn't hear what I said as she showed me a color photo in her book.

"Who's the artist?"

"Julie Mehretu. She's an Ethiopian American contemporary artist. Her paintings are multi-layered and abstract landscapes. Many of them reflect urban sociopolitical changes." Clem flipped through a few of them. "I saw her work at the Whitney in New York back in 2021."

I listened to her while checking out the images. My thoughts wandered a bit, not quite able to make the connection between the works but I appreciated that Clem did. "It's unique."

"Yes. Tatiana's is unique, too. They're not close in style, but it just reminded me."

"I understand."

Her gaze flickered to mine for a moment, but she didn't say anything at first.

"What's wrong?"

She glanced around us, and I recognized the white-knuckling of her fingers as she gripped the book. "Are you annoyed?"

"At what?" I looked around, completely lost for a moment. "The sound?"

"No. That I showed you someone else's art at Tatiana's show."

"Not at all. It's relevant. It made sense to you, so it makes sense." I shrugged again as my brow furrowed. "Why would that annoy me?"

"Most people get annoyed when I do that. Or ignore me."

"Well, if it's worth ignoring, I would do it. But it's not. And you'll be able to tell if I'm ever annoyed," I said, remembering some of Zay's blunt descriptions.

"How?"

"Apparently my annoyed face is obvious." I mimicked the scoff, with a single risen eyebrow.

Clem chuckled then, finally relaxing. "Okay. Yeah. That's obvious."

"See?" I grinned and held my hand out to her. "All good."

"Very." She took my hand, delicately as if I was some sort of fragile glass. "I'm having a fun time with you."

"Right back at you. Clem, I—"

I didn't get to finish my sentence before my phone began buzzing maniacally in my pocket. I whipped it out, rolling off the irritation that climbed up my shoulders. Zay's name appeared on the screen, and I swiped to answer.

"One sec," I muttered as I nodded for Clem to follow me toward the front of the gallery where it wasn't as rude to take a call. She stood with me, a fleeting expression of concern crossing her features. "It's Zay," I told her before returning my attention to him. "What's up?"