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“Can’t you two get along?” Megan sighs, inadvertently wiping a bit of paint across her cheek.
“No, she rubs me the wrong way,” I assert.
“I wouldn’t rub you with a ten-foot pole!” Naomi shouts again.
“See?” I scowl at Megan. “You want me to get along with someone who acts like that?”
“She’s just very protective,” Megan says slowly before adding with an afterthought. “At least, I think that’s it. Anyway, why are you here? You didn’t text me to tell me you were coming down.”
“Were you painting today of all days?”
“Yes, I’ve gotten behind on some of my work for school. I have some pieces I need to work on.”
I feel like an idiot that I haven’t considered how Megan might be behind on her artwork. Doing well in school and in the exhibition has always been her prime aim. Her family, my club, and all the mess that comes along with it have all just been distractions.
“Should you take a break from the club for a while to catch up?” I ask.
“A break?” She looks confused. “How would I pay my bills?”
Naomi mutters a few incomprehensible words that I’m sure are meant for my benefit.
“You don’t need to worry about your bills, Megan,” I whisper. “I can cover everything in the apartment.”
“I know you can, but I still need to make my own money, Hunter. I have to buy art supplies, food, and bus fare.”
I bend my head down a little closer to hers. It doesn’t escape me how she takes a slight step back.
“Just because Samuel is taken care of doesn’t mean you still don’t need your security detail. There are still people out there trying to fuck with me, which means they could decide to fuck with you. Security stays. They can drive you to campus and they can pick up whatever you need from the store. They have a company credit card.”
“Hunter–”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I shut her down, then hand her an envelope. “I brought some cash for Lena because she told me you invited her to the exhibition. I want her to go shopping and pick out something pretty to wear. Where is she, by the way?”
My sister has kind of warmed up to me after Samuel’s attack on Megan. I think she’s starting to recognize that I’m only here to care for the women in my life, not impose myself on their lives.
“She’s at her part-time job.” Megan takes off her painting smock. “I’m not sure she’ll have time to buy a dress, but I can lend her one of mine.”
“Thank you for inviting her.”
“I thought it would be a good way for you two to spend some non-intense time together. Plus, Naomi wasn’t using the ticket, anyway.”
Still feeling the sting of Megan’s standoffishness, I wander over to a pile of paintings and sketches that have been accumulating in a corner of the room and flip through them.
“Did she say anything about quitting her part-time job at the shelter? She was a little angry with me because I insisted she leave there and just work full time at the club.”
“She does have an attachment to that place. They must have been–“
Megan’s words fade into a pleasant buzz in the background as I select a painting of a couple in a café. The woman’s back is the viewer, but the man who is watching her has this look of burning passion in his eyes and a small, content smile playing on his lips as he listens to what the woman is saying. The features are in broad strokes, but not so broad that I can’t make out who the man is supposed to be.
My breath catches for some reason as I see none of the heaviness of the responsibilities of the world in my eyes. It’s completely different from her previous sketch of me. I look lighter, happier, and way more human.
“When did you paint this?” I ask her.
When Megan wanders over to see what I’m looking at, she immediately snatches it from me, blushing fiercely. “That’s not for you!”
“Whendid you draw it?” I repeat.
“Paris.” She looks uneasy. “On the plane ride home.”