What would mean something? She thought about it. Honestly, the flowers in the glass, the drawing on the refrigerator, the cardboard under the table leg. He looked at her. You want cardboard under your table leg?
I want evidence that someone lives here. She looked at her hands. I've owned this apartment for 2 years and it looks like a showroom. It looks like somewhere someone stays, not somewhere someone is. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful.
What's the first thing you'd put up? If you were going to make it yours, she didn't hesitate. The photograph. The one on my phone. Ava with the honey at the farmers market.
Print it. I don't have a frame. Frames exist at every CVS in the city. She looked at him. That's a very practical solution.
I'm a practical person. He leaned forward, elbows on her table. that didn't wobble. You want to make somewhere feel like yours. You start by putting things in it that remind you of moments you were glad to be alive. Everything else follows.
She looked at him for a long time. Did you know you were going to say something like that? Or did it just come out? Just came out. It was very good.
Don't tell anyone. It'll ruin my reputation for being straightforward and low drama. She laughed. He looked at her laugh. She caught him doing it.
Not in a way that was intrusive, but in the way of someone who's been in a lot of quiet rooms and recognizes when a sound belongs. Can I ask you something? She said. Yeah, Diane. She said the name carefully.
Do you talk about her? He was still for a moment. Not tensed, just taking stock of something. With Ava? Yes.
With Darnell sometimes, not a lot with other people. You don't have to with me. I'm not asking you to perform anything. She met his eyes. I'm asking because she's part of who you are and who Ava is, and I don't want to be someone who acts like she isn't there.