Page 24 of Liquids

“What do you think that’s worth?”

“Blowjob?” He squints at me, grinning.

“At least. Those drawers weren’t working when I moved in here years ago.”

He laughs. “Two blowjobs, then. Though I’m remembering now that you promised me a shower together this morning before you shot off.”

“I’m up for that.”

“Got a confession to make. That isn’t all I’ve done. You haven’t made it past this room, but the whole apartment has had a going over.”

“Jesus.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

No, because I cleaned it the last time I saw him, so this time it was only a month’s worth of grime.

“But I found some shit in your bedroom,” he adds.

I cover my eyes. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Pictures. Drawings. Paintings.”

Oh, fuck. “Oh.”

“Decent pictures.”

Heat builds in my cheeks as the smile slides off my face. I don’t want to see the pictures.

I stare down at my plate, but his finger comes out and he tips my chin up so I’ll meet his eyes.

“They’re cool, babe,” he says softly.

“I did them a long time ago, Rig.”

“How long ago?”

“Ten years, maybe more.” I’m lying. I know exactly when I stopped.

“You want, I can put them up for you.”

I shake my head, and he watches me for a minute as I study my food and toy with a potato.

“You want to look at them at all?”

Could I? “Probably not.”

He heaps another spoonful of stew onto his plate and breaks off another huge chunk of bread. And we’re silent as we shovel casserole into our mouths and a couple of cars rumble past on the street out front.

“So, you stopped drawing and painting,” he says after a few minutes.

I nod my head.

“Why?”

I want to say that I stopped doing the thing I love to punish myself, but that sounds whacked. “I got a full scholarship to study art in East St. Louis, but I realized fairly fast that I couldn’t make any money selling my stuff, so I did an accelerated nursing degree, worked at that for a bit, then took up the caregiving gig.”

“I found something else in your bedroom,” he adds.