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Emerson: I know your birthday
Emerson: Your social security number
Emerson: The tax ID number of the dummy corporation your father made to funnel money through when you were four years old
No, I type out. I don’t get a chance to send it.
Emerson: I know what you think about at night.
I move my thumb over the button to block his number. To stop him from saying any of these things to me. To stop him from scaring the shit out of me. I could walk across the room right now and put my phone in Leo’s hand. I wouldn’t have to say anything out loud. It would be over. This insane, intense obsession—it would be done.
Daphne: Do you?
“Come dance,” Eva calls.
“I’ll be right there.”
No new dots appear on the screen. I hold my breath. He makes me wait so long I have to let it out again. I have to keep breathing. Keep feeling the hairs pulled tight at the back of my neck.
The next text to arrive has no words. It’s a picture. I curl my hand over the screen to hide it, but there’s nothing illicit. It’s the ocean at night. My breath catches. The nose of a surfboard pokes into the bottom edge of the frame.
I painted this. I didn’t have a reference photo. He could be out there right now, frozen to the bone, diving into black water.
Daphne: That’s not what I think about
I’m lying. I think about him on his surfboard all the time.
Eva can’t tolerate this another second longer and she drags me back out to the dance floor. I’ve lost my champagne. She hands me another one. No one cares that I have my phone in my hand. I take pictures of the party so someone will remember it later. Leo and Haley are like two stars in orbit around one another. The later it gets, the more she laughs. He laughs with her. But there’s something else in his eyes. Sadness, I think.
Another text.
Another picture.
A painting, hung on the wall of a house. A man’s shadow over it. It’s the painting I made for him. It’s Emerson’s shadow. It strikes me as unbelievably dirty, his shadow over my art like that. He owns it. It’s his now. That painting is his little prisoner.
Daphne: Not that either…
This time, only a few minutes pass.
A third picture.
If Lucian noticed all the texting right now, I could truthfully say that it is another picture of the ocean. But this time, the ocean is viewed through a window.
A bedroom window.
I know instantly that this is Emerson’s bed. Neatly made up. It’s practically an invitation to destroy it.
Daphne: I think of your eyes in the art gallery
Emerson: When I kissed you?
Daphne: When you were watching me
Emerson: You liked it
Daphne: No, I didn’t
Eva drags me to the dessert table and forces me to eat more cake. Leo and Haley follow, and Cash, and then Elaine and Lucian and somehow it escalates into plans for a personalized bouquet to be sent to the bakery. It’s a perfect cake.
