“Yes, so I can see them better.”
My original drawing was a strawberry and it had been replicated multiple times on the sock. My feet warped all the versions, but I pulled up my sock anyway. “I know, forward-thinking art right there. I was going through a Beatles phase. Don’t ask.” Why was I getting so defensive about my art? Probably because he was the one who had introduced me to it and I still felt an immense amount of pressure to make him proud.
“It’s really good,” he said.
I kicked at his foot with mine, his words making my stomach a little fluttery. “Don’t get carried away. It’s a strawberry. On a sock.”
“I like strawberries. And the socks display them so well.”
I laughed.
“You can’t see through this curtain, can you?” he asked.
“What? No! Wait. Can you?”
“No, it’s just so thin. You sound like you’re standing right next to me.”
“I am.”
“You know what I mean.” He pressed his hand against the curtain and I saw its perfect outline. “See.”
I reached up but stopped short of pressing my hand against his. Instead, I leaned my shoulder against the one real wall. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Um…”
“I’m not going to propose marriage or anything. It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“I thought the marriage was already taken care of,” he deadpanned. “Didn’t our parents arrange it at our birth?”
I chuckled. “Knowing our moms, they probably did.”
“Right? What’s your question?”
I took a slow breath and stared at the gray curtain separating us. “Did you stop drawing because of your dad? Because he always acted like it was some kid hobby, not something adultsdid?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe that got in my head.”
“If not that, why?”
“I guess I stopped enjoying it.”
I nodded slowly even though he couldn’t see me. “That’s a good answer.” The only acceptable one, really.
“I have your permission to stop?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said.
“What did you mean?” he asked.
“I meant what I said. If you don’t enjoy it, you shouldn’t doit.”
“Exactly.”
“I guess I’m just sad you don’t enjoy it anymore. And I hope you’re not letting your dad dictate your joy.” I placed my foot slightly under the curtain as if my warped feet-strawberries would remind him of what he was missing.
“You haven’t talked to me, like really talked to me, in over two years, Norah. You don’t get to do this.”
“Do what?”