WREN
I wakeup first thing Monday morning to my mother knocking on my bedroom door promptly at nine, pushing her way inside with a large, pure white box clutched between her hands.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she chirps. “You have a delivery.”
I push the hair out of my eyes, squinting at her as she sets the box on my desk and goes to my window, pushing open the curtains. It’s a gray day outside but still bright enough to make me groan and fall back onto the pile of pillows.
“I’m on break,” I tell her. “Let me sleep in.”
“I couldn’t stand waiting any longer.” She goes to my desk, grabs the box and hands it to me. “This came for you about an hour ago.”
I sit up, the box in my lap. I know who it’s from, but I have no idea what’s inside. Anticipation makes me feel downright giddy, and I stare at the lid, wondering what he could’ve sent me now.
“Oh my God, open it, darling!” Mother practically screeches.
Laughing, hoping it’s nothing dirty, I pull the lid off and push away the layers of white tissue paper to reveal a slightly smaller box inside, wrapped in glossy black paper. I pull it out, tearing off the paper like a little kid at Christmas, to see it’s a Polaroid Now Instant Camera. A special edition featuring Keith Haring.
“I didn’t even know this existed.” I examine the box, staring at the photo of the camera. It’s a bright, vivid red, with one of Keith’s trademark radiant babies on the front. The back of the camera is a black and white composite of his art. It’s beautiful.
Meaningful.
My heart literally pangs at the sight of it.
“A camera? Oh, it’s Keith Haring.” Mother plucks the camera box out of my hands, studying the box as she reads the description. “This is so fun. I assume it’s from the Lancaster boy?”
Nodding, I reach inside, pushing past the tissue paper to find another slender black box containing a Chanel lipstick. When I open the box and pull the lid off the tube, I see it’s a bright, rich pink.
That’ll look good on his skin, I can’t help but think.
There’s a note, and I hurriedly open it, hoping my mother doesn’t notice.
For our next photo session. I think that pink will look good on your lips.
xx,
Crew
If he’s tryingto make me swoon, he’s doing a good job.
“He likes you,” Mom says.
I glance up to find her watching me carefully. “I like him too.”
“I told your father you could do worse.” She sets the camera box beside me on the bed, then settles down on the edge of the mattress. “Is he nice? I ask, because he’s a Lancaster. They’re notoriously not nice.”
“He’s nice to me,” I admit softly, pulling the camera box back onto my lap. “I just wish Daddy wasn’t so upset over this.”
When I came home last night after my afternoon with Crew, my father barely spoke to me. I’m sure he assumed who I was with, and I didn’t confirm or deny it. I never told him anything. But he can keep tabs on me still.
He had to know I was with Crew. At his apartment.
“You’re his little girl. He doesn’t want you to grow up. I keep telling him you have to become your own person sometime,” she says.
I decide in that moment to ask her the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue since the last gift arrived. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Her expression turns contrite. “It’s tough to hear your daughter call you out for your cruelty.”
“I truly believed you didn’t like me,” I admit, my voice small.