Nothing’s Wrong

MIRI

Nothing could ruin tonight.

I’d set the coffee table with our only non-plastic utensils (two mismatched forks and one knife), a couple candles, and I’d even borrowed a lace tablecloth from Madame Belan. The food was being kept warm on the hotplate (also borrowed from Madame Belan). Everything was ready - except for me.

I felt sweaty and frazzled, but the apartment was barely above freezing, and I’d had all afternoon to prepare.

There were zero reasons for me to freak out about this. I’d shown James my work lots of times before. He’d even seen a couple early pieces that were incorporated into this one. He loved me - he’d love my painting. Right?

I paced in front of the easel, a pink sheet hiding the canvas from view. What was underneath was so much more than a painting of me and James. It was…everything.

Everything in me, that was his, everything in him that was mine.