They Left Me Out Of The Picture So I Created My Own Chapter 17
After the call ended, I sat in the studio for a long time.
My phone screen had gone dark. The photographs I’d just been organizing were scattered across the floor. Leo came in, took one look at me, and said, “You look like hell.”
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t press. He just crouched down, gathered the prints one by one, and put them back on the table in their correct order. Then he disappeared next door to the coffee shop.
A few minutes later, he slid a cup of hot cocoa in front of me.
The marshmallow foam on top was a lopsided, mangled blob. If you squinted, maybe you could pretend it was a leaf.
I stared at it for a second. “That latte art is terrible.”
Leo pulled up a chair, his expression comically solemn. “Please respect the craft. This is postmodern deconstructionism. You just don’t get it.”
“What artistic movement specializes in deconstructing leaves?”
“A brand-new one. You’re looking at its founder.”
That finally made me laugh.
Leo laughed too, then his expression turned serious.
“You know, when you smile, you look more real than any of the people in your award-winning photos.”
I held the warm paper cup and took a sip.
The cocoa was a little too sweet, but the temperature was perfect.
The studio smelled faintly of developer, and the warm yellow light fell across the edges of the photographs. Leo sat quietly beside me, flipping through a strip of negatives, as if nothing had happened—or as if, so long as I didn’t want to talk, he would stand guard over my silence.