Encaustic: hot wax tinted with pigment, and each week as you step through the door of his studio, breathing bees, balancing your basket of cleaning things and trying not to see the dark stain on the wooden floor, you understand a little more.
She remembers the vodka-clear starts of nights. Leggings, suede jackets and crimping hair, her sister separating strands.
Tealights and wedding favors. Chalkboards and house rules.
In this house we smile and we smile and we do not let it slip.
They take the train to Christine’s downtown apartment. They hold martinis and drink up her tales, every delectable word.
We were never young like the other neighborhood kids. We were old like we had our own house key and knew how to boil noodles that we ate for dinner.