Yes, I do! BBall final game Wednesday and BS is playing.
Brandon Singh does not need to see your date bra.
My date bra.
My date bra on you.
LOL It makes me feel HOT.
You don’t need to feel hot for…
Wait. Why do you need it? Do you have a date? WITH MIKE?
I’m nottelling.
Bring back the bra without BS ever having seen it.
MOM!
Doesn’t it figure that Sierra would take my date bra when I finally need it?
I appreciate her strategy but it doesn’t get me a sexy bra.
I go through the collection of sports bras that have loyally served their time once more, in case a new lace bra has spontaneously manifested in the drawer.
No luck.
And that makes me feel old and undesirable.
Even remembering the heat in Mike’s eyes doesn’t completely dismiss that feeling.
I could go shopping, but that means driving to Havelock and maybe not even finding anything there. Tick tock. My painting time is evaporating, and I refuse to lose it over underwear.
It has been a long time since Mike saw me naked. Memory isn’t going to do me any favours and neither will bright lights. The date bra might not even be able to save the situation. I’ve no doubt that he looks amazing – his T-shirts don’t leave a lot to the imagination – but he hasn’t borne a child. Things sag that used to be taut. Eighteen seems a long,longtime ago.
I scrutinize myself in the mirror. I don’t look bad for my age, but I really could have used the emotional support of fine lingerie today.
As ever, I will shoulder on with what I’ve got and try to make it work. The newest sports bra wins the toss.
Una is sleeping in today, so I leave quietly. I consider thedistance to Queen Street and decide to walk, leaving the car behind. Walking gives me the chance to look around a bit more.
It is possible that I am dawdling, as Una would put it.
I’m certainly not in a rush to put pencil to paper and see what happens. What is it about finally having a chance to do something that steals your desire to do it?
I have a load of new art supplies and a studio of my own. Forty-eight hours ago, I would never have expected to be so lucky. Sierra has gone back to Toronto and is in school now – I have the text messages to prove it – and Una is napping. Merrie is happily checking out a butcher two towns over who is reputed to make great sausages. I have an entire day to myself.
Instead of drawing, I’m thinking about Mike.
No, I’m thinking about sex with Mike. Will indulging once be enough to satisfy my curiosity? Maybe, maybe not.
I thought I had been forthright, even blunt, but there’s not been a word from him since he dropped us off. He has to be at work now, but I did expect to hear something. I thought he might call Una’s place last night, but no. Maybe he left me a message at the bistro.
Empire is like a ghost town again, not a sign of movement as I stop at the antique store. It’s open – or at least the front door is unlocked. I shout a greeting and someone answers me from deep inside the store.
I walk through the shadows, navigating a path around the pieces of furniture, and find Willow in the back. There’s a work area there, with tools on the wall, a workbench and a painter’s tarp spread on the floor. In the middle of it is a highboy dresser that has been sanded down and primed. The drawers are standing on end on another dropsheet, their hardware removed. Willow is frowning at the dresser and walking around it. She’s wearing the denim overalls and sandals that she favours, herlong hair tied up in a ponytail, and a smear of primer on her nose.
“Turquoise or indigo?” she asks, indicating the two paint cans that sit open. There’s a swatch of each color painted on the back of the furniture.
