And I did.
I lifted the camera, and I took her picture.
That was it. That was the beginning.
CHAPTER SIX
VERONICA
Three dots hung in space. Standing in the middle of my room in the late afternoon sunshine, hopping impatiently from foot to foot, I reread the text I’d sent Mick: Want to come with me to my friend’s art show tonight?
Should I have waited a few days? Suddenly, I was not sure texting her the very next day after a first kiss was a good idea. Was I being overeager? Pathetic? Pushy?
The dots resolved into a single, glorious word. Sure.
“Yes!” I shouted. She wanted to see me again.
I took a deep breath and returned her text. My friend Nico is picking me up in a little while, and then we can come get you.
Cool. I’ll send you my location.
I had some time, so I headed for the door in the corner of my room. I had the master because my mom knew I needed an en suite bathroom to turn into a darkroom, and because she was a wonderful lady who maybe spoiled me a little, which I encouraged. I opened the door, pushed aside a heavy black curtain, pulled the door shut behind me, and flicked on the wall switch. The room was bathed in a dark, red-orange glow.
I queued up my playlist that had songs from my favorite old movies and returned my phone to my pocket. “Girl.… dum-dum-dum-dummmmm, you’ll be a woman soon…,” I sang along with my Bluetooth speaker as I got to work developing last night’s roll of film. The red safelight transformed my bathroom-turned-darkroom into a tiny nightclub, and I danced around to the Pulp Fiction soundtrack while I waited for the timer to tell me the film could come out of the chemicals.
Loud knocking on the door snapped me out of my loner karaoke session. “Who is it?” I yelled.
“It’s me, pretty girl,” cooed a familiar voice.
Nico.
“Come in. But be careful with the curtain! I’m developing film.”
He slipped in gracefully, first through the door and then through the heavy blackout curtain so no light entered with him. The timer dinged, and I hurried to get my film out of the developer. Nico leaned his tall, fluid frame on the counter at my elbow, arms crossed over the stomach of his Queen T-shirt. “What’s up, wife?”
I took a second to wrap an arm around his narrow waist in a half hug. “Just burning pictures, husband.”
He kissed my cheek, his chin scratchy. “I finished the chicken. I brought it to show you. I want to see your reaction.”
“Oh cool!” I was excited to see this. It was a new 3-D technique he’d been trying to perfect. He’d been very mysterious about it. All I knew was that he was working on a photorealistic chicken sculpture.
“Come see it.” He tried to drag me toward the door.
I pulled my hand away. “Give me a few. I want to finish something. Feel free to grab something to eat if you’re hungry.”
“Your mom already fed me and gave me a bag of leftovers to take home.”
“Good.”
Nico had been living on his own for the last two years, since he was seventeen and a half, but my mom never really adjusted to him being an adult and fed him at every opportunity. I liked it, actually. Nico had never had anyone to care for him, not really, and my mom was one of those people with enough love to spread around.
He hummed along to the music as I cut the film into strips and slipped them into a sheet of negative sleeves, aware that he was watching me. He had a way of giving you his undivided attention that made you feel intensely scrutinized. Girls loved it.
I scanned through the rows of negatives, holding them up so I could see them against the red safelight. I really wanted to find that photo of Mick.
There she was, tiny but real, her irises ghostly white in the negative. The focus looked good as far as I could tell, but I wouldn’t be sure until I enlarged it. I took the negative strip and clipped it into the secondhand enlarger my mom bought from a photography professor at the city college. I zoomed in, framing the image until I was happy with the composition. I couldn’t believe I got this much clarity on such a quick, candid shot.
Nico peered over my shoulder. “Hellooooo,” he said, eyes on Mick’s face, pretty even in negative.
I shoved him off. “Not for you.” I gently removed a piece of photo paper from its package and positioned it under the enlarger, then timed the exposure and slipped the paper into the tray of developer fluid. I twisted the dial on the kitchen timer and waited, watching the image materialize. Wow. This was even better than I’d expected. Mick was set against rows of seats that blurred into infinity behind her, adding a beautiful depth of field and a feeling of movement to the image.
The kitchen timer went off with a ding. I used the tongs to pull the paper out of the developer, shake off the drips, and slip it into the fixer. Nico and I leaned in to get a good look as I pulled the photo out of the fixer and slid it into the stop bath.
The photo was incredible. Mick’s expression was half shocked, half searching, lips parted, eyes huge. My chest swelled with pride as I realized—I’d kissed her. I’d given her that expression. Me.
“Who is she?” he asked.
“A girl I met yesterday at that party you flaked on. Thanks for working late. Turns out you did me a solid. Oh, actually, I told her she could come with us to your launch party tonight. Do you mind?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Actually, I do mind. Do you want to get us in trouble?”
“Why are you so paranoid? There will be hundreds of people there. What’s one more?”
“I don’t want to go to prison just so you can impress some girl you’re trying to—”
“Would you knock it off? You’re such a grandma!”
We glared at each other.
He said, “Act like this is some other friend’s work. Don’t tell her it’s me. And don’t get any ideas about bringing her to the installs just so you can show off.”
“I didn’t want to bring her to those anyway—whatever they are.” There were four installs in this series, but he liked to tell me about them one at a time. He said the element of surprise made my photos better.
He gave in. “Fine. Now come look at my chicken.”
“In a minute.” I pulled out another piece of photo paper and started printing a different version of this photo. I wanted less contrast on her face, more on the seats behind her.
Nico became a distant memory as I messed with the photo, first upping the contrast, then dodging and burning. No print was quite right. I heaved a sigh of frustration, clipped this last one to the wire, and started a new one. I was more careful with her eyes this time. I needed one more chance to get it right. I couldn’t tell if—
“Veronica. Veronica!”
Nico was standing beside me, a warm palm on my shoulder. “You don’t think you have enough? You’re usually so stingy with your supplies. And we have to go soon.”
I blinked, feeling like I’d just awakened from a nap. I turned and looked at my workstation.
Ten prints were clipped to the line. I didn’t remember making ten.
I looked down at the counters, where the trays full of chemicals were usually lined up neatly. Now they were askew, puddles of developer and fixer splashed carelessly across the granite.