Work of Art

"Are these all the pieces, Wade?"

He rolled his eyes, counting for the eighteenth time. Three twenty-eight inchers. Eight sixteens. Twelve twelves. One sixty-four. All canvasses there and accounted for.

"Yes, Nikki." He needed to go. He needed to get to the studio. He needed to work.

"And you're going to stop by Monday and check the mountings, right?"

"Yes, Nikki." His instructions had been specific. He would check. He always checked.

"And you're coming to the opening on Wednesday?"

Wade shook his head. No. No, he didn't like galleries. He didn't like watching the paintings sell. He didn't like people. He painted on Wednesdays.

"Sawyer will be here." Nikki's eyes twinkled, but she kept a straight face. Sawyer was... Well, Wade wanted to sculpt Sawyer.

"I. Sawyer? Why?" He rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Because he wants to see you. He specifically asked me to make sure we had that bacon dip you love so much."

Sawyer was always wanting to feed him.

"Oh. Oh, maybe, then. Maybe. I paint on Wednesdays."

Sawyer.

Sawyer.

"You do, but you can be done by eight at night." Nikki flicked a piece of lint off Wade's T-shirt. Like it mattered with all of the stains.

He stepped backward. "Maybe. Maybe. I have to go. I'll be back Monday."

Sawyer was going to come on Wednesday.

Intriguing.

"Don't sleep through the show, Wade. I need you here." She never let up.

"You don't. You want me here." He needed to buy corn flakes.

"You're the artist. People want face time." She moved close, touching him, which made him jump back again.

"I have to go. Corn flakes. I'll call." He would. Call. Maybe.

"Be good, Wade."

The gallery door made a tiny chiming sound when it closed behind him, and the noise in his head went down a thousand decibels. Better. Better.

Corn flakes. Milk. Bacon. Wednesday. Sawyer wanted Wednesday.

Sawyer hardly ever asked anything of him. Nothing for Sawyer, anyway. Sawyer asked Wade to eat. Maybe to make sure he slept.

He smiled. All the paintings in this show were about Sawyer, about the way the man's eyes looked. Nikki said they were inspired, which was a stupid thing to say. Of course they were inspired. They were art.

Sawyer's eyes were art. They were blue, or green, or sometimes gray. It depended on the light, or Sawyer's mood.

They caught the light.

The sun.

The water in the sink while they were doing dishes.