Page 66 of No Place Like You

“Hey, guys,” Charles calls when he opens the door. “Janet’s just setting the table.”

Dexter steps to the side, letting me through first. As soon as I walk in, we’re greeted by the warm scents of cheese and garlic and something warm and homey. Small tea candles are set on a table covered with a linen tablecloth, and Janet’s hovering over it, a large platter in her hands holding a combination of tomato and basil leaves.

“Come on in!” she exclaims.

Janet smiles at us, and her eyes twinkle against the candlelight. She looks better than when I saw her in the hospital. Much better. Her face looks fuller, not gaunt or sullen. She looks happy. Like she’s excited and looking forward to the next day. Dexter told me she’s been wearing a scarf or the hair prosthetic she was finally approved for through her insurance, one she can apply on her own at home, but tonight she’s wearing neither. Instead, she’s proudly displaying the matching hairstyle she and Dexter have, and it looks so incredibly endearing to see them together.

Dexter also mentioned that Janet started attending meetings with a local cancer support group, which is where she learned about using her insurance to file a claim for a medical grade wig. It’s the little things thathave been adding to her spirit. Talking to people who are going through what she is, learning ways to get a part of herself back—her pre-cancer self—instead of feeling like she has a big cancer stamp on her forehead. And it shows tonight.

I’m seeing the change in Dexter too. With each morsel of Janet and his past and himself he shares with me, I see less of it weigh him down. I don’t know if he feels the same way, but I almost feel like he’s letting me share the load with him. And for some reason, it doesn’t feel the least bit heavy for me. In fact, distributing some of the heaviness, like what he’s afraid of or the worry of how he’s going to manage if Janet loses this battle, makes things light. I can’t imagine either one of us ever going back to carrying each of our own burdens by ourselves. He and I together, we created this large, still growing construction of scaffolding, all the metal poles adding to me and him while we continuously learn how to hold each other up.

Charles moves around Janet to push aside some plates and sets a small basket of bread on the table. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she turns to smile at him. Dexter and I give them a moment, more to watch them than anything else. Because I know deep down, witnessing moments like this has become rare for Dexter. Moments where he gets to see his sister justbe.

“Thank you,” Janet says to Dexter as she takes the bottles from him.

“Sure,” he answers. “Lucy picked the riesling.”

Janet nods approvingly. “You have good taste.”

I feel Dexter’s warm hand press into my lower back as he pulls out a seat for me. Dinner moves along. Janet serves us with her gnocchi and pesto sauce, which tastes amazing, and we move through the bottles of wine, including a third Janet had tucked away on her small four bottle wine rack. By the time dinner’s over, the four of us are relaxed and fending off a slowly creeping food coma.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer,” Janet comments over a few slices of cheesecake she’s serving.

“Aspiring,” I correct.

“She’s a part of this huge ad campaign with a big brand, and they’re already going to use her pictures for the campaign,” Dexter interjects.

“Well, no,” I cut in. I glance at Dexter, giving him pleading eyes while he smiles proudly. “It’s not official yet. The art director handling the campaign asked me to turn in some of my edited pictures I’ve taken of the models. But I’m still learning a lot. My pictures aren’t nearly where they should be for any sort of billboard or magazine spread, but I’m hoping maybe by the end of this internship, I’ll be able to gain enough experience to turn in some quality work.”

Dexter waves a hand in my direction. “She’s being modest.”

“And you’ve seen my work?” I say in a sharp whisper, turning to face him.

He shrugs. “You do use my laptop,” he says in a low voice only meant for me.

“Are you looking through my stuff?”

“No,” he answers, taking a pause on jabbing the crumbly cheesecake crust on his plate to give me a sheepish smile. “I, uh, needed to transfer some files over, and I saw them.”

“Oh.”

He eyes me carefully, like he’s gauging whether or not that small detail will upset me—him catching an unguarded glimpse of something that may be a little too personal for his eyes. But all it does is make me realize how much of myself I don’t mind Dexter seeing. I don’t feel guarded or timid about anything with him. And maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s the only person who understands me for me. Not the Lucy who still works at a coffee house back home. Not the Lucy who holds somany misgivings about the future but puts on a show like I do for my friends and family. Just me.

“Do you like fashion photography? Or commercial photography?” Janet asks, pulling me away from the inquisitive gaze I tipped toward Dexter.

“Um, I think I’m still deciding,” I answer. “I kind of like both so far, and I think I’m just learning too much right now to decide what I’m really into. Before this, I was doing marketing for an ad agency, so I don’t have much experience in the photography field.”

“But that marketing experience must have helped,” she comments. “Must be why you’re doing well with this ad campaign.”

“Huh,” I huffed, musing at the realization that she has a point. All those years spent in marketing gave me an eye for what consumers look for. What stands out, what appeals to the eye of the general public. I’m using that experience and channeling it toward my photography work now. Who would’ve thought?

“You know, I have an exhibition opening at the gallery coming up next Thursday,” Janet announces. “You two should come by.”

“Are you okay to do that?” Dexter asks.

“It’s just one night,” Janet answers. “And we have a handful of new artists who I spent a lot of time with to collaborate on this exhibition. One of them, I got really close with. Her work is amazing, and I can’t miss her first show.” She turns to me. “Maybe you can take some pictures? I know she would really appreciate that. You know, anything that isn’t taken from a crappy camera phone.”

I smile. “Sure,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “I’d love to.”

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