Page 86 of Drawn Together
I pack up my blanket in my tote bag, grab a rain jacket, and head right over.
Turns out Fletcher ‘getting stuck’ mean that he was avoiding his responsibilities—whatever they might be. Since my arrival, he has spent ten minutes max at his laptop, and even then, he was talking for most of it. He decides to fold laundry on the couch while I doodle tiny threads and buttons in spine details for Threadbare. He glimpses my work and stands up quickly. “I think it’s because I’m hungry; do you want pancakes?”
I should’ve said no, but my stomach growled before I could, and he took off with a skillet and pancake mix in hands. I learned that Fletcher likes his pancakes burnt with crispy edges and sprinkled chocolate chips and butter on top. I wonder what my mom would think about him based on that breakfast alone.
I also learn that he listens to music when he’s home alone, like all the time. Old classics on record players that he asks me to switch out for him. He flips pancakes while I happily flip through vinyls, oohing and ahhing at the variety of themes, genres, and color schemes of them all.
Sam Cooke, Louis Armstrong, The Ronettes, Frank Sinatra, Aretha Franklin, and Frankie Valli are on a steady rotation. He slips ‘What a Wonderful World’ in there, and I pretend not to notice.
After eating, I force him to sit down and work, because then he would want to do the dishes. Then when the dishes were done, he would want to clean the cabinets, and I really did not want the morning to turn into a drawn-out version of When You Give A Mouse A Cookie.
“I hate working from home.” He slides onto the couch next to me, watching my hand pull a steady line on Evie’s bed frame.
“I love it.” I smile. “Keeps me cozy and productive all in one.”
“Do you ever get burnt out?”
“Sometimes. I can focus on one piece of art for too long and lose myself in it. Like, if you look at a picture of yourself, and at first it’s not too bad, but the more you look the more you hate it.”
He settles his chin on the cushion behind my shoulder. He smells like mint and chocolate and coffee all at once.
“Did you always want to do this?”
“Are you just looking for a distraction?”
“Maybe. But I am curious.”
“Yes, I have. I always loved the art in kids’ books; there was this one specifically we had in the children's section of our library—third shelf on the right, between Hungry Hungry Caterpillar and Hewie Loses His Socks—with a worn out, hot pink spine and a dirty yellow star that said ‘staff favorite’. They read it just because of how many times I checked it out. I tried so hard to keep it together, but it was the most sought-after book at free reading time, so it had its fair share of tug-o-wars.”
“What was it?”
“The Midnight Gathering: Pip’s Moonlit Wish. It was about a little hedgehog named Pip, her story was great—legendary for a hedgehog, of course—but it was never the plot that had me coming back again and again.”
“It was the art, then?” He’s smiling.
“The illustrations,” I confirm with a nod. “Gorgeous. Really, you should read it. Beautiful watercolors and soft-spoken lines,but then there would be this pop of glitter—like a reminder of who she was. Full of pinks, petal textures, lacy shadows, and these crazy intricate tea-party details with tiny macarons and mushroom-shaped teapots. I always thought if I could crawl into a story, it would have to be that one right there.”
“This is the most Flora Anderson book I have ever heard of.”
“It truly was a staple to my childhood. We had multiple copies just to be safe—one for both cars, one in the house, one at my grandparents, and one at Austin’s—I was obsessed.”
“Did Austin read with you?”
“Uh, he did sometimes. But never Pip’s Moonlit Wish. He was more of a ‘No, David!’ and ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ kind of kid.”
“Agh,” Fletcher groans out. “One of those guys.”
“Well, to be fair, we were eight.”
“It is a statement to your core, I think.”
“Maybe.” I laugh. “What did you read when you were little?”
“Nothing that I didn’t have to.”
I gasp. “Oh, you’re one to talk. At least Austin read.”
“I got very into reading in middle school, thank you. Just not when I was little.”
