My Secret Family

Muse

Sophie

50 kg and falling

So Max wanted to draw me, or paint me, or something. He looked like he was going to burst a vein when he asked me for the second time, or was it the third? And really, I didn't know why such a talented artist would want to draw someone like me. He must be one of those twisted artists only interested in strange, fat women with tortured expressions. Or something. When he asked me I remember looking around, trying to find a hidden camera or see if his friends were nearby to witness his joke, but there was no one behind a mirror.

Max's nose had healed, and he had asked me in front of Sue and Mia. Knowing how awkward he was it must have taken some courage to speak up in front of the others.

"Sure, okay, " I said. I had thought about it, what it could mean, if it was dangerous or stupid, but I did get it, I did understand the convoluted motives and the desire to interpret real and imperfect people. It might also be an opportunity to study someone without them realizing it, something I could use in my career, if I ever graduated from Psych. "I've never been painted before, I don't really know what to do."

"Just show up," Max said, holding his hands to his chest. His half-slanted smile and crooked teeth caught me off guard. I owed him something, at least. He never asked to get beat up by Luke. I felt intense guilt every time I looked at the useless plaster tokening itself on Max's broken nose.

The men I dated were always big and a bit slow, their personalities and muscles bought in a gym. This man was a shape I'd never considered before, although that shape had been changing over the last weeks. I noticed his Hawaiian shirt wasn't ironed, so he probably spent all his time just lost in his art. What a lucky guy. I reached out my hand and caught myself straightening a crease on his shirt.