“Sometimes you can’t avoid that,” Joan said, “because people have feelings, and other people’s feelings aren’t always congruent with ours. But here’s the important thing when it comes to art. This is what I’ve learned: The art is greater than you and your feelings. You have to serve it. It is not you. Some people will never understand that, but you need to surround yourself with people who do understand it. And you need to understand it yourself. Whatever you’re creating may come from within you and your life, but then—almost like a child, it comes out of your body and it grows up and walks away. It walks away and affects other people you don’t know and have never met. That’s the beauty of it, and the reason I keep trying new things. You never know who it will affect.”

—

Steph had to go to work. The ice cream bowls were scraped clean, and Joan stacked the three of them together, the spoons ringing against the porcelain like bells.

“Steph,” I said, “will you take a picture of me and Joan?” I held my phone out to her.

“Sure,” she said.

I leaned in, and Joan put her arm around me, and we smiled.

“I took a bunch,” Steph said, handing the phone back.

“Thanks.”

“Here, give it to me,” Joan said. “Let me take a picture of you two.”

She told us to stand together by the railing so that we weren’t backlit.

“Aria, turn toward her just a little,” Joan said. “Yes, just like that.”

I felt like I must look totally awkward, my elbows at all the wrong angles, but when I saw the pictures, I was surprised. Joan had taken a few in a row, like Steph, but she had guided us into a story. First, we were stiff, the empty space between us somehow highlighted. Then, I was turned toward Steph while we both smiled self-consciously at the camera. Finally, Joan had caught Steph gazing downward, looking almost shy, while I looked at the camera with a question in my eyes. That one was my favorite.

Chapter 23

On Friday when Steph came over to do the yard work, she told me that Roxy was having a house party the following Friday night. “Do you want to come?” she asked as she put away the gardening tools.

I was standing outside the shed, leaning against the edge of the door frame. “Who’s going to be there? I probably won’t know anybody.”

“Don’t you go to parties to meet people? Everybody you met at the Dyke March will be there, plus more people you don’t know. Roxy knows everyone.”