And I only like the funny habits and sweet details I’ve learned about him: that he is an absolute monster about his wake-up time on weekdays, never hitting the snooze button even once, but always pulling the covers back over me neatly and pressing a kiss to my hair before he leaves. That he has a favorite tea brand. That he’s never had a single library fine. That he will always call when he has to work too late for us to see each other, and that he will always sound frustrated and disappointed when that’s the case.

I tell myself, especially when any small reminder of his impermanence here asserts itself. A letter I spot on his refrigerator reminding him that he’s not renewed the lease on the apartment that was only ever a placeholder for him, anyway. An awkward silence that falls on a walk when we pass an interesting sign for an off-Broadway show opening in September. The curt response I overheard him give on a work call—he gets so many work calls, and he never wants to talk about any of them—earlier this week: “It isn’t going to be my problem, because I won’t be there.”

“What am I, getting married to it?” Lachelle says, interrupting my thoughts pointedly. She shrugs. “I think you need to do more with color. Then I’ll probably love it.”

“Done,” I say, bending down to pencil in a reminder to myself in my notebook. When I straighten again, I give her a grateful smile before starting to gather up the pages. Cecelia and Lachelle are teaching a beginner’s calligraphy class in the shop in about an hour, so I need to clear out.

When I’m tucking the final stack away, Lachelle gives me a gentle nudge and says, “You’ve made so much progress. And still almost a month to go.”

“Yeah,” I say cheerfully, catching a slight falseness in my tone that I hope Lachelle doesn’t hear. The progress I’ve made on the job has, of course, been massive, especially compared to the weeks and weeks I spent completely blocked, and I’m definitely proud of it. I can sense that I’m not quite there—Lachelle is right; I do need to do more with color—but still, in my more confident moments, I wonder whether I might end up with more than three full treatments to choose from when it comes time for the pitch. For the first time since those early days after I’d gotten the call, I actually allow myself to imagine how it would be to get chosen for this, to have a line featuring these sketches in stores everywhere.