I take the train to Brooklyn, the ride mercifully empty and chaos-free because it’s a Saturday morning. There are only three other passengers in my subway car, all of them with their earbuds in or reading, and I drink in the peacefulness, looking out at the cars on the Williamsburg Bridge through the sooty window. My fingers are tingling to get to work, and I nearly run to the studio once I’m out of the station, remembering the way through sheer muscle memory.

Gavin must be looking out the window, because he opens the door before I can even reach up and knock. I ogle him without meaning to. He looks good, and I hate myself for thinking it. His dark hair is shaggy now, falling into his brown eyes, and he looks fit, his shirt-sleeves tight around his biceps. A tiny hoop earring hangs from one of his ears, and I have the sudden urge to tug it, to feel his lobe. He comes in for a hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” he says, and I know he means it. Gavin is honest, almost to a fault, and an eon ago, I used to love that about him. Until his truthfulness scorched me and I had to step away.

He leads me into the airy space. I eye one of his metal sculptures in a corner, his tools scattered near a workbench. I find my favorite spot near a window and start setting up. But even after I’ve laid out my brushes and paints on a metal worktable, and started tacking my canvas to the wall, I still feel him staring at me. I turn to him and raise an eyebrow.

“What’s changed?” he asks.

I swivel back to the blank canvas. “I’ve been sleeping better, that’s all.” He knows I’m not telling the full story, but he doesn’t push. After Beth, I want to keep Anneliese buried inside me a little while longer, my happy, safe secret weapon.

For the first time in months, I sharpen my carbon sketching pencil and start to lightly draw some preliminary ideas for a composition.

Gavin was my only high school boyfriend. In many ways, it was a typical teenage romance. We met in class and started chatting. He instant-messaged me about the homework. I made excuses to pass him in the halls during the day. We started dating when I was sixteen and were together until college, when the inevitable distance and lure of new experiences forced us to break up.