AM:109

Charles was painting the ceiling red after the landlord specifically told him not to paint anything at all.

From the door, Doreen looked up at him. “It must take a special kind of stubborn,” she said, “to live your life.”

“It will look incredible,” he said, stretching his arms overhead. He winced in the stretch.

“You should get off that ladder.”

“It all has to be done at once, or it won’t appear even.”

“You’ll pull a muscle in your back and we’ll starve.”

“You want to do it?” he asked, waving the roller at her. Red paint dripped to the drop cloth below. At least he had the foresight to put down the drop cloth, she thought.

“I don’t want you to do it,” she said. “The landlord doesn’t want you to do it. Nobody wants you to do what you’re doing right now.”

“It will look incredible. The baby will love it.”

“What baby?”

He looked at her, exasperated. “For God’s sake, woman. I’m simply thinking ahead.”