The paint I stored in the garage had long since turned to a gloppy mess, so Em and I were forced to buy another large bucket at the hardware store before proceeding to work on the porch.
We tied our hair back in handkerchiefs, dipped our brushes, and started on the railings. It was a daunting project to repaint my chipping wrap-around porch, but surely we could do it, one stroke at a time.
"I have to ask what you thought of him," I couldn't help myself. The slap of our brushes punctuated our moments of intense focus.
"He's very kind. I think he's handsome, too. But I'm not sure he quite understands the situation he's in. He treats her more like a mother," Em replied.
"I got that impression too," I moved to the next rail, "Not to mention the poor taste in naming him after her old husband. I don't think the poor boy even knows who he was!"
"I'm glad I wasn't the only one who found his name odd."
"And did you notice that he kept flinching when he was called by that name? As if he doesn't like it."
All the while we talked about the dinner party and painted, the very man we spoke of was headed up the sidewalk with bottles of lemonade and cookies. Em spotted him first, "Oh god, we've conjured him."
He strode up the steps with an awkward, lanky grace and held forth the lemonade and sugar cookies, "You two are working so hard, Angela wanted me to bring you a snack."
"That's very thoughtful of her," Em was all smiles and rosy cheeks. I envied her pleasantness. We took the packets of cookies and cracked open the lemonade, eager for a break, though we hadn't been working long. Our paint striped fingers reached in for cookie after cookie until the lot was devoured and we were left sipping at lemonade.
"Can I help you guys out?" he asked, looking at the vast sea of unpainted porch we had left. I got a third paint brush from the garage. He dunked the bristles full into the paint. Brush dribbling glossy globs, he began slapping at a railing. It spattered small dots of white onto his navy tee shirt, and paint dripped over the edge of the railing.
Quickly I took my brush and began to spread the glob thin over the remaining railing. It reminded me of frosting a cake. "That's too much paint, Henry. Let me show you."
I demonstrated how to get excess paint off the sides of the brush, and then how to apply a smooth coat to the wood of the porch, with no drips. He learned quickly enough, and we were grateful to have a third set of hands.
"Is Angela treating you nicely?" Em asked.
"Of course. She's not exactly what I was imagining, but I wouldn't say she leaves anything to want in a person."
I did not expect such a glowing response. "I'm glad you've taken to your new life so well."
"Well, I've never had a mother before. So I am not sure what it's like, or how to behave really. But it's been nothing short of wonderful so far. I have my own room, she bought all these clothes for me, and everything we eat is fantastic. I am worried about when father will come home. There are pictures of them together all over the house, but I haven't seen him yet. I wonder where he is. I've tried to ask, but she just changes the subject."
Em and I froze, staring at each other with wide eyes. He continued to finish the last of the middle railing while we argued silently, gesticulating wildly, over whether or not to tell him. Suddenly he looked at us with his bright green eyes, and my heart skipped a beat.
"Henry, dear, that man was her husband. He died of a heart attack not too long ago," Em began.
"Oh," he paused a moment, "that makes me sad. I'll never get to meet him."
"And one more thing, Henry. I don't think you truly understand why Angela sent for you. She doesn't mean to love you like a son, she means for you two to be in love. With each other," Em explained. She had a way with words, being sympathetic and compassionate when she had to deliver bad news. It was like no one I've ever seen. She made pediatric oncologists look blunt.
"Surely not," he laughed, "she's so old."
Em and I exchanged shocked giggles. He looked at us confused, shirt and pants splotched with paint, blinking his peridot green eyes.
I was exceedingly disappointed in Angela. He was so innocent, knowing nothing of what was in store for him. He was never informed of why he was made, and brought to her. Or, maybe he was, but deluded himself into thinking it wasn't possible.
"Well, you'll be able to judge for yourself, and you two can discuss your relationship in the future," Em punctuated the awkward conversation with tact.
We all went back to painting the porch. A childish impulse suddenly seized me, and dipping a few fingers in paint, I crept behind Henry. Quickly, I touched his face and drew two lines across his cheek like war paint. I was quick to take to my heels and playfully run to the other side of the porch near Em. I could hear his steps behind me, he laughed the whole way.
I suddenly felt the slippery slick ooze of paint around my wrist. He dipped his entire palm and he caught me. It dripped slowly down the back of my hand. I feigned a surprised scream, then looked at his face. His smile was wide, his eyes were glittering. Time came to a standstill and that moment seemed to last an eternity. My heartbeat quickened, my throat got tight. My face was getting hot, my palm was beginning to sweat, or was that the paint?
Then the moment ended just as soon as it started. He let go of my wrist and burst into laughter when he saw his gigantic dripping hand print wrapped around my arm like a bracelet. My face got hotter. We looked at each other. We didn't break eye contact. I felt fish swimming in my stomach. I was smiling back unconsciously. Oh, I thought, oh no. My face relaxed suddenly as I realized what was happening to me.
Em snuck up silently behind me, and stamped a white thumbprint on each of my cheeks. We all diffused into laughter, and didn't stop until we were surprised by a voice.
"Henry! This is where you've been all this time. I didn't think you were going to stay and help," said Angela, "but that's the Henry I know, always kind and helpful to his neighbors."
He enjoyed the compliment, yet he looked very confused. She had only known him a short time, and he'd probably never had neighbors before.
It seemed she hadn't really looked at him, because her smile changed to dismay the instant she saw his clothes, "Henry, you've gone and ruined your outfit!"
"Sorry, Angela. We had a bit of a childish paint-fight," giggled Em.
She couldn't help but smile back at Em's rosy, round face. "I'm glad you are making friends with him. I was honestly a little worried about that, but no matter. Come along home, Henry. It's time for dinner."
Em and I took a short break, watching them walk down the street, until they were no bigger than ants, and enter Angela's house.
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