London laughs. “Stop! Really, try to see something.”
“I can’t. They’re just colors thrown onto a canvas, London. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.”
“Right, so maybe it represents life in that way?”
“Maybe,” I answer hesitantly.
“You know, there’s no wrong answer, babe.”
“Really? That’s not what you said about the newspaper sculpture.” I peer down to her.
She rolls her eyes. “Because that was clearly a bird!”
“Nope, newspaper,” I say shortly.
She shakes her head. “I hate you,” she says with a smile.
“And I love you, babe.” I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Okay, let me try again.” I stand up straight and face the painting.
“Oh, good.” London says and faces the painting, too.
“I spy with my little eye…a woman in a tight red dress.”
“No, you don’t.” London giggles.
“Oh, yeah…yeah
