I started to understand that my life had divided into what I told Noah and what I told Evan.
With Evan, I talked about my mother's postcards, the way I still kept a sketchbook beside my bed, and how much I disliked being asked what I planned to do with my degree before I had finished it. With Noah, I said the dates were nice. I said Evan was funny. I said I was busy.
The difference became a room I couldn't close the door on.
Evan and I spent the next two weeks together. He came to my campus gallery show and stayed while I explained the pieces to a group of people who kept asking whether the shapes meant anything. He didn't pretend to understand my answer. He asked how I had chosen the colors.
I went with him to a volunteer shift at the student food pantry, where he moved boxes and lear
