ELARA'S POV
Maya arrived at seven with a bottle of wine and a box.
The box was the surprise she'd refused to describe. She set it on the kitchen counter with the satisfaction of someone who'd been thinking about this for a while.
"Open it," she said.
I opened it.
Inside, wrapped in tissue, a small framed piece. I lifted it out.
A photograph. Black and white, printed on good paper. The four of us at the Vancouver gallery opening in February. Maya and James on one side, Damien and me on the other, caught mid-conversation, none of us looking at the camera.
Real and unperformed in the specific way photographs were when nobody knew they were being taken.
"Claire sent it to me in October," Maya said. "She'd had it since the opening. I had it printed properly."
I held it and looked at it
