“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Ha! I’ll show you,” she says and opens her closet. That’s when I notice the orange dress hanging on the rod, bringing back memories of her letter. She still has it, after all. Up on top is an old Converse box, and I’m curious what’s inside. Gemma pulls a canvas from the back and hands it to me, stealing my focus.
It takes everything I have not to lose my s**t at the blob of paint. I tuck my lips into my mouth, but it’s impossible to hold back a smile.
“See!” she exclaims and points at me.
“What is it?” I ask, tilting it.
“It’s supposed to be a nest on a tree branch. Inside are baby birds and different colored eggs.”
“Ooh, sure, I see that.” I nod, but she sees through my lie and playfully smacks me.
“Hey! Picasso’s art was strange and is still extremel
