The Orange Suits
This was done entirely with my dried gouache palette in a Luchetti Sketchbook.
10 October, 1980
He stepped back and straightened his shoulders, offering me his hand to shake professionally. “Whoever gets the most phone numbers wins.”
He made me laugh as though it was just any other day and there was nothing dark looming around the corner in the registrar’s office.
“Jon, love, that’s hardly fair, I’m quasi-related to half the people here.”
“Bride’s side only,” he amended the rules, “and plus-ones.”
“Plus ones?” I gasped. “You want to break up families tonight of all nights?”
“Oh, right.” He took in a huge gasp, working hard to overcome the blur of competition that he’d set upon himself. “Not everyone is like us, I forget that. So just Abernathys and mates and anyone who doesn’t think of us as family. So no winning by simply telling my siblings you’re in a competition with me and then getting their numbers to secure a win.”
“I couldn’t do that to Ginny anyway.” I shook my head very seriously.
“Right, even if she knew it was a competition, her hopes would skyrocket. You’re so sweet.” He was losing track of everything that wasn’t the competition he had made up.
I could see the determination pressing down his features as he glanced about, plotting his route throughout the night. I loved his drive, and how he always thought I was actually going to compete to win. My goal was just to keep that fire lit in him, always.
