“I better not,” she said. “I have to get home and make dinner.”
“Aren’t there, like, fifty of you living there?” David asked, flicking ashes on the ground near her feet, which seemed so rude to Izzy. Since the Time article and various Internet stories, which Izzy no longer even bothered to read, people recognized her as being part of The Infinite Family Project.
“Not that many,” Izzy replied. “And I like cooking. Thanks though.”
“Come on. One hour,” he said, pulling on her arm in fake pleading. “How can you be a real artist if you don’t drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and talk about art? Don’t you want to be a bohemian?” Izzy could not tell if he was joking or not. She looked at him, the cigarette in between his long, slender fingers, the smoke reeking of European incense. She stared at his bright blue artist’s jacket, made in France, the kind worn by Bill Cunningham. He was not, she was now certain, joking at all. She looked at his dark brown eyes, which held the certainty of being someone important. How, he must be wondering, could she resist him? And how could she?
At the coffee shop, Izzy listened to David and his friends talk about famous artists whom they hated because they had always been hacks or, worse, had turned into hacks because of success. Then they talked about parties, what the last one had been like and when the next one would be. She tried to be present, to hold on to the fact that there were many things that connected her to these people, but it was a losing battle. She smiled, followed the conversation, but silently counted the minutes until she could reasonably leave them behind. Just then, one of the girls, a Gothy, sarcastic girl named Meggy, asked Izzy about the Infinite Family.
“You’ve got a kid, right?” she asked Izzy, who nodded.
“Kids kill art,” David offered casually, “they really get in the way of becoming a true artist.” It was as if David thought that this advice would compel Izzy to jump into a time machine and never have Cap. David seemed to consider his statement and then amended it. “Well, that’s how it is for men, at least. It might be different for women artists.”
“But, like, it’s not really your kid, right?” Meggy continued. It was hard to tell if she was just curious or being antagonistic. “It’s, like, everyone’s kid, right?”
“It’s complicated,” Izzy admitted. “He’s mine. We just raise all of our kids together.”
“Like brothers and sisters,” David said, showing that he understood.
“Kind of,” Izzy allowed.
“And the parents? How does that work?” Meggy asked.
“Like a kind of extended family, maybe?” Izzy offered. She still, even though Kalina had spent hours coaching them on how to deal with these kinds of encounters, couldn’t quite articulate how the Infinite Family worked to someone on the outside.
“Do you sleep with each other?” Meggy asked.
“Jesus, Meggy,” David said, growing bored with the conversation.
“I’m just trying to figure it out. It’s weird to me.”
“It’s weird to me, too,” Izzy said. “Actually, I better get going. I have to make dinner.”
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Meggy said. “If I were in your shoes, I’d be talking about it all the time.”
“You don’t have to talk about it,” David said. “There’re so many other interesting things to talk about.”
“Okay,” Izzy said. “Thanks, guys. See you in class.”
They waved good-bye, even Meggy, and Izzy walked out into the parking lot, David following her.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Meggy is nice, but a little tone deaf.”
“It’s okay, really,” Izzy said, getting her keys from her bag. She wondered if maybe all college students were tone deaf.
“Listen,” he said, “I really would like it if we could hang out. Do you want to have dinner sometime?”
“I can’t right now,” Izzy said. “I have—”
“No, I know you have to make dinner tonight. I meant some other night. Sometime in the near future.”
“I better not,” Izzy said.
“Are you dating somebody?” he asked, genuinely puzzled by having been rejected in even this minor way.
“No,” Izzy said quickly. “It’s just, my life is complicated and I have to focus on the kids right now.”
“You can’t focus on your own happiness?” David asked. “You’ve got real talent. Can’t you make time to be around people who care about that kind of thing? I’d be good for you, I think.”
“I don’t know,” Izzy said. “I just don’t have time right now for anything like that.”
David kissed her quickly, which struck Izzy as something he’d seen work out in a movie. She, on the other hand, hated the presumption that she would change her mind if she only made out with him. She tasted clove or juniper on his breath, filling her mouth. His lips were as soft as anything she had ever felt in her life, until she felt his hands on her face, which seemed ghostlike enough that they could pass through her body without resistance.