"I heard the art gallery we visited last time shut down and they're giving away the art work there for free. Eve, are you listening?"
The girl looked up from placing a blue and red rose together in a small vase on her dining room table and looked to her mother. The woman sighed and sat down across from the brunette. She placed her check on her hand and looked at the vase of flowers.
"Why do you always put those two flowers in there."
She shook her head and showed her mother the third flower—a delicate yellow rose that had barely bloomed. "Not two, three."
"Why?" her mother asked again.
She shrugged. "Just because they remind me of people I used to know."
"Used to? Were they nice people."
"Yep!"
"Hey, Eve!" The girl's father walked into the dinning room and smiled at his wife and daughter. He held up his car keys. "Are we going?"
"They're probably already sold out," the girl's mother sighed. "He's a rather popular artist, you know. Remember how crowded the exhibit was?"
"There might be one or two left, you never know. And it didn't get very crowded until late into the day, anyways. It's only eight and they opened for takes an hour ago."
"I don't know," the girl's mother sighed. "I still think we shouldn't go."
"...There's a painting I want." Eve looked to her mother with shy eyes. There was one painting in particular she wanted most of all.
"Eve?"
"Which one?" the girl's father asked kindly.
"The Sleeping Man," she answered solemnly, the image of the man still in her mind. His cold flesh, the falling blue rose petals; it was all so clear to her.
"Oh, that one," her mother chimed in. "The one we found you at crying the last time. You really liked that picture, didn't you?"
"Yep," she answered. "I really like him."