"Where are we?" he asks her in wide-eyed wonder.
"Irving's Paint Depot," she replies with a grin.
Irving's Paint Depot... He clasps his hands together, happy that such a place could even exist. It's... it's spectacular.
They approach one of the employees, who seems to be called Daniel, and Sharona smiles. She's a personable... person. She likes people, she likes to be around people, and he confirms this with the sighting of Daniel's gold wedding ring. It makes him feel a bit better about the place.
"We're looking for blue paint for a living room," she says, and Daniel writes it down. "We're thinking light blue..."
"Alright!" he sounds a little too enthusiastic. "Right this way, please. I'll show you our selections,"
He leads them through the angular isles and past several people looking for a bit of color in their lives. They stop somewhere in the middle and Daniel gestures for them to examine the cans of light blue paint. She's silent, looking at the little color-samples on the cans but he knows immediately what has to be done. There is no color called Sharona's Eyes. There's no misnamed color that might match. He glances through them all very quickly -- Ocean Mist and Spring Morning and Space Oddity (isn't that a song?) -- and double checks.
"Sharona," he whispers, not wanting to hurt Daniels' feelings. "Sharona... they don't have the right color."
"What are you talking about?" she asks in equally hushed tones. "This whole shelf is full of light blue, Adrian,"
"When I said light blue I meant..." What did he mean? He barely remembers. "I meant... a specific shade."
She rolls her light blue eyes. "Well, what do you want me to do?"
He turns away from her and back to Daniel, he clears his throat and explains that if they mix a third of Space Oddity with a third of Sea of Tears, a sixth of Baby Blue and a sixth of Ice, it should turn out as exactly what they're looking for.
Daniel turns his confused eyes towards Sharona, who says: "Trust him -- he's kind of a genius at this stuff."
"...How many cans?" he says, sounding dazed.
"Two," she answers.
He replies that if they can wait for a few minutes, he'll be back with two cans of Ice Blue Space Tears. They say that'd be great, and head over to a bench that is placed next to a wall for their convenience. She sets her purse down, he shrugs and smiles.
"What color were you looking for?" she asks, giving him a Look.
He shrugs again, not really wanting to answer but he knows that she knows he had something in mind before they even got to Irving's Paint Depot. She keeps Looking at him, knowing that it'll drive him crazy. Knowing that it's driving him crazy.
Why is he doing this to himself?
...Wait a second -- wait a second. He's not doing this. She's doing it, with her eyebrows and her pursed lips and her knowing.
"I was just thinking that... you know... you'd like that mix."
"Well, did you ever stop to think that maybe I had something else in mind?" she mutters. "That, just maybe, I wanted a whole can of Spring Morning?"
She didn't want Spring Morning. "You didn't want Spring Morning," he said. "You couldn't decide between Periwinkle and... and Breezy. Spring Morning was more expensive than Ice Blue Space Tears, even."
"How do you know I didn't want Spring Morning?" she mumbled.
"It's not your color. It's too... frilly."
"Colors can't be frilly!"
"Yes... yes they can. And Spring Morning was frilly -- you hated it."
She folds her arms and looks kind of... angry. Not really angry, but angry enough that he knows it's time to apologize.
"Isn't Space Oddity the name of a song?" she says, dropping the annoyance -- and right as he opens his mouth. "By... David Bowie, or someone like that?"
How should he know? "I... don't... know..."
"I think it is," she says. "Huh. I wonder if they have to pay royalties to use that name?"
"Probably," he says, wondering how they got from a paint argument to royalties. "It makes sense that way, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," she sighs. "...Adrian?"
"Yes...?"
"Thanks for your help."
Why am I doing this to myself? he thinks as he waits for the water on the stove to boil, a piece of frozen chicken balanced on a white place. It's a good question, although he's not sure it really has an answer. As far as he can tell, it just happens. Trudy and Sharona pop into his head and it's like a mystery, he has an obligation to do whatever it is he's doing.
But the Captain says he's doing this to himself. Stottlemeyer hasn't ever lied to him... well, only once, about the rabbits -- but he apologized for that with three cans of Lysol and a Swiffer-Duster. So, if he's doing this to himself...
Is it the... the thing about her? Is it about her being beautiful, but not like Trudy? No... that's where it started. That was the first one. She is, though. Beautiful. Eyes and obviously-died hair and smile.
...Guilt. Oh, God, he hates this -- the guilt is back, making him feel nauseous and... and miserable.
Wait... is that it? Is it guilt? He guesses that makes the most sense, but what's the guilt for? Just because she's pretty and nice and supportive... most of the time... That doesn't mean that he, that he --
He looks up at the microwave, carefully studying his reflection in the door. Panic. He can see that most of all, it's a familiar expression to him. So, panic and... and surprise, and nothing after that. He thinks of Trudy, of their life together and a small smile finds its way to his face.
He thinks of Sharona. Of the arguing and the detective-work and the dinners with Benjy. Soccer-games -- places she brings him in order to help with his condition. Mexico; she never did tell him why she threw all those necklaces away...
His reflection doesn't change. The smile is still there.
She stares into the pot of boiling spaghetti noodles and listens to the noise of Benjy's video games in the background, wondering. About the paint, about him... about why she said 'we' to that guy at the paint store. She and Adrian aren't a 'we'. She and Adrian are barely 'Sharona and Adrian'.
Right?
God, she hopes so. Not because she doesn't like him, because she does. He's great, and smart, and handsome and she didn't think so until he found Benjy's notebook -- until she went to his house in the middle of the night and he admitted to lying about the moth. He looked so afraid... of what? That she would hate him?
She doesn't think she could ever hate him. She's tempted to try sometimes, but it's never really worth it.