Sawyer drops a quick kiss on her shoulder, then asks, "How many years of tax returns do you have?"
Natasha boggles. She has a bag of paperwork under her desk that Gillian helps her sort out from time to time. She tries to think of something Suze Orman might say, "Um, well...."
"Natasha, please tell me you don't work under the table, do you?"
"Why do you even need to know?"
"As a self-employed person you typically need around five years of proof of income to get a mortgage. I'm up to four, I was just curious about you."
"I'll check when I get home,” She nods with a decisiveness she doesn’t feel. "Why did you change your name?"
Sawyer stumbles a bit, "How did you know?"
"You're not the only one that can use Google. I know full well I never told you that my parents were professors!"
Sawyer laughs, "I could have figured it out! I'm smart! It's boring really. My mom made us all change our surname to our step-dad's, and then when I graduated I wanted to change it back. Then I thought about Roberts, obviously. Then Mikaela pointed out that Martinez would be more original for getting business cards printed, that sort of thing. Told you it was dull."
Natasha doesn't think it sounds dull, but knows she's being told to drop it.
"Where would you go, if you could go anywhere?"
"France, definitely. My French is still decent, the pastries are mind-blowing, I want to go back to the Louvre as an adult."
Sawyer yawns, curls her body into Natasha's. She makes a noise like she wants Natasha to carry on, and so Natasha keeps listing the things she likes about France until Sawyer's head gets heavy.
"We should," Sawyer's voice is slow and dreamy, "We should go to the art museum tomorrow, it's apparently really good. I'm not in work until five."
Natasha looks at the digital clock next to the bed. The green neon numbers read 03:00. Natasha doubts Sawyer will be awake much before mid-day, but the thought of going to the museum with Sawyer is enough to make her smile softly to herself as she rolls Sawyer over to press her own smaller body against Sawyer's back.
The Philadelphia Museum of Art is an imposing Neo-Classical building with tall colonnades bearing down from all sides. Small, square windows near the roof warm the pale stone with golden light. Natasha stands at the bottom of the wide central staircase, gazing up at the heavy bronze sculpture at the top of the first set of steps. She feels a bit sluggish, hung over from the anxiety. She tries to shake it off.
"Is that Eros or Diana, or what?"
"Eh?" Sawyer is messily unfolding the museum map, trying to find where Sunflowers is located in the maze of galleries.
Sawyer has a scattergun approach to visiting the museum, criss-crossing through different rooms. She wants to do the big-names first. Natasha tries to guide her to works with an interesting use of light, she likes Cezanne's Large Bathers and Dali's The Basket of Bread.
Sawyer stands in front of Picasso's Three Musicians, "It's like, I like it, but I don't know if I actually get it."
Natasha tries to explain why it resonates with her, gesturing with her fingers. Sawyer listens like she's ticking things off a list, giving sharp nods after every point Natasha makes.
"Is there anything else you particularly want to see? Sawyer strokes the soft arm of Natasha's coat, wriggles her fingers into the pockets.
"I think they have some Berenice Abbott photographs here. Most of them are in New York, MIT did an exhibition that I went to, but I think I read something about having some of her photographs here."
As it turns out, it really is just a couple of photographs; a portrait of James Joyce and a shot of a Kosher butcher in New York. Natasha's fascinated by the crudely painted ducks and chickens on the window, and the butcher eyeing the photographer warily through the glass.
Sawyer glances at it once and then goes back to reading the guide. She is more interested in the background information Natasha gives her about Abbott's lesbianism, about her leaving the family home early to study, then her working in New York, Chicago and Paris. Natasha isn't sure how she can remember all that, when most days she struggles to remember mundane things. Sawyer's frowns slightly as she listens seriously, and it encourages Natasha to go on even when she fears she's boring her. She feels taller under Sawyer's thoughtful consideration.
"We'll have to go and see more of her work when we're next in New York," says Sawyer, tapping Abbott's name into the Notes in her phone. Natasha allows herself a small smile at that. Perhaps a trip from Boston to New York is not so outlandish.
"Are you still going to Chicago before the holidays?"
Natasha's still aware of how much Sawyer misses her friends. She knows how much time Sawyer spends with her phone broadcasting live footage from her old apartment, with Mikaela and Kimberly chatting quietly to Sawyer as they sew and Sawyer works on her laptop or fiddles with her guitar.
Sawyer sighs, "Definitely not before Thanksgiving, probably not until the New Year. What are you doing for the holidays?"
"I don't really do Thanksgiving or Colombus Day, for obvious reasons."
Sawyer rolls her eyes and pretends to swoon, "Thanks for your noble sacrifice."
Natasha elbows her gently and continues, "My parents do Russian Christmas in January but Gillian shuts the Centre so she can go to Florida
