cold bottle in one hand and my phone in the other, I dropped into one of the two chairs at the table and looked across at the other, empty chair. I remembered when I’d bought the set a year ago, to replace the two worn-out tray tables I kept in the living room. I had told Dr. Travetti about that weekend. About the yard sale I’d stopped at and how I’d snagged the table and chairs for a song. When I’d shown her a picture, she just asked if I was going to buy anymore chairs, to which I had asked, “Why?”
I tipped the bottle back to my lips while my eyes remained trained on that chair. Sometimes I liked to imagine what it’d be like to sit across from someone who wasn’t my mirror image, knowing very well that could never be anything more than a fantasy. Being Jake’s brother was a full-time job, and one that didn’t offer health benefits or a paycheck. Hell, I could barely carve out enough space in my life for my actual job that I needed to pay the bills. So, how the hell could I manage a relationship of any kind, with responsibilities like that holding me back and weighing me down?
Sighing, I resigned to browsing through my phone while finishing the beer. First things first, I checked my email and found a message from someone looking for some new ink. The message was short and vague, and I hated vague. I was very particular about the work I’d do, agreeing mostly to custom pieces and only making a few exceptions, and vague gave me absolutely nothing to work with. Never mind that I make it very clear on every social media outlet that I prefer a detailed description of the requested piece.
Scrunching my nose with disparagement, I shook my head, already suspecting this wasn’t a job I’d end up taking. But still, I tapped out a quick message to request more info, even including my cell number, in case they’d prefer to speak directly. I sent the message away, then drained the beer before standing up from my small, two-person table.
In the heaviness brought on by the deafening silence of night, I didn’t expect the phone to begin ringing from behind me. I peered over my shoulder at the lit screen, at the unknown number, and considered letting it go to voicemail. It was already late, and I needed to get some sleep. Five AM would be here before I knew it, and the routine of my day would begin all over again. But my better judgment was shushed by curiosity, and I reached for the phone, answering it before I had another chance to think twice.
“Blake Carson,” I answered curtly.
“Hi!” came an upbeat, feminine voice on the other end. “So sorry if it’s too late to call. I just got an email from you, with this number included, so I thought I’d—”
“It’s cool. Don’t worry about it,” I interjected lightly, as my lips curled into a smile I knew was condescending. I hated being judged by superficial aspects of my being, and I hated even more to be a hypocrite. But, there was a certain type of person who was interested in my work, and if I was judging by her voice alone, this girl didn’t fit the bill. Not by a long shot.
“Oh, good.” The words were carried by a sigh of relief. “I’m really sorry I was so vague in my email. I was so excited it completely slipped my mind to tell you what exactly I wanted.”
I took a seat at the table again and leaned back in the chair. “It’s all right,” I said, raking a hand through my hair and leaving it at the base of my neck. “So, what did you have in mind?”
“Well, actually, I was hoping I could come down to the shop tomorrow and show you.”
The sigh that pushed through my nose was haughty. The statement matched her tone. This girl was interested in something she’d seen online, a shot she’d snagged from Google or Pinterest. Something that had probably been superimposed onto someone else. And now she wanted me to put it on her, and that was never going to happen.
Clearly, this was a waste of both of our time.
Still, this was my livelihood and there wasn’t any sense in earning myself a bad review. So, I made the quick albeit difficult decision to remain cordial.
“You could,” I told her,