“We rotate the art in the shop, ya know? You could show some of your stuff.”
I fight a grin. “You sure about that? I could be terrible.”
They give me a once-over. “I don’t buy that.”
“We'll see.”
“If you stick around?” I don't try to hide my surprise. “Cillian gave me the skinny last week. It's why I sent him with a free coffee.”
“To bribe me?”
“Whatever works.”
An awkward laugh slips out. “Why would it matter to you if I stay?”
They shrug. “You seem cool.”
“As a person hurtling toward her mid-thirties, who spentlast night listening to Taylor Swift and drinking box wine, I'm going to hold onto that compliment for dear life.”
Jac bursts out laughing. “I'm only judging you a little for the T-Swift inclusion.”
“What happened to not yucking yums?” I ask.
“I . . . Ok, but . . .”
I loudly slurp my coffee while they try to find the words.
“Fine. If you agree to put one piece up in the shop, I'll let it go,” Jac relents.
“Deal.” I needed to stop making these bargains.
“Jac!” A skinny guy in patchwork overalls and a frohawk calls from the door.
“Shit. Right. I need rhinestones.”
“Fun!”
Jac bounces on the balls of their feet. “Actually, I'm performing at a drag show on Sunday. You should come! It's gonna be weird.”
“I love weird.”
They give me the info and sprint off. “See you Sunday!”
After three trips tounload my car of supplies and groceries, I'm hungry, sweaty, ready to collapse in front of the window unit for a while, and to my absolute surprise, happy. And excited. And inspired. I can’t remember the last time this heady combination danced in my veins.
I turn on the AC, but rather than collapse, I fish outHeartbreak Expressby Dolly Parton. It’s an old vinyl—one I’m pretty sure I stole from my mom’s collection when I moved out—but the rough state just adds texture to the sound.
As the record plays, the groceries get put away, and not just the refrigerator items either. Everything. The dishes that had been drying on the counter for a week find their place in thecabinets. I even pull a few more kitchen items—mostly coffee-related—from the boxes they'd been hiding in and find them homes.
By the time the whole album finishes, I have the kitchen of a fairly functional person.
Riding the wave, I grab a Loretta Lynn record next and move into the would-be dining room. When I saw the pictures of the apartment, I loved how this room got so much light. I could envision the built-in filled—not with china as intended—but with paint and supplies, the floor covered with a drop cloth, my newest work sitting by the window.
I move a few boxes to the edge of the room and lay out the drop cloth.
One of the paper bags of paints, brushes, and other goodies crinkles in my grip as I hesitate. There was a better, less chaotic way to do?—
“Fuck that,” I say to no one.
