“You should really be painting.”
And just like that, he has me feeling defensive again.I know this.Do people actually think I don’t know that I should be painting? Every single atom of me tells me I should be painting every second of every day. I’m not going to have that conversation with him.
“I’ll definitely get back to it. One day.”
“How much do you have saved?”
“A fair amount.”
“How much more do you think you need to save before you can quit working for that guy?”
“It’s not just the money I save, I also get full benefits.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Notthatkind of benefits. Health, pension, holiday bonus.”
“Really? How much does he pay you?”
“Plenty.”
“Six figures?”
“Not quite. Almost. Last year, with my Christmas bonus it came close.”
“Well. That is good money for an assistant job.”
“Executive assistant.”
“That too.”
Marco is muttering happily to himself, packing up his toolbox. He turns to Matt, who is ignoring him, and then tells me: “All done. Fixed. Good as new. See?” He shuts the door, then opens it again.
“Thank you, Marco.”
“Yeah. Sorry about how long it took. My knee gets better when the weather’s good.” He sighs and looks towards the stairs that he’s going to have to go down. “Okay. Bye-bye.”
“Have a good night, Marco.”
Marco leaves, and I wait by the door, because I’m ready for this other person to leave now too.
Matt walks slowly towards me, then pauses in front of me and says: “I think I’m drawn to that painting of the edge of the forest in winter because I’m from the west coast and I’m so used to the ocean and sunlight.”
“Interesting.”
“Can I buy it from you now?”
“No. But you can come over and look at it whenever you want to. Within reason.”
He smirks as he walks out. “Have a good night, then.”
“Thank you. For getting him.”
“Sure,” he says. “See you around.”
I shut my door, exhausted and so ready to be alone in bed with my Netflix.
And yet.
