I just said I’d do cheap drinks on Friday night at the bar.” I turn away to pick at a chipped piece of tile still on the wall, but Tom puts his hand on my elbow.
“Who’d you ask?”
“I just told Alex to ask everybody who was interested.” I take a drink from my water bottle. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come. You’re the boss. No one will be able to relax.”
He bangs the door shut behind him with his boot. “You just can’t help yourself.”
Everything inside me leaps in fright. I refuse to put my hand over my startled heart. Playing the cardio card is cheating. “Oh, great. What have I done now?”
He’s angry eyes and crossed arms. “I have to push everyone hard to finish this place. When it’s done, then they drink. For now, they work.”
“But what they do in their free time—”
“I don’t want them getting caught up in the Darcy Barrett whirlwind. Believe me, once you’re in it, you can’t get out.” His phone buzzes and he rejects the call hard enough to crack the glass. “This is week one, Darce. You should have asked me first.”
“All I did was suggest that—”
“You invited the entire site crew out to a bar, where the hot homeowner”—here, he indicates quotation marks with his fingers in a way that feels insulting—“is going to lay on cheap drinks. Cancel it. Half of them have to work Saturday morning.”
“Looks like I’ve pissed off my hot builder.” I give him the same quotation fingers back. “You can’t decide what they do in their free time. They’re big boys. And I was told that I make things fun around here.”
Surely he knew I’d take the bait on that?
“This entire thing? It’s my thing.” He makes a hand motion that apparently encompasses the entire house and everything in it. “I’m everyone’s boss. Even yours. Ask me before you do stupid shit like this again.” He puts his head out the door. “Friday’s canceled.”
“That sucks,” I hear Alex say as the door is shut again.
“You’re being an asshole. It really doesn’t suit you.” It knocks a little of his momentum out of him, but he rallies after a beat and lowers his voice.
“If I don’t keep it together, this entire project will turn to shit. I have to be the hard-ass boss to these guys. And now to you, apparently.”
“Well, if this is the complete reaming a new employee gets when they make an innocent mistake, then you’re not a very good boss.” I aim a low blow. “Just because you have no life doesn’t mean the rest of us should just stay home.”
He’s incredulous. “I have no life because I’m trying to sell your house.”
“You’ve had no life for a long time now. When was the last time you went out? Had a drink, dinner, a date? When was the last time you went swimming?”
“I’ve got no time.”
“You’re always saying that. The Tom I knew couldn’t live without chlorine.”
“Well, the Darcy I knew took photos of real shit and of her own volition. Don’t be pretending to me like your life is so fulfilling.” He puts a hand in his hair. “I cannot think straight with you in here.”
He leaves a big pause, and there’s that familiar look in his eyes. I’ve seen it so many times, right before he chooses Jamie’s side. “I think this whole idea of having you work was a mistake.”
“Don’t you fucking dare try to cut me out of this. You’re overreacting like crazy.”
“You just get me so . . .” Tom closes his eyes. There’s that shoulder roll. Like he’s climbing back into his body a little. “Just look at it from my perspective. These guys on-site, they know I’m the boss. You’re the homeowner. We’re a team now. I thought I got that across to you.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be nice to these guys.”
He leans on the wall, coating his shoulder in dust. “Early on, I was everyone’s friend, but I got walked over. I suppose that’s not news to you.” There’s vulnerability there before he blinks it away. “I’m supposed to be in control of everything.”
Colin’s list of burdensome responsibilities is still running on a loop in the background, and I nearly open my mouth to ask if everything is going okay. But I can’t. He’ll just growl at me.
My glowing sense of pride is completely gone now. “I was really enjoying myself just now. I was looking forward to you seeing what I did. And you come in and tell me I shouldn’t even be here? Real nice.” I pull on the window for air. Of course, the little asshole doesn’t budge.
“Leave it. I’ll do it.” For him, the fucking thing will probably slide up like silk. I go for the crowbar on the floor but Tom puts his boot on it. “I said demo the room, not level it to the ground.”
“Another thing, Tom. Don’t tell people to keep an eye on me. That’s really insulting. Do they all know about my . . . ?” I tap my chest.
“Just these three know. I doubt my insurance covers you doing this. That’s the risk I’m taking for you. And now I have to go and find a new roofing contractor.” His eyes narrow.
“Why is that my fault?”
“I fired him.” Tom might as well have a sledgehammer in his fist now.
Well, at least I know who called me hot-in-quotation-marks. “You’ve been marinating in too much testosterone. I was doing a job in here.”
His eyes flash bright. “And that’s why I have zero patience for guys who talk like that about women on a job site. I’d fire him for saying that about anyone, not just you.”
Every time Tom steps up to the plate and shows me who he is, it’s a relief. Aldo would have roared laughing. I look out the window. “What exactly did he say?”
“I’ll spare you the details.”
I put my hand on my hip. “Well, am I digging a grave or not?”
He laughs without much humor. “Make it a real deep one. He was one of my last options, too. One of the last that Aldo hasn’t gotten to. Your house may have no new roof at this rate.”
I gesture upward. “I’m sure the one up there is fine.”
“Oh, Darce. If you knew the things I knew, you wouldn’t sleep. Not even in a bed like yours.”
My mattress made quite an impression. He’s thinking about it right now. His pupils are dialing out. I stab around for some way to toss some cold water on the rising heat in this room.
“Megan must have loved it when you got like this.”
“She’s never stepped foot on one of my sites. Never picked up a crowbar, much less broken a sweat.” His white teeth bite into his bottom lip. “I’ve never been like this. Whatever this is.”
The beast I had imagined as a child and that has followed me around the globe every step I took? The one that would sleep at the foot of my bed and tear out throats? He’s here in this room, but I’m not scared. If I stepped toe-to-toe with him and put my hand up, he would press his cheek into my palm. But now is not the time to explain the concept of Valeska.
“You’ve always been like this. Trust me.”
“Only around you. Never Megan.” His eyes hold steady on mine until whatever internal guilt-pinch he just experienced eases off. “I can see you like hearing that.”
I’ve probably got wolf eyes myself. “Of course I do. I’m a jealous bitch. She never came to visit? Not even once in a dress with a picnic basket?” He shakes his head. “Damn. If you were—” I cut myself off short.
His dark eyebrow arches. “If I were yours, what?”
I huff a disbelieving laugh. He’s getting bold. The way he’s looking at me right now? He’s going to lick me, just to know my taste.
I chicken out. “You don’t want to know what I mean.”
“The problem is,” he says with slow deliberation, “that I do want to know.”
“Use your imagination.” I have nothing. I’m outclassed here, and he knows it. There’s amusement in his eyes and the sharp point of his canine tooth showing as he steps back toward the door.
“I have been. That’s why I’m a goddamn wreck.” He opens the door like that’s going to keep us safe. A tiny bit of tension evaporates out of the room in a pink steam cloud, but it’s not enough. We could still leap on each other and give the guys in the hall a show.
He advances closer again, and with one finger he slides the strap of my tank back onto my shoulder.
In a voice so quiet I almost miss it, he says, “You’re driving me insane with your skin and your sweat.” When he sees me recoil, he clarifies and my stomach bottoms out. “You seriously don’t know you’re sexy, do you?”
“No,” I manage to say. “I mean, I’ve been told—”
His eyes turn nuclear.
“But not by you. Never by you.”
“You’re wrong,” he argues. “I’ve told you in every way I could. Even when I shouldn’t have. Must have been fun for you, being able to tease and mess with me whenever we had thirty seconds alone.”
The eight long Megan years stretch behind us like a desert road. He thinks that was nice or enjoyable for me? Standing on the side of a bonfire, while he sat with Megan perched on his knee? Drinking until the knife point inside me dulled?
“Must have been nice for you, getting engaged and not having to give a shit about me or my skin. Look, I’m going to take the afternoon off.”
I grab the pink tarot tile and duck out from under his arm and blow down the hall, stepping over cords and men’s boots; out into the backyard; and into the studio. Patty’s claws click around on the floor but I’m too dispirited to look at her happy sunflower face.
He’s followed me of course. “I need you to keep working.”
“You don’t need me. I’m a novelty. No one takes me seriously. Every time I pick up a tool, I feel like everyone’s thinking, Aw, so cute! I’m a freakin’ Patty.”
“You know that’s not true. You worked your ass off.”
I put the tarot card on my bench. “I do nothing but stress you out. I’m a liability. You said it yourself. I’m going to do you a favor and clear out for a bit.”
Tom leans on the door frame of my bedroom but he won’t step an inch inside. It’s probably to keep himself safe. “Jamie bet me a hundred bucks you’d quit in the first week, but I said you wouldn’t. Are you going to give this win to him?”
“I’m not quitting, I’m just . . . leaving.” I gesture up at the house, where an audience is building. “They’re all waiting for the big boss.”
He gives up on me. “Must be nice to just leave when things get hard. Some of us don’t have that luxury.” He walks back to the house, where he’s surrounded by guys, all needing things done, answered, signed, sorted.
I rewind my memory. Cheap drinks. Bar. Enjoy this project. Is that really enough to derail an entire house renovation? I thought I was doing something good, but now shame is burning inside me, hot and sick.
It overrides everything; even the flush of pleasure in knowing I’m affecting him is tainted. It’s not something that he wants. The worst part about all of this? Jamie was right. I’m disrupting Tom so much he can’t do his job or enjoy his new challenge as boss. He’s completely tormented.
I pick up the envelope with my passport application in it. I’ll go mail this, then take my moldy old heart out for some day drinking. Who was I kidding? I’m not physically capable of the labor, or mentally fit to be a boss.
I have five names in my new phone’s contact list: Mom, Dad, Tom, Jamie, Truly. The only five who matter, and at this rate I might lose Tom altogether. My idiot thumb still thinks it is a twin, because it chooses Jamie first. I scroll again and dial Truly. She picks up on the first ring.
“Could you come pick me up? My car is blocked in by about a hundred trucks.” I look in the mirror. I am a hot mess. A gleaming, pink-faced mess, with smudgy eyes. Sexy? Tom’s been marooned on this desert island a little too long.
When Truly speaks, I know she’s got some sewing pins in her mouth. “Sure, I can be there soon. What’s happening?”
“The usual. My heart nearly blew up, I died of malnutrition, I invited the crew out to drinks, and then Tom’s head exploded.” I don’t hide my heart stuff from Truly, because she doesn’t lecture me about it.
I hear the sound of a sewing machine on the other end. “Drinks? Already? Aren’t they there for months?”
“Yes, but I was trying to bring a little fun into this.”
The whirring stops and starts. “You’d be making them all think this whole project is going to be easy and fun, when it’s not. They wouldn’t take it as seriously.”
“I want to create a team vibe.”
“You can probably think of ways for everyone to feel happy to be on this project without plying them with drinks. That’s kind of your default setting.”
“I’m a bartender.” This is not going how I thought it would.
“You don’t need to be on twenty-four/seven bartender mode when you’re not on shift. Just . . . be yourself for once. The real you. You know what I do when I make a mistake when sewing?”
“You have a complete mental and emotional breakdown. No wait, that’s me.” I sit on the edge of my bed and heave a sigh. “Jamie would love it if I quit.”
“When I make a mistake, I unpick it and I keep on sewing. And hey, Darce? You’re not a bartender. You’re a photographer. I wish you’d believe it again.”
I dolefully look up at the flash mob forming around Tom. “I keep trying to help, but it always ends badly. I’m beginning to think the best way might be to just stay off-site as much as I can.”
Truly sighs. “I’m on your side. Always and forever. But this job is about you actually staying for something big and finishing it. I love you, but that’s not what you’re generally known for.”
I’m stung. “I did weddings for how many years? I always showed up for them.”
“But you need to start looking at the bigger picture. Where’s your business now? You pressed the button and imploded that, just because you screwed up one time and that bride trashed you online.” More sewing noises. “You broke your own heart on that, and you need to forgive yourself for it.”
I chew my thumbnail and stubbornly say nothing.
“Just go and unpick your mistake and keep on sewing. He is not coping, Darce, that much is painfully obvious. Find out what you can do for him and do it.”
I pull open the sliding door and the sound causes half of the crew to look around. Fuck it. Let’s see if I can unpick this.
“Hey, guys, a quick word.” I try to not notice how Tom’s arms have crossed, his face taking on a careful, neutral expression. He’s expecting a blaze of glory right now.
“So I jumped the gun earlier. Apparently, you have the end-of-job party at the end of the job.” There’s laughter. “My bad. I’ll order pizza for everyone tomorrow. Eating it here with no alcohol whatsoever. Then we all resume working our asses off. That’s my best offer.”
There’s no grumbling. In fact, they cheer, a big a-heeeeey!
That’s because pizza is a precious natural resource. It can heal tiredness, bad mood, falling morale, and a fading will to live. Pizza realigns the heart chakras. It can make Tom’s arms loosen and drop to his sides. It can make his eyes spark with humor. He smiles and shakes his head.
It makes him look at me like he loves me again, and that’s why pizza is the greatest.
“Okay. Pizza party on Friday. Now get your asses back to work. That means you too, Darcy.”
Late in the afternoon, Tom approaches me. He’s tired, with paperwork in his hands. His phone has been crying like a baby all afternoon. “I’m going down to the gym to take a shower.”
I want to thank him for the mental image. “The gym has a pool, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t have time.”
“Get in the water. Even ten minutes. It’s what you need.” He needs time. How can I give him more time? Come on, Loretta. Give me a sign. What can I do? How can I instill a bit of calm in his life?
His phone begins ringing, and it becomes so obvious I want to slap myself. I put my arms around his waist and pull his phone from his back pocket.
“Valeska Building Services. Darcy speaking. Yep, I can get back to you on that.” I pull a piece of paper from my back pocket and write, Tile color? “Yep. In the morning. Bye.”
He stares at me. I have no idea if I’m about to be screamed at.
The phone rings again. “I’d better buy a notepad. Valeska Building Services. Darcy speaking. What? Alex. I’m answering Tom’s phone from now on. If you left your phone here, it stays here until the morning. I don’t know! Watch TV. Yep. Bye.” I hang up. “No message required.”
“You’re not a secretary, you’re my client.” Tom grabs at it when it rings again. I hold up my finger and answer it again.
“Sure, but it’ll have to be the morning.” I write down, Rental equipment confirmation. “He’s finished for the day. Bye.”
I put his phone in my back pocket, and it feels like it belongs there.
“Go. If you don’t come back with chlorine on you, I’m going to be pissed off. I’ll clear your voicemail and write a list of questions for you. I’ll call them back. It’s going to be okay.”
“Darce.” His voice is wretched with gratitude and his body droops with exhaustion. He looks like he wants to get down on his knees and kiss the toe of my boot.
“Don’t cry.” I pat his shoulder. “It’s just a few messages.”
