ME:You got it. See you in a few!
“Honey, I’m home!” I call out when I push through the front door, a coffee in each hand.
Jack is perched at the peninsula, reading a comic book and eating a piece of toast. “Do you plan to announce it like that every time you come in?”
“Um, yes.” I hand him his coffee and dump my bag on the stool next to him.
He clears his throat. “How was your first morning of funemployment?”
“I’m sorry, did you mean, how was the first morning of the rest of your life?” I think that makes five times I’ve thought that phrase. Maybe six.
“Sure, that too.” He stands and crosses to the fridge, taking out the milk and adding some to his coffee. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I’m making note of how you take your coffee, like a good roommate.” I hoist myself onto his vacated stool. “I like vanilla lattes, by the way. Iced in summer, hot in the winter.”
“Good to know.”
“So, Jack—is that your full name or a nickname? If it’s your full name I’m probably going to have to think of something else to call you, because while Jack is very much in line with what I know of your personality so far, it doesn’t have quite enough oomph there for me. I need some more syllables.” I pause for a second to sip my latte.“Anyway, it occurred to me this morning as I was putting together the plans to shape the rest of my life into something meaningful and not soul-sucking, I have no idea what you do for a living.”
“Hmm.” He reaches for his toast, which is now in front of me since I stole his seat.
I push the plate across the counter at the same time he grabs for it, and our hands brush up against each other. And I can’t help but notice what nice hands he has. His fingers are long, his skin soft. They look like the kind of hands a doctor might have, or maybe a sculptor. Strong but gentle, purposeful but kind.
But yeah. Anyway.
“So what is it you do for a living, Jack Be Nimble?” Pulling my attention from his nice-looking hands, I focus on his equally nice-looking eyes.
He stares into his coffee like it can tell him the future.
“Oh my god, you’re totally a black-market drug dealer, aren’t you?”
“Technically I think all drug dealers are black-market drug dealers.”
“If you think I’m going to be deterred from this conversation, then you clearly haven’t been paying attention. I don’t know if you remember or not, but I don’t currently have a job, so I can literally sit here and badger you all day, or you can just tell me a few tiny details about yourself. Despite my assholeish nature, I’m mostly not judgmental.”
He leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t currently have a job.”
“Dude! Are we going to be funemployed together?” I hold my hand up for a high five, but he leaves me hanging. Rude.
“I’ve actually never had a job. And I’m not currently looking for one. Or planning to get one.”
I choke on my coffee. “You’ve never had a job? Like ever? Not even a babysitting gig or a bartending shift?”
He shrugs, and another one of those red flushes creeps up hischeeks. “I realize how much of a dick this makes me, but I’ve never needed to work a traditional job. And so I haven’t.”
I—the person who ran my own rip-off version of the Baby-Sitters Club until I was legally old enough to work—cannot even fathom just not working. Like just not having a job. I know that sounds like the kind of thing most people dream about, but it sounds like my worst fucking nightmare. Sitting around all day with nothing but my inner thoughts? No thank you. “So what do you do all day?” The question flies out of my mouth before I think it through.
Jack shrugs again. “I play video games and read and take lots of walks.”
“And for the other twenty-two hours?” My voice screeches at a level probably only the neighborhood dogs can hear. “Sorry, I know I promised not to be judgmental and I’m not judging, really—I’m just trying to figure out how you do this, because I literally think I’d lose my mind if I didn’t have some kind of structure to my life.”
He purses his lips, pulling his eyes away from mine. “I probably did lose my mind there a bit. Maybe more than a bit.” He pulls his arms tighter around his chest, like they’re physically bracing him.
Well, shit. I want nothing more than to jump out of my seat and give him a big hug, but I don’t think we’re quite there yet. The man just denied my high five, for god’s sake. But this is clearly a hell of a lot more than just not needing to work. If all this financial security came with the price tag of losing his parents, I can only imagine the guilt. And the grief. I don’t know how far I can push him, given the whole known-him-for-two-weeks deal. Even if we are living together now, something is telling me it’s time to back off.
So I do what I do best: deflect the conversation by talking aboutmyself. “Well, I think my first few hours of the first day of the rest of my life went swimmingly. I found some bars I’m going to hit up for a potential part-time job—see, told you I’d manage to pay my rent. And I did all kinds of research about what I’ll need to get Bridge and Blooms—isn’t that like the most perfect name? I’m obsessed—up and running. And now I’m going to dive into one of my favorite things ever, spreadsheets. I’m not even lying about that. Finance might be boring as fuck most of the time, but I make one kick-ass spreadsheet.”
A teeny-tiny hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Something tells me you kick ass at anything you put your mind to.”
