There’s maniacal laughter from the announcer. “Only the top teams advance to the next round. Your assignment is to build a bookcase. Simple enough, right? Now, let’s get this party started.”
I huff. “More like divorce party. I know couples who barely make it out of IKEA alive.”
“This is hardly a challenge.” Basil straightens her back. “All we have to do is build one bookcase.”
“Right.” Timed, competing against several couples with hundreds of people watching…
The bell dings, interrupting my train of thought. Shouts roar against the summer breeze, commanding my limbs into motion. Sounds of ripping cardboard fill the air as boxes come undone. Outside the long plastic sheet holding the various screws and tiny parts. There’s not many pieces. Simple enough.
That’s where “simple” ends.
I watch Basil stick her nose into the instruction manual first and begin organizing the parts into groups.Miserablyslowly. I don’t know why I care about winning. Then again, I’m not great at losing either—not games, and not people. After plopping my butt onto the sand, I position the empty box on its side and stare at the picture, then pick up the screwdriver and start attaching two pieces together.
“That doesn't go together,” I hear Basil yell.
It’s not rocket science. “Yes, it does.”
I tighten another screw into the pre-drilled hole. She comes over and, with two fingers, grabs the thin piece of wood back from my hand and adds it to a pile. “Step one: the As go adjacent to the Es. But we need to make sure we have all the parts first. Otherwise this is futile.”
“The image is straightforward. Most times, companies give you extra pieces.”
She continues taking inventory mumbling something. I can only decipher the words, “not idiot proof.” Meanwhile, I pull another A from the pile and grab the Allen wrench. “We don’t have time for the instructions. I don’t need them. I’ll look at the picture.”
“Ever heard the saying ‘measure twice, cut once’?” Her tone doesn’t curb my increasing annoyance. She points at the paper, the line that says to not fully tighten the screws until the end. “By taking shortcuts, you’re risking failure. Instructions are made for a reason. The perfect end solution.”
“Perfection doesn’t necessarily equal competency,” I fire back without making eye contact. “Sometimes, you need to do whatever it takes to get the job done.”
She dismisses my words and continues skimming the paperwork. Then she walks over, brows scrunched in confusion. “Those two don’t go together until step five. Again, the instructions say to not fully tighten the screws until step—”
I let out an audible sigh. “We’re wasting time.”
If only Basil’s itinerary contained common sense on furniture assembly.
“We didn’t hire people to put together anything for us.” I study the picture on the box once more. “My dad was in the military. We moved around a lot and I got good at doing this.”
“Oh and you think I haven’t built anything before? We both know I’m not exactly a pillow princess.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I know from her case file, the property values alone, that her family has money. Maybe I shouldn’t judge her from the family life she didn’t choose to be born into, but I push the thoughts away. We’re running out of time and aren’t halfway done.
Finally, I retract my hand from reaching for a tool and meet Basil’s gaze. “Not all of us had the luxury of never getting our hands dirty. I wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t built a single piece of furniture a day in your life.”
“Wow. You’re making quite the assumption about me.” She squints a glare. “I’ve built plenty, thank you. In fact, I’m helping build a business empire. I’ve also organized events worth more than onethousandbookcases.”
“Right.”
“How many businesses have you built?” Her lips compress.
“I—”
A whistle sounds, then another. Cheers erupt as more couples finish, filling slots to advance. I look up and see a couple dramatically arguing and flaring their arms, screaming at each other, which makes me feel better. Some woman named Bear stomps away. The only reason I know her name is because the other woman with black hair just screamed it. The crowd is loving the hot-mess drama. The same woman marches after this Bear person, only to be met with a middle finger. Clearly a forfeit. At least we aren’tthatembarrassing. Yet time’s clicking by, and Basil and I are still bickering like an old couple. For what? She needs me, not the other way around.
“Fine.” I drop the bag of parts and brush the sand from my hands. “Put it together yourself, but don’t be a sore loser because you took too long.”
She scoffs. “Don’t try reverse psychology on me.Youput it together, and when it falls to shambles or you can’t blow the whistle, I’ll be here to tell you, ‘I told you so.’”
I shake my head and mutter a choice word under my breath.
Basil stands over me, arms crossed over her chest. “I bet you can’t finish on time.”
