If you’ve made it this far, you’re sure to make a sale. Keep going. You can do it!
* * *
Nine times out of ten,that last statement is blatantly false—just like this call to Mrs. Jackson. She lives in an apartment building and has no use for solar panels. In the scheme of things, this wasn’t a bad call. A least she was nice.
In the year or so I’ve worked here, I’ve sold only two sets of solar panels. Why they keep me here, I have no idea, because there are people here who sell the shit out of the things. One thing’s for sure, I’d make more money if I sold the product. I guess I’m not a salesperson.
On the bright side, there could be worse things I could be peddling… auto warranties for one. I had an offer at a place that did that, and my dad told me those were scams and to avoid that kind of work.
“Sell something tangible,” he’d said.
So, that’s what I’m doing—at least until I can figure out a way to do something else, something I love, like training dogs. As it is, I do both and barely make enough to live at my childhood home.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Alec
“Carnations?”I snap at my brother. “You give old ladies carnations, Adrian.” (No offense to old ladies. I meant no disrespect, just trying to make a point to my idiot brother.)
“They were on sale.”
No words required. The sound of my growl is enough.
“And roses mean love, man. You don’t give roses unless you’re married to the woman. Don’t you know that?”
“Roses mean a lot of things. You made me look like a cheap asshole.”
“You are a cheap asshole. Besides,Ipaid for them.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
“If you’re so pissy about it, tell her I picked ’em out. Or better yet, get online and send your own fucking flowers. Or call 1-800-bouquets or some shit.”
He’s got a point. Except, what message would I be sending Matilda if Adrian brought her flowers one day and I had something else delivered the next? Probably a confusing one. I’m not ready for this situation to progress into something more just yet. There are too many loose ends right now.
“Can I go now?”
“Fine.”
Adrian has the last word. “Good talk, fucker.” And he’s gone.
Staring down at the phone, I’m at a loss. “What’s going on?” Ben’s voice is raspy from having tubes down his throat for days. He’s finally out of intensive care, but he’s on some special floor in the hospital where no one leaves Ben alone. A nurse is in the room 24/7.
“Nothing.”
“Is it about that girl? The one on your phone?”
Ben doesn’t need to worry about this shit. It’s minor bullshit. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, man.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically. “For fuck’s sake, give me something else to think about besides all this bullshit.”
So, I tell him about my brother and the incident at the restaurant, the carnations, Matilda’s few text messages after receiving them, and how I’ve received nothing after. From that, I know things aren’t okay.
“You gave her carnations?” Becky asks, stepping into the room. She’s been doing double duty between the hospital and home with the kids. She looks exhausted, honestly. Besides the fact Ben’s my best friend, I’m doing whatever I can to help them while I can since they’re transporting him out of state to a military rehab facility in Maryland soon.
“I didn’t. My brother did. I asked him to get roses, but carnations were on sale.”
Becky rolls her eyes like her husband did a minute ago. “Carnations are the worst. That guy”—she points a thumb at Ben—“learned that the hard way.”
