It was Adrian’s turn to shrug. “Sorry,” he said, trying to perform grace despite his annoyance. “Does the owner actually want to pay me to restore the mural, or was this some elaborate excuse to get me over here?”
The restaurant owner’s most redeeming quality was that she’d kept Tom employed for the past two years despite his lackluster work attendance; she wasn’t good at management.
“She does want the mural restored. Sheprobablywill pay you, except, you know, you could also do it for free because of all the free food you’ve been eating for the past two months?” Tom said with narrowed eyes. “You can come back on Monday and do it.”
“So, you called me tonight... why?” Adrian asked, exasperated.
“I called you to come get your jailbait girlfriend and take her home, because it looks like she’s had a shitty day, and I’m going to be mixing kamikaze shots until after midnight,” Tom snapped.
“You could have just told me that,” Adrian insisted.
The two dishwashers stubbed out their cigarettes and headed back to the kitchen, alarmed by their loud voices.
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Tom sniffed.
“Of course I’d come.”
“Caroline said you’ve beenbusy,” he told Adrian, using air quotes. “That’s why she called me.”
Inappropriate jealousy squirmed through Adrian’s chest. He was relatively certain at this point that Tom had no untoward designs on Caroline, but that didn’t make him entirely comfortable with the situation. And he hadn’t been busy doing anything important—just putting off the call to Mike and trying not to think about Caroline.
“Whyyouthough?” Adrian demanded.
“Because she knows I’m her friend for free, maybe?” Tom said.
Tom wasn’t trying to be snotty, but the idea made Adrian’s gut lurch like a missed stair.
“She could have called me if something was wrong. I’m not charging her to hear about her day,” Adrian insisted.
“You can see how she would think that though. Seeing as she is, in fact, paying you to spend time with her,” Tom said without looking at him, finally dropping his own cigarette butt on the ground. Adrian trailed him back into the kitchen.
Adrian clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. “Do you think I should quit?”
He thought about it every time he saw Caroline. Or thought about her. So multiple times an hour, he thought,I should quit. Of course, he’d wanted to quit before he had even started, but accepting that she’d be a long-term feature in his life regardless of whether she was paying him made the thought even more appealing. Much easier than just walking away and knowing she’d find someone else, probably someone without his scruples. Even Tom thoughtAdrian should have had Caroline’s ankles around his ears weeks ago, and he was a person of reasonable moral fiber.
“Quit and do what?” Tom asked, looking back over his shoulder as he washed his hands.
Adrian sighed. “I’d still have to do the same thing. It costs money to be an artist. Even if I can’t make it to Art Basel this year, I need to start showing again somewhere before I can sell anything, and I can’t even afford shipping and application fees right now. And you were right, this is the fastest way for someone with my credentials to make money.”
Tom dramatically squished up his face in distaste.
“Do you think Caroline’s going to be happy if you can’t take her out to the opera on Friday nights because you have to go stick your hand up Melinda Gates’s blouse?”
Adrian was vaguely nauseous at the thought. No, he didn’t think Caroline would be happy about it, and he wouldn’t be either. He covered his face with his hands.
“No,” he groaned. He’d always thought that moral choices were obvious, but that didn’t mean they were cheap. “I just need to save a few thousand dollars. It’ll take me a couple more months. I can quit then.” Then he’d be working as an artist again, and if Caroline still wanted his company, he wouldn’t have to hang a price tag on it. She’d just be his friend Caroline who he knew from very vague circumstances, and maybe when she was older, someday—
“Tellher that. Tell her you like her for free. I wouldn’t assume she knows. You know, I think she’s neurodivergent?”
“What, did she say something to you?” Adrian asked, wheeling on his roommate, once again stung that Tom seemed to know something about Caroline that he didn’t.
“No, she didn’t, but she reminds me of one of mycousins, and you know she’s from a small town in the South, so—”
“So you don’t actually know,” Adrian snapped. “I can’t treat her differently because of your armchair diagnosis.”
“You’d rather just fuck things up by accident?”
“No! I mean, Caroline tells me how she wants me to treat her.”
