“Furniture?” I parrot.
“For the penthouse.” He helps me into the car as it pulls up. Once he is inside next to me and the car is pulling back away from the curb, I ask the next question.
“Your penthouse is furnished. Why do we need?—”
“Because it’s my stuff.”
“I like your stuff,” I lie.
He knows. “No you don’t. I don’t even like it. It’s cold and impersonal.”
“Stagey.” I add.
“Exactly.”
I smile and he almost does. Then I get an idea. “Can I pick where we go?”
Ransome arches an eyebrow but I go on.
“If you want me to pick new things, we have to shop where I like to shop.”
He’s hesitant, but finally breaks. “Alright. You lead the way.”
I connect my Bluetooth to the car and reroute.
Ransome looks suspicious of the name of the store—The Freckly Walrus—but says nothing. Good man. He’d never go if he knew where I was taking him.
We pull up to the warehouse-esque building, and this time, Ransome is the one looking out the windshield suspiciously. But I copy his movements and get out, a smile on my face and a giddy skip in my step. Ransome joins me.
“Is this a consignment place?” he asks.
“Yes! Sort of. Come on, it’s the best, I swear to God.”
I tug him in before he can say anything. It’s more of a drag, really. Like his heels are practically skidding on the floor.
He stops dead once we are inside, his face doing its best to stay slack but losing the battle and screwing into a look of disgust.
“It… smells funny.”
“That’s because it’s all handmade or gently used.”
I say it like it’s a good thing. He hears it like I said everything is infested with scarlet fever.
I laugh.
We pursue around and his face doesn’t change. Meanwhile, I find some artwork, some metal chimes, a vase, macrame, and then stop in front of an orange vintage couch.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks, uncomfortably rubbing the nape of his neck. “We don’t have to shop cheap, you know.”
A lady gives him an ugly once-over before mumbling something about him being a prick. We both ignore her.
“It’s not about the cost for me, Ransome. It’s about the character. If you hate it, we won’t decorate your penthouse with it.”
“I didn’t mean that. I just mean… I don’t know. I assumed you liked this stuff because it’s all you could have.”
I giggle and flop down on the orange couch. “I like this stuff because it’s unique and fun and has a story. I like it because it connects you to people. And if it costs less, that works too.”
Ransome stares at the couch with narrow eyes.
