“He’s your brother.”
Carey takes another step inside, his tone straining. “And I hardly know anything about him anymore."
“And that’s my fault?”
He lets his head fall back, and groans. “What is your problem?”
“I’m talking to you.”
He walks to the cabinets that run adjacent to the desk and puts his grocery bags, and… a fucking camping chair, right on top of the art folders. “What have I ever done to you?” he asks, turning back to me.
“You mean I can’t just dislike you for no reason?”
“We’ve hardly ever talked. I’ve not been back here for years.”
“And yet, you’re here now.”
“My god, is it a fucking crime to think that maybe you’d be someone I could complain about my brother to? Seeing as he screwed you over as well.”
“I don’t talk bad about people.”
“Please,” he laughs, and it’s like nails scratching my spinal cord. “You’re friends with Eden. You talk shit about everybody.”
I sigh, “What do you want, Carey?”
“God, I… I don’t know anymore. I didn’t come in before because you were working on someone, so I came back. I was trying to be polite. I don’twantanything from you, but I arrived this morning from the other side of the world to find my brother has disappeared and now I’m on my own. I just thought you might be able to—fuck. I don’t know. At least he told you where he was going. I showed up to his entire apartment on the lawn. Shawn took everything. I have nothing.”
“I’m struggling to see how that’s my problem.”
“I never said it was your problem. I’m saying that he fucked us both over.”
“No. Your carefree party Christmas time has been upended. I’m actually fucked. I’ve got to work enough hours for meandyour brother to cover the debt he put us in.”
Carey opens his mouth, but after a second he closes it again. With his head down, he picks the bags and chair back up again and quietly says, “At least you have a reason to wake up every morning,” before letting himself out.
I know his brother told him to come but this isn’t a daycare center.
I’d rather do this all on my own than look at the blond haired version of Eden van der Hart every goddamn day.
I’ve been up since before the sun. Not because I wanted to be, but because I can’t fucking sleep.
Still running on the fumes of the caffeine pre-workout shake I had before the gym, I stare at the graffitied roller at the back of the shop, with my van still idling, as the song plays out on the radio.
When it’s over I grab my slippers from the passenger's seat and brave the November chill without a jacket.
Just inside the back door I stop, untie my shoes, and drop my slippers to the tiles. After scuffing them on, I line up my boots neatly.
Straight into the back room I put my wallet and keys in my locker and walk past the box of paper towels. Telling myself to remember to restock the cabinet, I take the broom from the corner and head out to the shop floor.
I sweep the tiles and take the trash cans from my station and desk to empty into the dumpster in the back lot. Tossing thetrash inside, a discarded sketch catches my eye. A joke from Monday, before everything blew up. Reeze’s client asked us all what our most ridiculous tattoo requests were, which led to a competition of who could come up with the most absurd design concept in five minutes.
I pick up my prize-winning sketch. A shark with a huge grin and a human dick as its dorsal fin with a speech bubble saying ‘Come on in, the water’s fine.’
Compelled by dopamine, or maybe just the distraction, I force all the trash into the can in the back room and head straight to the reception desk.
I take my sketch book from the top drawer, and as I flatten out the crumpled sketch, my attention is pulled to the flashing light on the shop's answering machine. I know I should listen to the messages, but my hand opens the drawer to take out a pack of black Sakura Pigma markers instead because I need to draw. And I do, until the shark with the veiny cock and balls on its back is almost jumping off the page.
Someone sneezes outside, and I look up. There’s a woman leaning beside the front door hugging something against her chest.
