“I see that.”
The three of us maneuver through rows of guitars, dodging the occasional customer on our way. Some people give my dog a strange look, but my girl keeps being her well-mannered self. Constantly proving all the myths about pit bulls wrong.
“Back here.” Cassandra holds open a door leading to a well-equipped repair shop.
There are a few disassembled instruments on high-top tables. The pieces give my gut an anxious twinge, and I’m glad I’m not the one in charge of putting them back together. Even with as much as I know, I’d never get them all right.
“Here. I found these at an estate sale in Georgia. Aren’t they gorgeous?” Cassandra gestures to four guitars propped side by side.
I crouch down to get a better look, realizing that she has a collection of Fenders.
“Are these all pre-1960?”
“You got it. They need some work, but, man, do they have good bones.”
“They’re beautiful.” I reach out to stroke my thumb across the strings. Not trying to play anything, but just experimenting with the sound.
“You should come by once I’ve gotten a chance to work on them. Or come by any other time. I don’t care. You seem like good people.”
Cassandra’s blunt way of speaking has me smiling to myself.
“Thanks. I’m glad I met you.”
She wanders away from me. “Violet does that. Brings people together. She works with your wife, right? Newlyweds. How’s that going?”
I glance up at Cassandra from where I’m crouched. She’s moved over to one of her workbenches and looks to be testing the strength of the glue she applied to a neck.
“Things are …” I trail off, realizing I don’t want to lie to this woman. Not after she’s shown me these beautiful instruments. I get the sense that Cassandra is trying to reach out to me. Maybe make a new friend.
And friends shouldn’t lie to each other.
“Honestly, they’re a little tense. We’re not balanced.”
Someone used to repairing delicate instruments would know how important balance is.
“How so?” Cassandra asks.
While I’m on her level, I scratch Pig behind her ears, and her tail raps happily against the ground. There are so many ways Luna and I are off-center. My ever-present crush could be the most prevalent reason. I long for her to a massive degree while I doubt Luna feels more than an average level of attraction.
But that’s digging a little too deep for a new friendship.
I choose another more relatable answer.
“Luna is the breadwinner. And I’m fine with her making more than me. We both agreed I’d take this year off from work to figure out a new life direction. A new career. But I haven’t made much headway. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not contributing anything to our relationship.”
Luna would argue that me being in the relationship is enough, but it’s not for me. Not when she only sees me as the key to some cash. If I’m jobless by the end of the year, would I have the nerve to ask her to consider continuing our marriage?
“You’re switching careers?”
“Trying. I worked in fabric sales. Over in Germany. But I got antsy. Fabrics just aren’t something I’m passionate about, and that’s what I want in my next job.”
For someone trying to pursue desire, a marriage of convenience sounds like the most emotionless choice I could make. And yet my fake relationship has more passion than anything else in my life.
Cassandra studies me while I rise to my feet. “Was it just the fabrics part, or did you also dislike being a salesperson?”
Luna asked a similar question back when I first admitted my dissatisfaction.
“Actually, the sales part was enjoyable. Getting to know people, figuring out which product would meet their needs, having them leave happy. All that was great. But then I’d get home at night and realize I had just talked about fabric all day. Like, yeah, I’d found the product they needed, but did they truly care about it? Once they had what worked, did they ever give it a second thought?” I shrug. “That slowly sucked any ounce of joy out of it.”
