If Cal isat all surprised to find me in the back room, singing “Jingle Bells” while I sit atop a huge kidney-shaped dressing table staring down at my phone, he doesn’t show it. Instead he comes over and slides his hands up my thighs. “You know what I’m going to tell you, Annie,” he says, somehow sounding both fond and annoyed. “Ass off my stock.”
“I thought you liked my ass.”
“I do like your ass. But it belongs on the merchandise even less than it belongs on the counter.”
He steps back to give me space to slide down, and when I’m on my feet, I say, “It’s not my fault you can’t control your dirty thoughts.”
“That’s not the primary reason,” he says.
I grin up at him. “But you admit that it’s stillareason.”
Cal folds his arms in front of him. “What are you doing back here anyway?”
I grab my phone from atop the dressing table and hold it up to show him the screen. “I was looking into where I can buytempered glass around here,” I say. “I think I want two forty-eight-inch rounds.”
“For…?”
“Oh, right. You were with a customer when I came in, so I haven’t gotten to show you yet.” I grab the painted screen from where I propped it up against the cinder block wall. “You know the lady down the street who sells stuff on the sidewalk?”
He nods. “Linda. One of Harold’s many neighborhood nemeses.”
“Okay, definitely want to know who else is on that list and why, but first…” I hold the screen in front of him so he can see it. “Isn’t this great?”
“Hm,” he says, inspecting the painting. “I remember there being a few of these in the windows of the houses around here when we moved to Hampden from Dundalk in 2006. They’re rarer now, though.”
“That’s what Linda told me. That it’s an old Baltimore artistic tradition that used to be more prevalent.”
“And the glass?” he prompts.
“Oh, right.” I prop the screen back against the wall and reach for Cal’s hand, leading him through the warren formed by all the various pieces awaiting their time in the showroom. “I was hoping you’d sell me this guy,” I say, lightly tapping the side of a 1960s rattan dining table base with the toe of my shoe, “and then I can take the screen out of its aluminum frame since it’s pretty banged up anyway, and press it between the two pieces of glass to make a new tabletop.”
Cal stares at the base, then at the screen off to the side, then at me. “Why?” he asks. “One piece of glass is all that’s needed to restore it. What’s the reason for buying two?”
I roll my eyes. “Weren’t you listening? I’m going to press the screen between them.”
He frowns. “But one piece of glass is what it’s missing right now. That’s all you need to do to bring it back to what it’s supposed to be. There’s no reason to spend more money and throw an old window screen in there when it won’t increase the value.”
This stubborn side of Cal hasn’t shown itself for a while, and I find I have even less patience for it now that we’re intimate than when I could just write him off as a jerk. My hands come to my hips. “You know what your problem is, Callahan Leitner?”
“Oh, I definitely have a lot more than one,” he says. “But go ahead.”
“You’re way too confident that you know how things aresupposedto be. But, like, why are you the authority on that? Who made you the Supreme Arbiter of Value, huh?”
“I’m not, it’s just that the appraisal ranges on UpAntique take into account condition and—” he starts.
“Never mind,” I say. “Forget it.”
I trudge out and make my way back to the front of the store. Cal follows behind.
“Annie,” he says.
“What?”
Cal places his hands on my upper arms, slowly moving them up and down in a soothing, apologetic way that immediately turns my frustration down a few notches. “It isn’t that I think I know how things aresupposedto be, it’s that restoring stuff as close to how it was before is what I’ve been trained to do. By Graham and Harold. In grad school. Whereas you have a talent for looking at something and imagining what it could become. I want to see things the way you do, to see all of the possibilities. But I’ve spent a lot of time having it drilled into me that objectshave more value the closer they are to their original condition. It’s a hard habit to break.”
“There are types of value other than monetary, Cal.” I lean in to rest my head against his chest the way it was in his bed a few hours ago. His heartbeat thumps into my ear as I explain, “The reason I wanted to buy the painted screen isn’t just because it’s interesting to look at, but because I love that it has roots here in this city. Maybe people don’t commission this kind of thing for their windows as often as they used to. But that doesn’t mean it can’t live on as art in their homes, a little piece of Baltimore history that friends and family can gather around as they enjoy a meal and each other’s company.” I tilt my chin up. “For me, transforming the past into something that’s better suited to the present is a way to honor where it came from without holding it back from what it’s meant to be next.”
He moves to plant a soft kiss on the top of my head. It’s all way too tender and comfortable for what is supposed to be a casual fling, but neither of us points this out.
