Sebastian

 

I collect the trimmings from the platter I’ve been working on and chuck them into the recycle bin before I place the large tray on the drying rack. I wash up and begin to wrap up and box the set of dinner plates and bowls that I finished the other day. I really should call Malcolm at the community centre where I did my last free youth class and schedule another one. There isn’t a whole lot to do in the middle of a city that doesn’t cost money and when you run purely on donations and a fixed budget, it gets tough to entertain the kids with things that are challenging.

I remember being a complete punk before I took my first art class, having no patience or respect for something that I always associated as being girly. The first time I watched my art teacher throw a massive porcelain bowl, I remember thinking anyone could do that shit. It was hell on my delicate teenage ego when he let me take his seat and put my cockiness on the line. After several failed attempts, I eventually admitted defeat and begged him to teach me. It was the beginning of my passion I guess you could say and if I can repay that to some other know-it-all punk, I will.

I glance at the clock and decide to call it a night. My back is begging for a massage and I’m beat. I flick off the lights and lock up, the sun already set, the glow of the crooked streetlights guiding me to my truck. I turn on the engine and reach into my glovebox for my phone, seeing I have several messages from Mason wondering if we’re on for tonight. My thoughts turn to Anna and then back to the throbbing muscles in my back before I respond not tonight and hit send. I’m sure I’ll catch shit for it but I’m not in the mood for company. Especially loud company.

As I drive home, I realize that the last six years have passed by in a blur of booze, women and shit that I used to think was fun but for whatever reason, I’m now bored with. I’ve worked steadily and made a name for myself but anything outside of my studio walls has been meaningless bullshit. I shake off my pending mood as I park out back and head upstairs. I stop by my place first and change before I head up to the roof.

After spending the better part of the last six years crashing in Mason’s guestroom, I decided it was time to find a place of my own. Business has done well enough that I was able to splurge a little and one of the reasons I signed a lease for this place is what’s up top. As I make my way up the narrow staircase, the idea of hot water massaging my back and shoulders almost makes me whimper. I send a mental thank you to the rich bastard who built this place and had the foresight to install an outdoor pool and hot tub.

I have yet to see anyone else up here at night but when I open the door, I see Anna sitting on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water. When the door clicks shut she jumps slightly and turns, wiping the heel of her hand across her cheek. Shit. I think about turning and running back down the stairs like a pussy but my throbbing shoulders protest immediately.

Before I can think too much of it, my legs begin to move and I find myself taking the seat beside her. I chuck my towel onto one of the lawn chairs along with my shoes and socks before I slip my legs into the water beside hers.

After several beats, I find myself curious enough to ask, “Another bad date, freckles?”

“Afraid not,” she says quietly. “My sister’s birth mom died today.”

“Your sister’s birth mom? Are you about to unload an episode of Maury on me?”

She turns toward me and rolls her eyes before kicking up her slender foot and splashing me. “No,” she says. “My foster sister, Dru…she found out today that her mother died.”

“Hmm. That’s a tough one,” I say. “Losing a parent isn’t easy.”

She looks at me knowingly but doesn’t press. “She hadn’t seen her in a long time, she wasn’t even really a parent at this point or any point I suppose, but I think Dru had a secret hope that maybe someday her mother would get her life together,” she says sadly. “I just feel bad, you know?”

“Are you close?”

“Yeah, we are,” she says smiling. “Do you have siblings?”

“No.”

Silence settles between us, but it’s surprisingly comfortable. I glance down at Anna’s hand and notice several strings of colourfully painted macaroni tied around her wrist. I nudge her side and nod down to where her hand rests.

“You make those yourself?”

“Funny,” she replies. “I teach kindergarten at Walton Elementary. Today we made jewelry.”

“Ah, it all makes sense now,” I realize.

“What makes sense?”

“Your patience.”

“Are you comparing yourself to a five year old?”

“I think I might be,” I reply. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

“Sorry for keeping me awake and depriving me of countless nights of peaceful rest? Sorry for shutting your door in my face or sorry for telling me to pull the stick out of my ass?”

“All of the above?”

“You don’t apologize often, do you?”

“Apparently not, since I’m doing it wrong,” I say. “But I am sorry.”

She looks up at me thoughtfully. “All is forgiven,” she says. “Friends?” She holds out her hand.

“Friends.” I take her hand in mine. “I don’t have a lot of good friends,” I admit.

“Sometimes we surround ourselves with people that we know will never try to get in. It’s safer that way, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

The silence returns as our legs sway back in forth in the water. She nudges my side and glances down at the stains on my old T-shirt.

“Doing a bit of arts and crafts yourself?”

“Funny,” I say with a smile. “Work, actually.”

“Oh? And what type of work would that be?”

“Pottery,” I say casually.

“Wow, really? I never would have pegged you for the artist type,” she says. “Shame on me, I suppose. Dru is an artist, she paints and sketches,” she continues with pride. “Do you sell the things you make?”

“I do. Mostly commission pieces and retail contracts, I haven’t done a show in a long time,” I tell her. “But I manage to make a living, so I’ll ride it while I can.”

“Good for you,” she replies sincerely. “Well, I should probably get going. You came up here for a reason and I’m probably holding you up.”

I’m about to object but she quickly scoots back on the cement, lifts her legs from the water and reaches for her shoes. I can’t remember the last time I talked to someone so easily, I didn’t even realize how much time had gone by.

“Have a good night,” she says.

“See you around freckles.” I continue to stare at the water and out at the city lights beyond.

“Sebastian?” she calls from the open door.

I turn my gaze and she smiles softly. “Thanks,” she says before turning and heading down the stairs.

I stand from the edge of the pool and uncover the hot tub in the corner of the makeshift patio. I pull off my shirt and sink into the hot water, groaning as the jets hit every single muscle.

 

 

*

 

“What’s with you lately?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t call, you don’t write,” Mason jokes. “Even now, you’re a million miles away in that pretty little head of yours.”

“Shut up and help me load these crates,” I smirk, slapping him in the chest with a pair of leather gloves.

We’re currently at my studio where he’s supposed to be helping me load up my newest stock so that I can drop it off at the indie shop downtown that sells the household items that I make. It’s one of the steady commissions that I’ve been lucky enough to maintain for the last several years.

“Look, all I’m saying is you went from party central to nada in a matter of a couple weeks,” he says. “I don’t give two fucks if you don’t want to waste your time with those superficial freeloaders who hang on your every word,” he continues. “But what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” I grunt, hefting a large box into the cab of my pickup. “Shit just gets old man.”

I don’t really know what to tell him other than that partial truth. If I were being honest with him, I’d tell him that I’m restless as fuck lately and that I’ve been working non-stop and crashing the minute my head hits the pillow at night. The last time I was in a zone like this was after McKenna, and I don’t want to hash out that fucking shit show with him right now.

“I get that,” he says. “Jenna’s been whining down at Cinder’s wondering where you’ve been and why you haven’t called.”

“I never call.”

“Yeah, I reminded her, but she’s clingy as fuck,” he shudders. “Next time you see her you better set her straight.”

We surround ourselves with people that we know will never try to get in.

Anna’s words slip into my mind and it’s on the tip of my tongue to repeat them out loud, but I don’t. I haven’t seen her since that night on the roof, but I’ll admit that I’ve thought about her a couple times. Not in a way that I’d typically think of a woman, which would include various mental images; like what they would look like bent over my kitchen table. No…when Anna crosses my mind, I think about how easy it was to talk to her. Friend shit.

“Christ, how many of these damn boxes you got?” Mason whines.

“Calm down pretty woman,” I grin. “Consider it weight training for all those clients of yours. They need something to ogle while you pretend to listen to their problems.”

“Fuck you Seb, I’m an excellent listener,” he argues.

“I bet you are.”

“I got a five hundred dollar tip last week because of my listening skills,” he boasts. “I turned an insecure thirty-eight year old divorcee into a confident and active member of the dating pool.”

“Before or after she suc-.”

“Maryanne was classy as hell,” he interrupts. “So shut your mouth and let’s finish this shit so you can buy me a beer.”

“Whatever you say,” I chuckle.

We finish loading up my shipment and head downtown. The small shop sits nestled between an artisan bakery and a clothing store. The glass shoe is an independently owned, overpriced shop full of trinkets and random household items that every single self-proclaimed art connoisseur in the city goes nuts over. I don’t know how in the hell my colourfully mismatched dishes fit in, but apparently they do because they sell out every month.

Once we’ve unloaded the crates and I pick up my cheque from last month’s supply, we head back to the truck and I take Mason out for the beer that he’s been whining for. I give him shit, but he really is my oldest and truest friend. We met in seventh grade when his parents shipped him off to live with his grandmother and she stuck him in the same private school that my parents forced me into. He wound up in my homeroom and we’ve had each other’s backs ever since.

It’s well past eleven by the time I pull into the small lot behind my building. The outside lamp casts just enough light for me to see the path around to the front door. Just as I walk around the corner, a taxi pulls up and Anna steps out. I pause and wait for her to make her way to the sidewalk.

“Hey,” she says.

“Nice shoes,” I say, nodding down at the tall black heels dangling from her hand.

“Ugh, these damn things,” she replies. “I reached my maximum level of discomfort about two hours ago and couldn’t wait to take them off,” she sighs.

If she were wearing the heels, she’d still be shorter than my six-foot three frame. Her open jacket lets me see the modest black dress beneath and I notice her hair is swept up in some fancy shit and I can tell she’s wearing more makeup than I’ve seen on her before. The last time I saw her she was wearing a short bright blue skirt and a mismatched boldly printed blouse; her hair was loose and plain and every freckle was visible on her face. I suspect the former is more her style.  

“Big party?”

She tilts her head to the side and looks at me with furrowed brows before glancing down at her dress and laughing lightly.

“Oh, no. Well kind of,” she says. “Dru, the sister I told you about?”

When I nod my remembrance and we begin to make our way to the front door, she continues, “She had her first show tonight. And I’m not an expert, but I think it was a total success,” she smiles.

“I’m sure it was,” I agree truthfully. I’d asked around a bit after Anna had mentioned her before and apparently Dru Marx is well-known in several small circles. Her bright colours and at times unconventional gambles often pay off and people are starting to notice.

“Where have you been? I hardly know what to do with myself and all this quiet,” she jokes, gesturing to the space around her.

“Working mostly,” I reply. “But if it would make you feel better, I can have some people over tonight,” I grin.

She smacks my chest and smirks as we make our way up the last step and into the hallway. “No thank you,” she says, stifling a yawn. “Although I doubt I’d hear much anyways, it’s been a long week.”

I stop at her door as she digs through her small black purse and pulls out her keys. She turns to unlock the door and glances back at me as I step toward my own.

“Sweet dreams, freckles,” I say.

“Sweet dreams, Sebastian.”