“Oh my god, what the hell are you doing?”  Sarah yelled around the corner. I could barely hear her over the bang of chisel on tile.

I turned around, took off my glasses to wipe the dust from my face, and put them back on to look at her through the hazy lenses. She stood in the doorway holding a bottle of wine and a bag of groceries. He eyes were huge and her mouth hung open.

Beckett, her veterinarian friend from work, stood behind her, a bemused smile on his face.

I picked up the sledgehammer and held it up. “I’m redoing my bathroom, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Um, okay…but I thought you weren’t going to do that yet?”

“Yeah. I decided there was no time like the present.”

Sarah squinted at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m great! You haven’t lived until you’ve taken a sledgehammer to your bathroom.” I’d been hacking at this bathroom every chance I got — it was the greatest therapy ever.

Beckett laughed. Sarah turned and shot him a look. “Don’t encourage him!”

“Why not?” I said, smiling my thanks at Beckett. “I’m totally fine. Encouragement welcome!”

Sarah gave me her ‘I don’t believe you,’ face. “Okay, well, I’m going to make dinner, so why don’t you take a break. I tried texting you before but you didn’t answer. Not that I’m shocked.”

“I’ll take a break in a minute,” I ignored her comment about texts. No one was going to make me do anything online ever again. I went back to chipping the tile off the wall. It was so satisfying. Dig the chisel under the tile, hit it with the hammer, watch the tile fall. Sometimes it came off in big pieces, sometimes it came off in little pieces. It’s like picking at something, but the damage is desirable.

Sarah disappeared into the kitchen and started banging around. She would have something delicious in no time.

Beckett leaned on the door frame and watched me work. “So how are you liking Amberly?”

“It’s okay, kind of slow and quiet. Everyone is really nice — and tolerant too,” I said, focusing on my task. “They talked me into buying the fireman calendar yesterday.”

Beckett laughed out loud, his white teeth gleaming in the fading sunlight. “They are super proud of their hometown boys.”

I laughed, a little too loudly. I didn’t want to talk about how I had met Rhett just that morning, and how that encounter had left me so turned around the only thing I could do to alleviate my anxiety was further attack my bathroom. “What’s the inside story on them?” I coughed out. I studied my work intensely as I waited for his answer, not wanting to make eye contact.

Beckett was considered one of the most eligible gay bachelors in town, at least by everyone else. We had no chemistry, thank god. The last thing I needed was a complication as soon as I came to town, and this way the three of us could hang out together with no drama.

“I am pretty sure the cover model is gay, but I’m not sure about Mr. November. Either way, I have a boyfriend, remember? So feel free.”

“Oh yeah, the guy who lives a thousand miles away?”  I felt mean saying it. God, what was wrong with me?

“Yeah, the one a thousand miles away in medical school?” Beckett crossed his arms and frowned at me.

If I kept this up, I’d have exactly zero friends. I had no right to judge anyone’s relationship status. “Sorry, man. I don’t know why I’m being a dick.”

“Probably because you need to relax,” Sarah appeared with the bottle of wine, now open. “Come on, join us. We drove all the way out here to see you. The least you could do is hang with us.”  She waited a beat. “You promised.”

She had a point. I put down the tools and stepped back to admire my destruction work.  

“You can ruin more stuff tomorrow,” Sarah said.

“Fine,” I said, and shooed them out so I could get washed up and catch my breath. Good thing I hadn’t wrecked the sink yet. I was lucky to have friends and I needed to be nice to them.

Maybe I could manage a few friends. Sarah and Beckett were two. David from the shelter was one. Perhaps…Rhett? The calendar model was coming over with his puppy tomorrow. Maybe we could be friends too.

I stared at myself in the mirror, making eye contact with my inner self. It’s like I enjoyed the discomfort of staring down my own soul. Man, I was dusty. And sweaty. Washing my hands wasn’t going to cut it.

I escaped down the hall to the master bedroom and took a shower in my un-demolished bathroom. By the time I emerged from my room, the house filled with delicious smells. Sarah met me with a glass of wine and walked me to the couch in the living room. Beckett sat on one end of the couch, leaning forward, intently watching the television.

I glanced at Sarah and she raised her eyebrows. I gave her a big fake smile and she shot me a death glare.

“What are we watching?” It was a stupid question, I mean, I think the ice rink and the dudes skating around in gear and holding hockey sticks was a good clue. But I’d seen enough hockey with Beckett to know this was actually a real question.

“Stanley Cup finals,” he said. His eyes never left the television. The guy was from Michigan. I had no idea people from places near a hockey team were as into hockey as the stereotypes would suggest, but he says he is. He was also quick to say not everyone is like him, but the dude likes hockey. He told me he watched it a lot as a kid with his grandparents.

I didn’t know if watching hockey was a normal old person thing but my childhood was weird enough I didn’t even ask any more questions. I settled into the couch and watched the guys glide around on the ice. They made it look so easy. Beckett assures me it is not.

“Just watch the puck,” he said.

I squinted. It was like soccer but with different rules. I think.

Some of the guys left the ice and more went on. “That’s a line change,” Beckett said, as if I would remember or know what that was.

I allowed him to narrate the game for me, and Sarah later joined us with a giant handmade pizza she placed on the coffee table. “Perfect hockey dinner,” she said. Beckett had already converted her to the game months ago.

“What’s going on with you?” Sarah said. Her eyes didn’t leave the tv.

“Me?” I said, taking a big swig of wine to buy myself some time.

“Yes, you. You are even quieter than usual, and you’re beating the hell out of your bathroom. Anything new going on?”

I tried not to think about the fact that tomorrow the hunk from my kitchen calendar was going to ring my doorbell. That wasn’t even my main problem anyway. “I got a message from my accountant this afternoon.”

Both Beckett and Sarah turned and looked at me, waiting. I pressed forward. “He says my residuals from YouTube have dropped seventy percent. At this rate I’ll be out of money in six months.”  I took a deep breath, and stared at the television. The game looked so surreal if you weren’t following the action.

Sarah scooted closer to me and put her arm around my shoulder. “Oh hon, I’m so sorry. I was wondering about that.”

“What are you going to do?” Beckett said.

I shrugged. “I dunno. Pretend like the problem doesn’t exist?”

Sarah shook me a little with her arm. I guess she didn’t approve.

“Why don’t you rent out the guest house?” Beckett said.

“Because Enzo is moving in when he gets out of rehab, remember?” I said.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. But when will that be?” Sarah said.

“I don’t know, probably fall, maybe winter, depending on how it goes,” I shrugged.

“Remind me who Enzo is?” Beckett said.

“He’s a musician, remember? He’s going to need somewhere to hide away and rebuild his life after rehab, and he needs to stay away from LA and the music scene.” How could someone know everything there was to know about something like hockey and know nothing about current music? Of course, he probably thinks the inverse of me.

“So you have several months with it vacant. You could rent it out until he needs it,” Beckett suggested.

“I guess…” It all sounded like a giant pain in the ass. After never having to worry about money, it was extra hard to remember that it mattered. If I eschewed materialism, didn’t that mean I didn’t have to worry about money either? Except, I was full of shit. I bought this house and now I had to pay for it. And I had to do that with my own earnings.

I took another sip of wine and considered my options.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Sarah said. “I’ll keep my eyes open for anyone looking for a place, and you can make an ad tomorrow.”

Great. Someone in my space. The best thing about Enzo is that he’s a huge recluse, and that wasn’t going to happen for a while. But I liked the idea of being able to pay my bills, and this seemed like a better solution than dragging my ass back onto the internet.

Almost anything seemed better than that.