Chapter Three
Two Gallons of Regret
Jessica
We’re three weeks into the remodel, and nowhere near completed.
It took them three days just to get everything surveyed so they knew what to remove before they knocked down the walls, and now that whole area is a complete eyesore.
I realize that these things take time, but I’ve never seen such a lazy crew in my life.
Worse still, Eric has been fighting me on every little change I want to make to the project. He keeps telling me that we’re setting back the clock, but this is my store, and I want what I want.
I do feel kind of bad about having them dig out that two-foot sunken area only to have them refill half the resulting hole in the store, but how was I supposed to know that it wasn’t going to work?
Right now, I’m walking toward the front, trying to keep as much distance between the crew and myself as possible. If they see me, they don’t bother acknowledging it, and that’s just fine by me.
When I get to the front, I ask Linda the same question I’ve been asking her for the past two weeks, “Slow day, huh?”
“Yeah,” she says. “You’d think with all the beefcake we’ve got in here, we’d be pulling in all the unhappily married women in town, but everyone’s afraid of getting splinters in their eyes.”
“What do you think I should do?” I ask. “I thought the job was supposed to be done by now, and it doesn’t look like they’ve gotten hardly anything done.”
“This crap takes time,” Linda says. “My dad worked in construction for a few years when I was a kid. He’d take us by a build a couple of times a week and it never looked anywhere near done until it was really nearly done.”
“So you think I should give it more time?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s your store. What I can tell you is that if business doesn’t start picking up, we’re going to run into some serious trouble.”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “You’re right about that part.”
“So, do you think I should ask Eric out on a date?”
“You can’t be serious,” I laugh. “He’s got to be one of the most unrefined people I’ve ever met. You should hear the way he talks to his crew when he thinks we’re out of earshot.”
“Oh, I’ve heard him,” Linda says. “I don’t know if it’s the whole gruff male thing or the fact that I’ve got some pretty serious daddy issues, but hearing him go off on those guys makes me think I should start bringing a towel to work.”
“A towel?” I ask, but instantly I regret the question.
“Yeah, so I can have something between my legs so customers don’t slip on the—”
“Got it,” I interrupt. “Like I said, though, at least until they’re done working here, there’s a hands-off policy regarding the crew.”
“Hands-off?” Linda asks. “So that means I could still use my—”
“There’s no way to end that sentence that’s going to get anything but a ‘no’ out of me,” I interrupt again.
“And, by the way, when you first hired them, you said that I could do whatever I wanted as long as it wasn’t during store hours. I’m starting to get the feeling that you might have a little crush yourself,” Linda teases.
“That is absolutely the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell her.
“Shh,” Linda says, far too loud to be discreet.
I look up and Eric is walking over to me.
“Hey,” he says, “can we talk a minute?”
“Sure,” I answer, forcing a smile.
We’ve had a number of talks throughout the last few weeks, and not one of them has been something that I wanted to hear.
Still, though, it can’t always be a negative thing. At least that’s what I tell myself so I don’t claw my own eyes out every time he says those six words.
We get back to my office and he closes the door behind him.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting over the last little while. The day that I got this job, I—well, the reasons don’t really matter. You were right when you said that I was being unprofessional, and I’d like to make it up to you.”
“What did you have in mind?” I ask.
“How about dinner?” he asks. “I’m buying.”
“So,” I sigh, “you wanted to come in here and apologize for being unprofessional by asking me out on a date?”
“Kind of,” he says, “yeah.”
“You really don’t know women very well, do you?” I ask.
“I’m sure there’s more than a little truth to that statement,” he says, “but I’m not suggesting anything salacious. Just the two of us over some good food in a situation that might just help us get along better. I’m not asking you to move in or anything.”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Dinner sounds a little familiar to me.”
“All right,” he says, “lunch, then. Me and the guys are set to knock off at noon, we could grab a hot dog or something.”
“I don’t eat hot dogs,” I tell him, “but thanks for the offer.”
“Well, what do you eat?” he asks. “I’m sure we can find something that’ll fit the bill.”
I’m a bit suspicious, but he does seem to be trying to make a nice gesture.
“It’s not a date,” I tell him.
“That’s fine,” he says.
“It’s just two people who work together going to grab some lunch.”
“All right,” he says. “I’ll go tell the guys they can go on break, and we can go get something to eat.”
“All right,” I tell him. “Let me get my things and I’ll meet you in the front.”
That was a mistake, as I can already see the faces Linda’s going to pull when she sees me walk out the door with the man I just got done telling her was so unrefined. Maybe she’ll understand that we’re just trying to bury the hatchet.
Okay, that’s just a pipe dream, but I’m sure it won’t be that bad.
Eric goes and tells his crew whatever he tells them, and I grab my jacket and walk out to meet him.
Linda’s chatting him up, no doubt using her signature set of single-entendres to try to convince him that she’s what he should be drilling.
“Ready to go?” I ask as I reach the counter.
“Yep,” he says. “Where’d you decide to eat?”
“You two are going to lunch together?” Linda asks.
“Yeah,” Eric says. “Why?”
“Oh, no reason,” Linda says. “I just found it interesting, that’s all.”
She turns to me and very conspicuously winks.
“Are you going to be able to handle the front?” I ask.
“Look around,” she says.
I do and realize that the people I thought were customers were just my salespeople.
“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” I ask.
“Pinned to the floor without any lube,” Linda says. “Enjoy your lunch.”
Well, at least she didn’t try to invite herself along.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I thought we might stop and get a quick bite at Carver’s,” I answer.
“Ooh, romantic,” Linda coos.
“It’s a work lunch,” I snap, and she puts her palms up toward me.
“Have fun,” she says. “Try not to eat any baby kittens on your way there, boss.”
“Why haven’t I fired you yet?” I ask.
“Because you couldn’t live without me,” Linda smiles.
“That’s right,” I tell her. “I might need you to remind me of that every once in a while.”
“Sure thing, boss,” she says, and goes back to whatever she was doing on her phone.
Eric and I leave the store and start walking.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he says.
“Oh, not much to tell,” I answer. “I moved here a few years back. When I got to Lady Bits, well, first off, it wasn’t called that at the time. It was actually a hipster warehouse.”
He laughs. “That sounds pretty dreary,” he says.
“Oh, it was,” I answer. “Nothing but black plastic glasses as far as the eye could see. I’m pretty sure that most of them didn’t have prescriptions in them.”
“So what made you decide to go into women’s clothing?” he asks.
It’s an obvious question that should have an obvious answer, but I find myself grasping for anything with which to respond.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I guess I’ve always said that I wanted to provide women of all sizes an option in clothing where they could still get designer clothes without the designer price tag, but really, I think it comes down to the fact that I don’t really know how to run any other kind of store.”
It’s small talk, sure, but it’s kind of nice seeing a side of him that’s not such an asshat.
“What about you?” I ask. “What got you into contracting?”
“It’s a family business,” he says. “My grandfather started this company about 50 years ago. My father worked here, all my brothers worked here. It was just kind of inevitable, I guess.”
“How many brothers?” I ask.
“Four,” he says.
I can’t help but cringe. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he laughs, “me too. Hey, I didn’t think of this, but does this Carver’s place have a dress code? I don’t think what I’m wearing really qualifies as formalwear.”
“No, it’s just a bistro,” I tell him. “I’ve seen people show up looking almost as grungy as you, so I think it’ll be fine.”
“Gee, thanks,” he says. “Like I was telling you,” he goes on, “I really do apologize for the way I’ve been acting. I let my personal life bleed into my work, and I want you to know that’s not how I usually do business, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m glad to be working with you, and I think we’re going to end up with something really great.”
“About that,” I start, and I can already see his muscles tensing. I know that means resistance is probably on its way, but it’s not a bad perk.
“Yeah?”
“I was wondering if there was any way we could extend the window a little bit farther than we talked. I know you guys have already cut out the frame for what we’d already discussed, but as I was walking in today, it really struck me that people coming from that direction on the sidewalk could see what we have so much easier if the window went just a little bit farther.”
“How much farther are you thinking?” he asks.
“Only like three, four feet or so,” I answer.
He takes a deep breath to calm himself.
“If it’s going to be a problem—”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” he says. “It’s just that we’ve already got everything set up for what we had initially talked about, you know, what we decided on after what we decided on during the initial discussion.”
He’s a bit curt, but it’s dialed way back from what it has been, so I let it slide.
“I know,” I tell him, “but I really think it would add something unique to our store and could really help bring in the foot traffic.”
“You’re the boss,” he says. “That’s going to push our timetable back a little bit, though. We’ll have to cut out more of that wall and make sure everything’s reinforced, after that, we have to do the moldings and—”
“I’m sorry. Could you excuse me for a minute?” I ask, and pull the vibrating phone out of my pocket. “Hello?”
“Jessica, it’s Mom. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing great, Mom,” I answer with my usual false cheer. “How are you?”
“Listen, are you busy right now? There’s something that I need to talk to you about.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“This isn’t really something I want to tell you on the phone,” she says. “Is there any way you could come see me after you’re off work today?”
“I’m pretty busy with everything. What’s going on?” I ask.
“I really think it would be best if we talked in person, dear,” she says and I’m starting to get a little nervous.
“Is it Dad?” I ask. “I’ve been telling him that he needs to listen to the doctor and start exercising more, but he won’t listen to me about it.”
“It’s not your father, sweetheart,” she says, and now I’m really worried. Mom only drops the word “sweetheart” when something really bad has happened.
“What’s going on?” I ask again.
“Why don’t you come up here for dinner?” she asks. “I’d say we’d come see you, but your sister’s got the car right now, and I don’t think she’ll be back with it until later tonight.”
“Mom, she has her own car,” I tell her. “She just wants to use yours because she knows you’ll fill the tank.”
“Dear, it’s really important.”
“Just tell me what’s going on,” I start. “I have a lot going on right now, and I don’t know if I can conceivably—”
“I just got back from the doctor, sweetheart,” she says. “I have chondrosarcoma.”
“I don’t know what the first part means, but sarcoma is a kind of—”
“Cancer,” she says. “Yes, dear.”
I stop walking. I’m shaking and I can’t breathe.
“What did the doctor say?” I ask. “Is it treatable?”
“It’s a treatable cancer,” she says, “but I’ve had it for a while. About 80 percent of patients live five years or longer with it, but they’ve got to do some more tests to see exactly how advanced it is and how far it’s spread.”
“I’m on my way,” I tell her, and hang up the phone. “Eric, I’m sorry, but—”
“Whatever it is,” he says, “it sounds like you need to go. Just go. We can do this another time.”
“Thank you,” I tell him and I start running.