“Did you hear back from any companies today?” I sit up as Beth continues the conversation, and she sets her newest romance read on the coffee table.
Beth has always been a voracious reader. In first grade, she was reading at a fifth-grade level. I've always preferred movies to books, but I love hearing about her latest read. She’s only about halfway through the one she just put on the coffee table, but I know she’ll have it finished by tonight.
“Yes, but they all hated me,” I grunt, burying my face in my hands.
The couch cushion sinks as Beth sits next to me. She doesn’t say a word, and for a few moments, we sit in silence. I’ve always appreciated Beth and her ability to let me have my self-pity moments when needed.
Gathering my thoughts, I think about the shitstorm ofa day I’ve had. My water bottle already sits on the walnut coffee table in front of me, and I reach out to take a drink. Setting the bottle down, I lean back on the couch. It’s days like these that I’m thankful Beth and I were able to be resourceful enough to make this place somewhat decent.
Thankfully, we can scrounge up enough money each month to afford a two-bedroom. During our freshman year, Beth and I tried sharing a dorm room but quickly realized—despite how much we love each other—sharing a space that intimate just doesn’t work for us.
We snagged this place during our sophomore year. Since it was the only two-bedroom we could afford near campus, we didn’t have a choice. The appliances are run-down, two of the stove burners don’t work, and we both have mini fridges because the one in the kitchen is too small to hold all our groceries. Don’t even get me started on the plumbing. I had to create a shower schedule to make sure we both get hot water.
We have enough money to get by between my job at the small coffee shop just down the street and Beth working at Powell’s Books. It’s not an uncomfortable life, but I can’t help but think there has to be more to life than this.
Hence, my very specific ten-year plan to achieve success. I long for the days I don’t have to grab my breakfast from a mini fridge or smell like coffee even after I shower.
My phone rings, and I hit the silence button. I don’t need to look at the screen to know who's calling. I know Ishouldn’t be dodging his calls like this, but it’s just not a conversation I want to have right now.
“How’s the bookstore planning going?” I ask Beth in an effort to steer the conversation away from my crumbling life.
Beth sighs. “Amazing and awful at the same time. I have too much to do, but I can’t get started until I find a place to actually house my bookstore. I just want the space to be perfect. I was hoping to find a place by the end of the summer, but I’m okay waiting if it means I find the perfect spot…” She stands and continues talking as she paces about the living room.
She walks over to the bookshelf by the TV opposite the couch and fidgets with some of her books, making sure they’re perfectly aligned on the shelf. Since living with her, I’ve noticed it’s a tactic she uses to calm herself when she’s stressed.
She continues talking as she rearranges the classic novels she has on display. The movement brings my attention to the top shelf, where my cacti sit next to our small flags from last summer’s pride parade. Hers is the unmistakable pink, blue, and purple bisexual flag, and mine is the less recognizable ally flag.
I’m having a hard time focusing on her words when my phone rings for the second time. I hit decline call again.
“Don’t even get me started about a color palette, or a tagline, or fuck, taxes…” She continues talking as my phone rings again, prompting me to hit decline call one more time.
“You should get that. He’ll just show up here if youkeep dodging his calls,” Beth says, noticing my phone in my hands.
“Sorry.” I grimace. “I just can’t talk to him right now. Today was rough. I don’t need his words of wisdom to be the cherry on top of the shit sundae.” I slump deeper into the couch.
“Just answer his next call, get the conversation over with, and then we can make up a tray of junk food and watch a marathon of your favorite movies tonight.” It’s an offer she knows I can’t refuse.
As if on schedule, he calls again, and I finally answer, heading out of the living room and into my cozy bedroom, only big enough to house a twin bed, a small desk, my mini fridge, and a nightstand. If I put anything else in here, I wouldn’t be able to walk around.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, answering the phone.
“Pumpkin! Finally, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. How are you? They aren’t working you too hard at that coffee shop, are they?” Despite my shit day, I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face at his greeting.
You eat half of a pumpkin pie at the age of eleven at Thanksgiving dinner, and it becomes your nickname forever.
“No, Dad, they aren’t working me too hard. I could do without some of the self-centered customers, though.” He chuckles, the sound simultaneously rich and lighthearted.
I sink onto my mattress, relaxing at the comforting sound of home.
“How’s Mom?”
“Better than ever. Her strawberries are growing verynicely. She says she can’t wait for you to try them. She’s out in the garden now,” he responds.
I stare at the framed family photo on my nightstand. My parents stand on either side of me in my high school graduation cap and gown. We’re in my mom’s garden as she insisted her flowers were the perfect background for a family photo.
My father, John, is a tall man with dark skin and a smile that never fails to bring out a sparkle in my mother’s eyes. He’s an accountant at a small accounting firm downtown, not too far from my apartment. I’ll occasionally stop by his office for lunch when our schedules align, but I’ve been so focused on applying for jobs lately that I haven’t been by in a few weeks.
My mother, Sara, is shorter than my father but not by much. Her skin is paler compared to my dad’s and mine, but the dark brown curls cascading down her back leave no question that she is, in fact, my mother. We share the same light brown eyes and an affinity for clumsiness. She is a beautiful force to be reckoned with when she’s in her element. Her element being her home garden, or the small plant nursery where she works part-time.
