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He emphasizes the word “sure” with raised eyebrows. My belly does a little flip. I like it when he stares at me with this intensity. I am sure, but hesitate for a second as I picture losing this bet and what it might be like to be forced to spend forty-three nights with this man. I can’t imagine it would be terrible, in fact, I suspect it might be quite delightful.
Eric mumbles in a quiet voice but intentionally loud enough for me to hear, “Girls can’t do math as well as boys.”
The butterflies in my belly morph into a murder of black crows.
“One hundred percent positive.” I glare at him.
He laughs at me.
I cross my arms in front of my chest.
He mirrors my move, but not my expression.
“I assume you wrote your height in inches like a—”
“Inches are for amateurs,” he interrupts.
Huh. The crows pause their attack. He’s just used one of my go-to phrases when I’m mentoring new artists.
“Good, so there’s no room for argument about rounding up or down. Perfect.”
“Perfect,” he mimics.
I motion for him to flip his answer over. He does it with so much determination it’s clear he believes he’s won the bet.
“One-hundred-ninety-one,” we say together. And then I follow up with an uncharacteristic squeal of, “Yes!”
Eric looks confused. “Why do you sound so happy? You just lost the bet.”
Now it’s my turn to look confused.
He continues, “Okay wait, I get it! Youwantedto lose.”
“You’re unbelievable. And you’re about to spend six weeks reconsidering your arrogance as your bottom incubates my baby rhea eggs.”
Eric lifts the measuring tape from the table and hands it to me.
I pull out a few inches. “Doesn’t have metric.”
“Even better. We’ll use mine. It’s digital and accurate up to one-quarter of a centimeter at twenty meters—that’s sixty-five feet for the Americans in the room,” he says.
“You really are an ass.”
I notice he doesn’t move toward his tool bag with the same level of assurance he’d had a minute ago. As Eric opens and closes pockets in his bag—is he stalling?—I picture him dressed in feathers. The male, adult rhea is about two-thirds Eric’s height. The image of Eric as a big bird makes me laugh.
I realize I’ve been laughing a lot more than usual on this project. Eric is good company. And smart. Sometimes a bit too smart. But I like him and have enjoyed having him on this build. He’s contributed interesting ideas for the interior design and layout of the nest, since even though nobody was going to live in it, showing how small life becomes when you’re confined in one space is still part of the message. I realize I might even miss him a little once the installation is complete.
I’ve also found I quite like Vancouver. And Mrs. Power is an amazing woman and has proven to be a hoot. She’s strategically sneaky. I could learn a thing or two from her when it comes to working in male-dominated environments.
“You know how to use this thing?” Eric asks.
“Please. I was born with a tape measure in my hand.”
“Words every man wants to hear from the woman he’ll be sharing a bed with.”
“You wish!” I say.
“You’re right on that one.”
