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“I wasn’t being mean,” Olive said with a laugh. “But I still think she should quit her jobs and come work with me.”
“Actually,” Nova said, leaning against the counter beside me. “I’m waiting on acceptance letters to a couple different schools, so I might be working only one job pretty soon.”
“Yeah?” I asked, looking down at her. She smiled proudly. “That’s awesome.”
“U of O?” Brody asked.
“No way.” Nova laughed. “A couple of trade schools. I’m going to be an aesthetician.”
“A what, now?” Brody sputtered.
“She’s gonna do shit to people’s faces,” I clarified.
“That’s what you got from every time I explained it?” Nova asked me accusingly. “Seriously?”
“Like, wash them and stuff, right?” I asked tentatively. I was wondering if I’d somehow gotten it wrong.
“Facials?” Olive asked with a cackle.“Washing people’s faces?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” I shot back defensively.
“You gonna wax people and shit?” Brody asked, reaching up to touch his beard.
“Why, you need your balls waxed, Brody?” Olive was still laughing.
“No, but your pits are a fuckin’ nightmare,” he countered. “I was hopin’ Nova could help you with that shit.”
“I shave my armpits!” Olive yelled.
“Once a year?”
Olive raised her arm and started chasing Brody around the kitchen ordering him to look at her armpit. Meanwhile, Nova looked up at me and grinned.
“I should know pretty soon if I got in.”
“You got in,” I assured her. “They’d be idiots if you didn’t. You coulda got into any school you wanted.”
“Maybe right after high school,” she said quietly.
“At any point,” I argued. “You’re smart as fuck and you interview really well.”
“Okay, I’m really leaving now,” Olive said breathlessly as she came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Love you and I’ll see you later.”
“Love you, too,” I replied.
“I’m leavin’ too,” Brody called from across the room. “I’ll get ahold of ya tomorrow so we can go get those machines.”
“Thanks dude,” I called back over my shoulder.
They left and then it was just me and Nova and the mess in my kitchen sink.
“I should just throw these away,” I muttered as I rinsed the roller for the forty-fifth time and paint still poured out.
“Why would you do that?” Nova asked, pushing me to the side so she could help. “What a waste of money.”
“Wasting time or wasting money,” I mused. “I think I’d rather waste money.”
“Says the person who’s never had to worry about money,” she teased.
