Chapter Eighteen
Nick
Nothing like having your mother crater what was supposed to be a fun outing with my girlfriend. The crushed look on Bethany’s face says it all. Tonight, when my mom and I are back at my condo, I need to tell her to back-off. I meant it when I told her I want to explore this relationship with Bethany and see where it leads. At this rate, Bethany is going to break up with me before the end of the weekend.
The market is busy by the time we arrive. It’s a popular spot on weekends, but today it seems overly crowded. I eventually find a place to park, although it’s going to be a hike to get to the market. I’m glad that I encouraged my mom to wear flat shoes rather than that fancy pair of sandals.
“All those hidden gems are going to be gone if we don’t hurry,” I joke.
Bethany laughs. “There will still be some. That’s why they’re called hidden gems.”
I grasp my girlfriend’s hand and tug her closer as we navigate the crowd, shielding her from getting jostled. My mom trails behind sporting a crabby look. Maybe I should have left her at home.
After we enter the market, Bethany grabs a map. “We need to plan our strategy,” she says excitedly. At least my mom’s bad attitude hasn’t dimmed my girlfriend’s enthusiasm.
“You’re in charge,” I say. “We’ll follow your lead.”
My mom clears her throat. “I’m going to visit the farmer’s market.”
Bethany gives me a hesitant look.
“Okay, how about we meet you there in about an hour?”
“I’ll be at those picnic tables,” she says, then strides off, not wishing us good luck or even acknowledging Bethany’s excitement over a flea market find.
“Sorry about my mom.” I link my fingers with Bethany’s, and she smiles as we start walking.
“No worries! I get it that used furniture isn’t everyone’s thing.”
I grunt. “She acted poorly towards you. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. My mom is usually a nice person.”
“Did something happen that caused her to come for a month-long visit?”
It’s obvious from our conversation last night that my mom is here to try to get Erica and me back together. I don’t share that with Bethany.
“Let’s forget about my mom right now. It’s time to start the hunt.”
Bethany excitedly tugs my hand, pulling me towards the used furniture booths.
***
Thirty minutes later, we’ve scoured over half the booths without success. I’m impressed with Bethany’s knowledge regarding prices and furniture quality. She’s very picky and doesn’t just leap at the first deal.
“This is a piece of junk,” she whispers as we stand in front of a tall 6-drawer dresser. It looks good on the outside, with a dark mahogany stain that’s worn in areas, but I’m sure it can be refinished. The price is only $50, which seems like a steal to me.
She pulls open one of the drawers. “See how these aren’t dovetailed like a quality piece would be. The sides are just nailed together and will fall apart with continued use.” Sliding the drawer closed, it wobbles as she pushes it in. “There’s also no bottom support, so it doesn’t slide smoothly and if you overload the drawer, it’s going to eventually sag.”
“How did you learn all this?” I ask as we head to the next booth.
“School of hard knocks,” she says. “I made a couple bad purchases. They weren’t quality pieces, and they weren’t worth refurbishing.”
“Now I really need to see what you’ve done.”
“When we break for lunch, I’ll show you some photos on my phone.”
“I can’t wait.”
She grins. We stroll past two more booths and don’t even stop.
“What are you looking for?”
“I’d love to find an armoire. My closet is small, so I need somewhere else to hang and store some of my clothes.”
I chuckle. That sounds like every woman’s problem, but I keep those thoughts to myself.
At the next booth, Bethany makes a beeline for an armoire. It stands out like a sore thumb because someone painted it green. On the plus side, it looks like it could hold a lot of stuff.
I watch as Bethany opens the doors to the top storage compartment and examines every inch of the interior. When she tries the bottom drawer, I notice it slides smoothly.
“Here’s what I was talking about. This is a quality drawer because the sides are dovetailed together.” She runs her index finger over where the edges of the wood are interwoven, just like how jigsaw puzzles pieces fit together.
“Do you like it?”
Stepping back, she surveys the piece from every angle. My jaw drops when she pulls a tape measure from her purse. “I know how much space I have. I need to see if this will fit.”
I act as her assistant by taking measurements while she jots them down on her phone. When I’m done measuring, she beams at me. “It will fit.”
“Will you keep the color?” I ask, dubious as to why anyone would want a piece of furniture this large, painted this atrocious green color.
A laugh bubbles from her throat. “Why? Don’t you like this lovely shade of green?”
It’s the ugliest shade of green I’ve ever seen. “Um, well—”
She tilts her head and gives me a quizzical look. “Be honest, Nick.”
“It looks like the Hulk decided to masquerade as a piece of furniture,” I blurt.
Continuing to chuckle, she opens one of the doors and points to the wood inside. “Here’s the original color. I’ll have to strip the outside, but it will be beautiful.” I peer inside. The wood is a gorgeous shade of mahogany. “It’s real wood, not that cheap plywood stuff they use today.”
This is a side of Bethany I didn’t know about. Her knowledge is very impressive. I wish my mom would see my girlfriend in action, because I think she would be impressed.
“Do you want to buy it?”
Bethany turns and faces me. I have two questions: “Do you have a place to store this for me? And, how do we get it there?”
“There’s plenty of room in the back storage area of the restaurant. I also know a guy who has a pick-up.”
Her face beams. “I’ll be right back.” She hurries to the front counter while I listen to the conversation.
“The armoire is kind of beat up and don’t get me started on that color,” she says. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for it.”
My eyes swivel to read the price tag and I suppress a grin.
The guy behind the counter crosses his arms and says, “It’s a quality piece. I won’t take anything less than seventy-five.”
Bethany stares at him for several seconds. He shifts on his feet, then offers, “How about sixty-five?” A flash of pride hits. My girlfriend would be an excellent poker player. She just shaved fifty-five dollars off the price.
“Sold!” Bethany says.
The man rings up her purchase, then walks over and slaps a SOLD sign on the armoire. “When can you pick it up?”
Bethany turns to me for an answer.
“When do you close?” I’m going to have to borrow a truck and enlist my friend’s help if the armoire is as heavy as it looks.
“Six.”
“We’ll stop by between five and six to get it.”
Bethany flings her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Nick!” I hug her tightly, never wanting to let her go.
“I’m glad the armoire makes you happy.” We walk to the farmer’s market hand in hand. Her happiness makes me happy.