5. Greta
5
Greta
Going for Gold
T he shop that has my car is half an hour away, and the repair cost they just quoted has me wishing I’d taken more than Brick’s TV. I was saving for a new car when he proposed last year. Suddenly, a wedding seemed like a better use of the funds.
Maybe not smarter, but more fun. It’s all fun and games until you find out your fiancé is a sorry, no-count, lying, sister-in-law-screwing asshole.
The bulk of what I spent was on my dress. It’s still hanging in a closet at my mom’s house. She’s begged me not to make any rash decisions about it. She says just because I’m not marrying Brick doesn’t mean I have to let go of my perfect dress.
Magical thinking obviously runs in the family.
“Let me call you back this afternoon,” I say to the guy on the phone. “I need to think about it.”
“So, you don’t want us to fix your car?”
“That’s what I need to think about. Just out of curiosity, what would you give me for it as is?”
“Ma’am, we fix cars. We don’t buy them.”
“But if I decide not to fix it, then what happens?”
“You’ll have to come get it.”
“It doesn’t run.”
“I guess you’d have to have it towed then.”
“And if I didn’t?”
“We’d send you a certified letter asking you to either authorize the repairs or come get the vehicle. If you didn’t take any action after thirty days, we’d claim ownership.”
“And then you’d sell it, right?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Okay, so let’s say all that has already happened. How much would you be able to get for it?”
The young man sighs as if this conversation is draining his life force. “Miss Gaines, please just come get your car.”
Why does no one want to give a straight answer to a question anymore? Clear and honest communication has become a lost art, I swear.
“I’ll get back to you.”
Law’s front door closes, but I can’t tell if he’s coming or going. I heard his shower running last night right after I went to bed. He wasn’t out late at all, and I think he came home alone.
His knock on my door makes me jump. I haven’t showered yet today. My eyes are probably still swollen from the good, cleansing cry I had over the cereal I ate for lunch. So what if I look sad and unbathed? Who cares?
I’m not trying to impress my neighbor.
I fling the door open and immediately regret the action.
Law looks immaculate in a pair of dark jeans with a crisp, white button-down. His face sports an intentional stubble. His scruffiness is very well maintained. Not to mention his face smells like a woodsy beard oil when he wraps me up in a hug.
Why is he hugging me? Why am I letting him hug me?
Oh, damn. This is a sympathy hug.
It’s an I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do hug—the hug men give women when they’re afraid we might be about to break down.
“You can let go of me now. I’m not going to cry, I promise.”
His arms slowly loosen. “You just looked like you could use a hug.”
I step out of his arms. “I often look more pathetic than I am. You’ll get used to it.”
“Nice try.” He attempts to make eye contact, but I won’t let it happen.
When he realizes I’m not going to be the damsel in distress to his white knight, he says, “Do you need anything?”
“If your drill’s not already spoken for this afternoon, I have a TV that needs to be hung on the wall.”
“You got it.” It takes him no time to get his drill and come back.
“Thanks. Again.”
“No worries. When you buy my chips, get the good ones, the kettled cooked ones. And no store brand.”
“If I don’t figure out how to get my car fixed, I’ll have to pay for a ride to the store. You’re definitely getting the knock-off chips.”
“Hold off on buying them until you have your car back.”
“You’re still getting the store brand.”
“So, what you’re saying is you’re always cheap.”
“Did you miss the part where I told you I was a teacher?”
“This is a nice TV. You obviously splurge on some things.”
“It belonged to my ex.”
“You took his TV in the divorce? Brutal.”
“No divorce. Ex-boyfriend.”
“If you stole my TV, I’d break up with you, too.”
“After what he did, he would’ve given me anything I wanted to keep his secret.”
“You took the TV and then told everyone his secret, anyway, right?”
“That’s exactly what I did. And then he went on a confession tour and told anyone he thought I might’ve missed. I think his plan was to get out in front of the news and spin it to his advantage. But it’s hard to shine a positive light on sleeping with your brother’s wife, right? How much do you think I could sell this TV for?”
“Sounds like a great guy. A better revenge would be to keep it and enjoy it.”
“I’m not seeking revenge. I need to pay the ransom on my car.”
“You don’t want to sell your TV for that.”
“I hardly even watch it.”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“Something about a sensor and some wires. I blacked out for a few seconds after he told me he wanted six-hundred bucks.”
“Get the actual names of the parts and let me look up the prices. I can probably put them in for you. Labor is always the biggest part of the bill.”
“I’d owe you a whole truckload of chips.”
“I don’t always work for chips.”
Where exactly is he going with this? He better not be about to suggest what I think he’s about to suggest.
He shrugs. “How about we trade for it?”
And this is how I go to prison . . .
It’s a good thing he’s a fast talker. “If you can afford the parts, and I can do the work, how about you let me watch baseball games on your TV?”
“Do you not have one?”
“I do, but it’s not this big. And it has a blurry stripe running through the middle of the picture.”
“Why don’t you just buy yourself a new TV?”
“Because I don’t work in the oil field, remember?”
“Right. Why do you keep doing things for me?”
“Because you have things that need to be done. And I can.”
“As a driver, you’re an asshole. But as a neighbor, you’re suspiciously nice.”
“You have trust issues. I’m a great driver. And there’s no need to be suspicious. I already admitted I have an ulterior motive here.”
“Access to my TV.”
“For any game I want to watch.”
“What if I’m watching something else?”
“You said you hardly watch it.”
He’s not wrong. It will probably be available for any game he wants to watch on it. I help him lift the TV into place so we can hang it on the bracket he’s mounted.
And just like that, where there was once a blank wall, there is now a gargantuan TV.
It’s obnoxiously big.
It’s ugly, and it ruins the cozy, homey vibe I was going for. But it might be the ticket to getting my car back on the road.
“Fine. You’ve got a deal.”
He extends his hand to shake on it. When my palm slides against his, warmth radiates up my arm. His smile is friendly as we seal our deal with a handshake. No smugness. No smirk to make me wonder if I’ve just made a mistake.
I suppose even a hermit can let one person take up space on their couch to watch a ballgame now and again. How often is there a baseball game on TV, anyway? It’s not such a big deal if he comes around once a week for a few hours. I can still mostly maintain my bubble of isolation.
Anyway, he works nights, so it’s not like he’ll even be available to watch every game.
“Who’s your favorite team?” I ask.
“The Astros. But if they don’t make the playoffs and the Rangers do, I gotta support Dallas at that point. After that, I’m for any team that’s not the Cardinals.”
“Why do you hate the Cardinals?”
“It’s a long story.”
“They’re my favorite bird.”
“That’s not how you pick a team.”
“It might not be how you do it.”
“You know nothing about baseball, do you?”
“I know I’m a Cardinals fan.”
“It’s going to be a short season for you then.”
“When does it end?”
“Regular season runs through September. The post-season can go into early November. And then preseason starts again in February.”
“There are only a few months out of the year when there aren’t baseball games happening?”
“Don’t worry. Your team will be out early.”
“You don’t know that. This could be their year. In fact, I know it is. I can feel it. They’re going to take gold at the World Series this year.”
“That’s not how it . . . you know what? I bet they’ll at least get the bronze.”
“Oh, they will. You’ll see.”